Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

The dock is longer than I remember. It stretches way out onto the water, which is a smooth sheet of glass right now. Except for the little ripples I see near the platform at the end of the dock.

My pulse starts to pound.

“Luke?” I call, making my way down the dock. “That you?”

And then he appears. Emerging from the water like some kind of bulging, beatifically naked John the Baptist.

Luke grasps the handles of the metal ladder at the end of the dock and hoists himself up. Biceps literally bulging. Veins in his forearms popping. Water sluicing off him.

He is naked.

Amen I say.

Amen.

Spearing a hand through his hair, he looks wild. Unkempt. Huge.

Huge and naked and at home. Like he belongs out here. As much a part of the landscape as the river and the oaks and the sky. Dick hanging between his legs, innocent. Innocuous. Like it isn’t a destroyer of bodies and souls and sexual hang-ups.

Luke turns his head. One side of his mouth quirking up when he catches me staring.

“Mornin’, Gracie girl. Needed to stretch my legs and cool off,” he says. “See you found the coffee. Any good?”

For several beats I just stare at him, the mug of coffee in my hands scalding my palms.

“Fuck off,” I finally say. Heart popping in my ears.

“Pardon?”

“You. Your shoulders. That dick. Just—Luke, fuck off.”

He smirks. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, baby girl? That’s all right. Breakfast will make you feel better.”

I bite my lip. “Grits?”

“You,” he replies, shaking his head. “Your cunt. That’s what I want.”

I keep staring. The velvety scent of coffee filling my head and Luke filling my lungs and my heart and my entire fucking being.

“You hungry for me, too?” he says.

I let out a breath. A scoff. Of course.

In reply, he takes himself in his hand. Gives himself a lazy, lewd tug.

And just like that, he’s hard.

My pussy floods with heat. Nipples tightening to points.

His eyes flick to my chest. I’m not wearing a bra, so he can see exactly what’s going on.

Reaching for the towel at his feet, he runs it over his body. Tousles his hair with it.

Then he tosses it over his shoulder and strides toward me.

His footfalls are quiet on the wood, still bright blond from being so new. Eyes never leaving mine.

The lust in them is hard and hot.

A tremble moves through me. Why do I still feel so overwhelmed by him? I made my choice last night. I chose brave. I chose to show the fuck up.

Now here I am. Shaking. Need slicing through me again and again and again.

There’s just this ferociousness about the way he wants me. About our connection. It’s scary and it’s sweet, and I never, ever want it to end.

Because if it does—

It’s gonna hurt.

Luke stops in front of me. He smells like clean water and fresh air. He takes my face in his hand and captures my mouth in a soft, slow kiss.

“But the coffee,” I say, pulling back. “I must taste—”

“Nu-huh. That ain’t keepin’ me away, honey. You taste like you. Just right.”

My heart pounds violently against the confines of my breastbone. Shoving everything else, all my other organs and feelings and fears, out of the way.

I have a wild thought that love should do that—it should shove you with the same violence with which it saves you. Shove you in the right direction. Kicking and screaming if need be.

Love—real love, the kind I read about in romance—should make you want to let go of the bullshit you piled on in previous lives so you can step into the truth.

Your truth.

The beautiful, violent, terrifying truth of who you are and what you want.

Love is a calling to account.

That’s what being with Luke has done—it’s called me to account.

I’m so glad it did.

I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. Gratitude, and arousal.

Luke’s eyes are searching mine. He touches his thumb to my chin.

“You okay?” he asks. Voice husky.

“Let me give you something,” I whisper. My eyes flick to his cock, standing straight up between us. “I want to make you feel good.”

As good as you’ve made me feel.

He looks at me for another beat. I see the question in his eyes. You sure?

I nod.

I’m sure.

Without another word, Luke kisses my mouth. Hard. His scruff catching on my skin as his lips tug at mine. Tug and tease and claim. He kisses me deeply, tongue working my mouth open, nose brushing mine. It’s the kind of kiss that has me rising and falling all at once. He’s pulling me up. Pulling me under.

Taking. Without a thought for gentleness. He lets his need, fierce and fiery, burn through the caress.

His bare belly is warm against mine. His dick presses into my groin. He lets out a growl, and then he pulls back a little.

“Get on your knees,” he murmurs, taking the mug out of my hand. Putting his other on my elbow.