Southern Seducer (North Carolina Highlands 1)

Hold on for dear life.

This is the moment. The point of no return.

If we keep going, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop.

My past self might’ve ignored the stakes. Pretended they didn’t exist. But tonight, I embrace them. Scared as hell but going in anyway.

Acknowledging the risks makes it all that much sweeter.

“I’m ready,” I say.

He wastes no time. Tightening his grip on my waist, he lifts me onto the bed with a small grunt, turning me so I fall onto my back beside him. The duvet is cool against my skin, and he climbs on top of me, crowding me with the enormous bulk of his body.

The need that spikes between my legs is almost too much to bear.

We speak a secret language, one we both seem to understand without saying a word. I bend my legs, opening them, and he settles himself into the cradle of my pelvis, resting his weight on the forearms he places on either side of my head. Bearing just a little bit of his weight—feeling him pressed against me, knee to navel—makes me breathless in the most delicious way possible.

It’s never been this way with anyone. Not my ex, and certainly not with any past lovers. It was never this easy.

Never implicitly understood what I needed.

Our eyes lock as he rolls his hips, one long, slow, firm thrust that has me seeing stars. The seam of my jeans catches on my clit, making the need there burn hotter.

We watch each other getting so turned on it hurts.

The arousal I see in the furrow of his brow, his labored breathing, the darkness that flashes in his eyes, is the biggest turn on for me.

My hips rise to meet his caress, urging him to hit me right there. Urging him to give me the relief I’m seeking.

“Honey.” He dips his head and kisses my neck again, my head falling to the side. His beard scrapes my skin, teeth nicking me in just the right way. “Aw, honey, I love lovin’ up on you.”

He kisses my mouth. I reach down and unbutton his jeans. He lifts his hips, allowing me to pull down the zipper of his fly, and I push his jeans and his boxer briefs—silky smooth, expensive-feeling; of course Beau would wear ridiculous underwear—over his hips and then the steep curve of his ass. How had I never noticed Beau’s muscular bubble butt?

I adore it.

I keep tugging, and his cock comes out to play, stiff and hot against my belly. Our kiss becomes feverish.

“Off,” I breathe.

He does this wildly erotic maneuver where he shimmies out of his jeans and underwear, kicking them to the floor, then dipping over me in a full-body push-up, his erection catching on my slit as he rolls his hips, his shoulders, mouth catching on my chin.

Then he’s grabbing my hands and holding them in one of his over my head. He’s moving in the other direction. Down, lips trailing a ribbon of fire over my throat, collarbones, breasts. I feel a slight tingle there. Milk? Maybe.

But what the fuck ever. I feel the opposite of self-conscious with Beau.

It’s a beautiful thing.

He holds me captive, his grip on my wrists firm enough that it hurts a little, but I like it. The pain radiates down the length of my body, bouncing off my toes to settle between my legs, a spreading wash of heat that has me moaning.

“Beau,” I breathe when his mouth hits my hip. “I have no idea what you’re going to find down there.”

“Pretty sure your vagina didn’t fall out along with the baby,” Beau replies easily, falling back on his haunches. He undoes the fly of my jeans with one, two quick motions. “Whatever your situation is, we’ll make it work. Just keep talking to me.”

He drags my jeans down my legs. I can’t stop looking at his cock as he moves. The way it bobs, proud and erect, is wonderfully lewd.

“The piercing,” I say. “How did it work?”

Beau looks up from dropping my jeans to the ground. He must know my question is a ploy to get him to touch himself because that’s exactly what he does. Drawing up to his knees between my legs, he grips his shaft in his hand. He gives it a lazy tug, the circle formed by his thumb and forefinger drawing up around his head.

A silvery bead of precum appears in the slit there.

My tongue tingles. I want to taste him.

I’m greedy, suddenly, for that knowledge. I know him inside and out as a friend, and now I want to know him as a partner.

“It went through here.” He thumbs his crown, where the slit begins. Then he glides that thumb down the length of his slit, stopping at the underside. “And came out here.”

I sit up, transfixed. “Did it hurt?”