Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

“Feel that?” he says.

He’s hot to the touch and very, very hard. His velvety foreskin pulled back to reveal his head.

“You keep touchin’ me, and I’m gonna want to put this in your ass.”

I swallow. “Why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I fuck you in the ass with my cock?” His nostrils flare. “Oh, baby, you ain’t ready for that. I’ll show you why.”

Luke climbs onto the bed. Climbs on top of me, really. Kneeling, my legs trapped between his thighs.

He leans down to take my tit in his mouth. Gives it a savage suck—“Oh. Oh.”—before straightening.

He opens the bottle of lube.

Eyes on mine as he brings a knee between my legs and pushes them apart. No preamble. No asking. He kneels between them, squeezing a drop of lube onto the long, blunt fingers of his right hand.

He works the lube down his first two fingers. Forearm rippling as his hand moves.

He knows.

He knows.

The motherfucker knows what he’s doing.

My pulse forces its way through my skin. Pound pound pound, a pounding I can feel in my pussy.

As if he can read my body—hell, maybe he can—Luke reaches down and gently swipes his thumb across my clit.

He hisses. A sinew popping in his shoulder.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says, gravel in his voice. “Tell me I’m the only one who gets you wet like this.”

Now he’s drawing his thumb down my slit and back up again. Sinking into my softness.

“You’re the only one,” I breathe. “I mean that. It’s true.”

“I know.” He hits my clit again.

My hips buck. His other hand comes down on my belly. Those long fingers splayed between my hips, pinning me to the mattress.

I don’t understand why. But this makes me feel safe. Secure, almost.

“Stay with me,” he bites out.

His hand moves a little lower. I hold my breath, waiting. Pressing up against his palm as I try to writhe in anticipation.

Then his fingertip—the middle one, lubed up—is on my asshole.

I look down to see. He’s there.

I suck in a breath as a new wave of arousal washes through me, settling just inside my skin.

I feel like we’re doing something wrong. Something obscene and literally dirty.

It turns me on so bad.

Pressure builds as Luke circles his finger against me. Caressing. Then pressing.

I glance up at Luke. His eyes are searching my face. How the fuck is he staying so cool right now? How the fuck does he not…not…well, fuck me here?

“What do you feel?” he asks.

I let out a breath. “Pressure. I like it. Keep going.”

Luke presses the tip of his finger inside me. The lube makes him slip in easily enough. But the pressure—

It makes me gasp. It’s sharp. Intense. Uncomfortably so.

I like it. So much.

His eyes blaze. “Now?”

I look back down. I like watching.

“A little pain. Keep going.”

He pushes his finger a little further inside me. I feel my body resisting the intrusion.

I feel myself getting wetter and wetter.

The beat between my legs sounds in my ears. More. Pain. Please.

His finger sinks deeper. I grab onto his wrist—the hand that’s on my belly—and he stops moving.

“Keep. Going,” I say through gritted teeth.

My hips buck up when he presses his thumb to my clit at the same time he slips his broad finger all the way inside me.

A searing hit of pain slices through me. I sputter. Feeling my body clamp around him.

For a heartbeat, then another, he lingers there, until I feel myself loosening.

And then he starts moving his finger. Tiny little thrusts. I keep loosening. Accepting his intrusion. Each time, his finger goes in a little easier. A little more smoothly.

He’s hitting all new nerves. Ones I didn’t even know existed.

His finger makes this lewd, wet noise as it goes in and out.

A tremor moves between my legs. I think—

No, I’m going to come just from this.

I see stars when his first finger joins his middle at my pucker. I want more. I want him to hurt me. I like this, and I want this, and I never want him to stop.

I look up at him.

At the same moment, he presses that second finger inside me.

More pain.

A lot more. Pressure that feels like a knife.

My body retreats, hips pulling up and back, but because Luke is holding me down, I can’t go very far.

“Watermelon,” I pant.

Immediately he pulls both fingers out of me.

“Hey,” he soothes. Curling and uncurling the fingers on my belly, brushing them softly against my skin. “Hey, baby girl, you all right?”

“Whew,” I say. “That was…a lot.”

Luke nods. “You see how me going straight to putting myself in there isn’t a good idea? We gotta work you up to that. Go slow.”

How this guy gives a shit—how careful he is, and how thorough, how he takes his time with me—it’s cute.

Can you refer to butt stuff as “cute”?

I don’t know. But right now, Luke is being so cute it’s kinda making my throat close in.