Pierced Hearts (Southern Charmers 1)

I collapse, not moving, trying to catch my breath. A fleeting thought crosses my mind about the fact that he’s now come in me multiple times. We touched on the subject last night, with him assuring me he’s clean. His next words killed any worries I had about precautions outside of my pill.

“You are the only woman in this world that gets me. All of me. And I’m the only man that feels all of you. No barriers, no taking the time to stop and find a little plastic package. I’m done with that. I get you bareback. Nothing comes between us.”

It was barbaric and crass, but deep down, I loved knowing that. Even the bitch who ruined my life never got to feel all of Pierce. So, this was us, having raw sex with no barriers and giving in to our desire.

“Baby, you with me?” he mumbles.

“Yeah.” I sigh dreamily.

“Thought I might have lost you to space.”

“It’s possible, but I’m back now.”

“Wanna share your thoughts?”

No, I do not want to tell him how it delights me that he gives me everything during sex. I think of something quick. “I’m pretty sure the health department would frown on us having sex on my prep table,” I tell him with a giggle.

“Highly doubt anyone but a bitter shrew would think what we did was frown worthy.” He kisses along my collarbone.

“I hate to do this, but I have to get to work.”

He presses his head into my neck, nibbles a few more times, then brings me to my feet. “Go clean up.”

I don’t miss the look of loss and force my feet to hustle to the full bathroom in the back. Once I get there, I scream, “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear! Or a serial murderer!” There are remnants of the deep red sauce streaked on my neck, chest, breasts, leading down my stomach, and—oh, God—my entire pelvis, hips, and inner thighs.

He’s at the door in a second, holding my panties and bra, looking proud. “Want me to lick it off?”

“No, I have to shower!”

“Let’s shower together.” He points to the color staining his own throat. Then I notice it’s splotched all over his shirt he has draped over his shoulder.

“Oh, good God, we are in trouble. You look the same. Please, tell me you have another shirt in your truck?”

“Maybe, but the difference is, I don’t give a shit. You have to go to the party prim and proper. My job is a lot different.”

“Get out of here.” I push him away, slam the door, and do my best to shower off and salvage my makeup and hair. When I’m done, I groan at the fact that he only brought me my panties and bra, then decide to play his game, striding out confidently.

I freeze mid-step, my heart lodging in my throat. Pierce is shirtless, cracking eggs into a bowl surrounded by ingredients.

“Put on my shirt and come help me.” He tips his chin to the small sitting area where my dress and his shirt are arranged over a chair.

I shrug on his shirt, switch on the ovens, and join him. “Are you making something specific?”

“Trying to get started on the almond torte.”

“How’d you know about those?”

“Because Mom planned the menu.”

“Explains why this became my priority of the day. Why don’t you start on the cookies? The dough is already made in the fridge, and the cookie sheets are there.” I point to the large plastic tub holding supplies.

He nods and gets to work alongside me, filling three trays with perfect rows of dough. As hard as I try, I can’t concentrate with him standing so close, half-dressed, and the scent of him coating me. His arm brushes mine, and goosebumps pop across my skin. When I sneak a peek over at him, he’s grinning smugly, keeping his eyes on the table.

“You need to put your shirt back on.”

“I disagree.”

“I can’t focus.”

“Because of my shirt?”

“Partly. You’re half-naked.”

“Would you prefer I was fully naked? That’s not a problem.” He begins to pull at his belt.

“Stop! You can’t get naked or we’ll get nothing accomplished.”

He crooks an eyebrow, grinning wider. “On that, I totally disagree. I get a lot accomplished when naked.”

My measuring spoons fall on the table, and I toss my head back to stare at the ceiling. “Do you want to explain to a bunch of meddlesome women why their desserts taste like cardboard?”

“I can guarantee, if I explained it, they’d know exactly why it tastes like cardboard.”

“Pierce!”

He twirls me to him, his hands going under the shirt and cupping my ass firmly. “Baby, look at me.”

I do as he asks, and my chest seizes at the playful glint in his eye. More memories batter my brain.

“I’ve missed teasing you.” He takes the words right out of my mouth.