Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

I come.

I clamp down on his dick and catch his bottom lip between my teeth. Waves of release pound through me, drawing the muscles along my sides and legs taut. I close my eyes, and there are those earth-shatteringly beautiful colors again, the same ones I saw in Hank’s bed back in Vegas. They’re so bright and real they burn my eyes.

My orgasm keeps rising up to meet me, Hank’s body moving over mine as I try to catch my breath. I reach back and dig my fingernails into his thigh, holding on, and he fucks me harder.

God, I’ve needed this. The release. The feeling of being turned inside out, my head and heart emptied of anything but pure, obliterating sensation.

Hank is that good.

He comes with a roar. A literal roar that makes me jump. But before I can move an inch, Hank is curling his arms around me, his front glued to my back, surrounding me with his heat and his heartbeat. It drums a quick rhythm against my back, an echo of my own frenzied pulse.

He breathes heavy and deep, his nose buried in the nape of my neck. His breath is hot against my skin. He smells like that woodsy cologne that fits him just right.

We stay like that for a minute, then another, both of us heaving.

His warmth and his want are soaking through my clothes into my skin.

I shift, making our contact a little less intense, and glance at our reflection in the window again. I watch Hank turn his head and glance too.

We look like something out of a bad porno. Pants at our ankles, Hank still inside me. My hair falls over my face in a disheveled curtain. His mouth is open, and his chest rises and falls sharply, and we’ve definitely left some marks on the wall.

My shoulders shake, laughter rising through my chest. If I don’t laugh, I might do something else. Something embarrassing and stupid.

After a beat, Hank lets out a bark of laughter too.

“What is wrong with us?” I manage.

Hank lets out a long, low breath and shakes his head. He reaches down and pulls out of me slowly, resting his latex-covered dick on the curve of my ass.

“I dunno. You turn me into a rabid animal, and I ain’t mad at it.”

I straighten, giving my legs a wiggle to make sure they still work. I’m about to reach for my pants, but Hank beats me to it, his knees cracking in a now-familiar way as he bends down and hikes my jeans up my legs, stopping to kiss my right thigh along the way.

I tear my gaze from him. I feel hollowed out and hungry. For food this time. A drink, too, would be nice.

“Post-coital cocktail?” Hank asks, reading my mind. He zips up his jeans. “I made a batch of whiskey sours if you like brown liquor. If not, I’ve got—”

“Whiskey’s the only cocktail that feels right after that kind of sex.”

His face creases in a bright, handsome smile. “Agreed.”

Chapter Nine

Hank

“How can I help?”

I wave Stevie’s question away, then raise my chin at one of the chairs by the fire.

“All good over here. Go sit. You just came a long way to help me out. The least I can do is pour you a drink.”

Stevie blinks, a bewildered look on her face. What’s taking her off guard? The whiskey? How we just fucked in my foyer because we can’t keep our hands off each other for a single goddamn second?

To be fair, my hands aren’t exactly steady either as I pour my homemade whiskey sours into heavy-bottomed crystal tumblers. I spill a little on the floor and scramble to remember where my housekeeper put the kitchen towels.

Christ, I hate feeling like I’m a stranger in my own damn house.

“Thanks,” Stevie says when I hand her a glass and settle into the chair beside hers. I try not to stare as she sips. She’s always beautiful. But in the flickering light of the fire, her eyes are liquid pools of black, and her hair is gilded with licks of copper. There’s a pink mark by that freckle on her neck where I sucked on her skin. Not quite a hickey, but definitely visible.

She’s fucking stunning.

Looking at her, I could almost forget the shitty reason I brought her here.

“What?” she asks, catching my gaze. She’s grinning.

“You know what. You’re gorgeous. I’m glad you came.” I hold out my glass. “Thank you.”

She taps her glass to mine. I notice her fingernails are painted white this time. “Thank you for this delicious cocktail. And for the private jet. And for the five-star accommodations.” Her eyes flick to the room around us.

“No gratitude for the dick?”

She trails her tongue along her bottom lip. “Your dick just got the appreciation it deserves and then some.”