The whole thing looks mighty inviting if I do say so myself.
“I agree. I think it gives this room a sense of place. Of history.” Gracie’s eyes flick to my crotch. Her smile deepens, dimples coming out to play. “Go get what you need.”
I duck inside the bathroom, grab some lube and a few washcloths—no condoms, ’cause we ain’t fucking like that tonight—and am back in the bedroom in about eight seconds flat. I may be six-three, two-oh-five, but I can move fast when I’m motivated.
Gracie is sitting on the edge of my bed, her back to me, taking off her sandals. I notice her toes are painted a dark, ruby-red color that’s more black than red. Understated and sexy and sophisticated, just like her.
She must’ve seen the chargers and remotes on the nightstand on my side of the bed, because she’s sitting on the other. The side furthest from the door.
I watch her bend down to put one shoe, then the other, on the floor beside the bed. Watch her straighten, running her hands nervously through her hair. The hem of her shirt lifts, revealing a pair of barely-there indents on her low back.
She looks so soft and sweet there. So vulnerable.
I feel an ache in my chest.
Oh, baby, I want to say to her. Oh, baby, you are just right.
And I wanna take care of you.
Let me want you that way.
But she won’t.
Not yet.
I am a patient man. I spent nearly a decade treading water in the minors before I ever got to play major league baseball. I’m happy to play the long game.
If it means ending up with Grace, it’ll be worth it.
I cross the room to my side of the bed—yeah, the other side is already her side, even though she’s been here all of three minutes—and set the lube and washcloths on my nightstand.
Gracie looks at me over her shoulder. Glances at the lube, then glances back up at me. Bottom lip caught between her teeth.
She’s scared. And curious. And turned on as hell.
Adore adore adore.
My gaze never leaving hers, I reach behind me and grab my shirt at the nape of my neck. I tug it over my head and drop it to the floor.
Gracie’s mouth pops open. Literally. I can almost hear the pop sound in my head. A bottle of champagne being uncorked.
I smile.
“Ohhhhh,” she says, half word, half groan, eyes raking over my bare chest and belly. My nipples harden to tight points beneath her frank admiration.
I wince when my cock bumps up painfully against the fly of my jeans.
“You got the safe word,” I say.
She nods. “Watermelon. Got it. Now get over here.”
I can’t deny this woman a damn thing.
So I climb onto the bed. The mattress dipping beneath my weight as I crawl to her on my hands and knees.
She is still facing away from me. So I duck down and press my lips to the spot where her neck slopes into her shoulder.
Her skin, warm and soft, pebbles into goose bumps as I kiss her there, nicking the sinew with my teeth.
She sucks in a breath, reaching back to dig her fingers into my hair.
“Luke,” she breathes.
“I love it when you say my name,” I murmur against her skin as I slowly work my way up her neck.
Gracie arches against me, fingernails curling against my scalp.
“Luke,” she says again.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you”—her voice catches when, leaning all my weight on my good arm, I reach around and cup Gracie’s breast—“you talk dirty, but you go slow. Why?”
“Because.” Through the fabric of her shirt, I gather her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and draw it out. “I ain’t rushin’ with you. I been waiting ten Goddamn years to touch you, and I plan to savor every minute. But I am as God made me, baby, and He in all His wisdom gave me a real dirty mouth.”
She moans when I play with her hardened nipple, giving her tit a solid squeeze.
“Never thought I’d like dirty talk,” she says. “But with you—Luke, I love it.”
I grin as I feather my lips over her jaw.
“I noticed.” I nudge her with my nose, and our eyes meet. “Dirty talk aside. I’mma do this nice and proper like, Grace. Meaning I’m gonna take my time and learn your body and draw you out just how you want. Nothing leaves this room. Same as nothing gets left on the table. I’ll give you everything I got, and you better damn well do the same. You want that intensity we talked about? You gotta give me your all, baby girl. You gotta show me everything.”
Her forehead is creased as she searches my eyes for a beat. Then another.
My heart is thudding inside my chest.
“I’ll try,” she says at last. She takes me by surprise when she turns her head a little more and kisses me. A quick kiss, but a hot one. An honest one. “Thank you. For getting it. For doing this with me. It means a lot, and I appreciate it more than you know.”
I look at her. Cock blaring.
“Thank me when I’m done.”
And then I’m getting on my knees and reaching for the hem of her shirt. Holding up her hands, she sucks a breath through her teeth when I pull it over her head.
And then she’s turning around. Climbing onto the bed and getting on her knees.
Her bra is fancy. Black lace, delicate straps. Unabashedly sexy.
Girl came to play. All right.
Her gaze flicks to my left shoulder. Then my right. Catching on the puckered scar that runs lengthwise, a little bit at an angle, across the skin there.
Her brows come together. Making my heart skip a beat.
“You don’t talk about it much anymore,” she says. “Your shoulder. Does it still hurt?”
I take her hand. Place her fingertips over the scar. She feathers them over the skin. Gentle.
Curious.
“That doesn’t hurt at all. I still have some stiffness every now and again. But no more pain. Not really. Just gotta be aware of it. Don’t wanna tear the damn thing again.”
Her eyes, liquid and warm, meet mine. “I’ll be careful.”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. You’d have to do a lot to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. The injury.”
I look at her. “It sucked, yeah. But I always knew baseball wasn’t going to last forever. I’m happy with how things turned out.”
Her lips curl into the prettiest little smile. “I’m happy, too. Because you’re happy. But also because it brought you back to us.”
Now my heart is doing this weird hiccupping thing.
“I always knew I’d end up here.”
Maybe I always knew I’d end up with her, too.
“Watermelon,” she says, her fingers moving up over my chest. “Say it if it hurts.”
Then she’s looping her hands around my neck. Pulling me to her, skin to skin, bellies flush, the lace of her bra tickling my bare chest as her mouth comes up to mine. Greedy and warm.
I draw my hands up her sides, reveling in the smooth feel of her skin. I hook my thumbs inside the delicate cups of her bra.
I swipe the pads of my thumbs against her nipples, and her kiss grows fierce.
I kiss her fierce right back. Stealing her breath. Yet giving and giving and giving.
I taste her hunger. Her enormous, pent up need to let loose and let go.
Take, I tell her with my tongue.
Take all you need. ’Cause I got a lot to give.
And I’m gonna give it all to her. Same as I give my all to the farm. The produce I grow and harvest. I’m good at growing things. At giving them what they need when they need it.
Things don’t die on my watch.
They thrive.
I reach behind Gracie’s back and unhook her bra. We break apart for half a heartbeat to take it off together.
Revealing the most perfect pair of tits in the history of the known universe.
They are full, a little fuller on the bot
tom in a way that makes me hurt everywhere, with light pink nipples that stand at attention.
They are soft.
So soft looking. I reach for one breast, mindless with lust, and measure its weight in my hand.
Gracie’s lids go heavy when I look at her.
I am holding Gracie Jackson’s breast. Her attention, too.
It’s way too much goodness.
I need my mouth on her. Everywhere. Need to hear her moan my name again.
So I put my hands on her hips and duck down and take one nipple, then the other, in my mouth. Pressing the flat of my tongue against her pointed tips.
She smells so good. Perfume and power.
“Luke,” she’s saying, fingers digging into my shoulders. “Oh, Luke.”
Fuck me, the way she says my name. Like it’s a plea. A secret.
I look up at her. Move south.
Keep looking as I work my tongue over the soft plane of her belly.
She nods when I reach for the fly of her jeans.
Swallows. For a split second I imagine her swallowing my cum. My dick in her mouth, eyes watering, body shaking.
I growl. Literally fucking growl.
Gracie’s eyes flash with renewed arousal. She says I get it. She does, too.
She gets that she’s making me come undone. Which is a good thing. I want her to see me stripped of armor. I want her to see me vulnerable. On my knees.
Because maybe then she’ll feel safe enough to let me see her that way, too.
I flick the button of her jeans through its hole. Tear down the zipper.
Tear down the jeans. Revealing a black lace thong that matches her bra.
My blood roars.
I wanna legit tear this shit off her. Throw her down on this bed and climb on top of her and fuck her hard and raw and fast.
My God do I want that. My self-control is in shreds.
I have no doubt we’ll get to the point where I can just let go. But tonight is all about making her feel comfortable. Getting to know her body and her needs.
Adore. Worship. Conquer.
Tonight is all about adoring Gracie. Which means going slow.
So I straighten, towering over her on my knees. I look down at her. Bite the inside my lip.
I got this.
Still, my fingers shake a little when I run them underneath the delicate strap of her thong, tracing the contour of her hipbone.
“Show me,” I murmur. “Show me this pretty pussy.”
Show me who you are. So I can show you just how much I’ll adore you.
The real you.
Chapter Ten
Gracie
I am overwhelmed.
Ten minutes into this thing, and I am already overwhelmed in the best way possible.
Ten minutes in, and I already feel more turned on—more wanted—than I have in forever.
Luke’s gaze is steady on mine, but his fingers are shaking against my skin.
My heart clenches.
When was the last time someone needed me this way?
I can’t remember. I do remember Nick’s desire for me feeling tepid. At least compared to Luke’s. Because Luke’s need—
My God, it’s a nuclear fucking inferno with the power to take out whole continents.
My confidence grows by the heartbeat. Expanding inside my chest like a bubble—the kind kids blow—that refuses to detach from its wand. Getting bigger and bigger, not breaking, just growing and floating innocuously inside my ribcage like it doesn’t have the power to devastate me when it pops.
Because it always, always pops.
Be careful be careful be careful.
Oh, but how am I supposed to be careful when Luke is laying me down on his bed and telling me in a lust-roughened voice to raise my hips as he takes off my jeans and rakes his hungry gaze over my body?
How am I supposed to be careful when he’s making me feel so comfortable and welcome?
You can do this, I tell myself as my heart hammers against my breastbone. Letting go doesn’t mean letting him in.
The mattress is soft against my back. The scent of detergent wafts off the pillows as I fall back on them.
He is so clean and so thorough. Who knew?
Makes the contrast of his very dirty mouth all the more compelling.
Guy’s got layers. I like that.
Be careful.
“You think a lot, don’t you?” Luke says.
I blink. Look up at him. “I do. Probably too much.”
“I can see your wheels turnin’,” he replies, nodding. “It’s okay to let go. Maybe you could try thinkin’ and analyzin’ a bit less here—hand the reins over to me.”
Biting my lip, I blink again, hard. Lord do I like the sound of that. I also like that he realizes I need a little guidance right now.
He’s stepping up to the plate in a big way. And even though I’m still struggling to allow myself to be vulnerable—even though I’m still unsure—his confidence soothes my nerves.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s try it.”
Now I’m laying down on top of the covers, hot and panting in nothing but my thong, while Luke is still on his knees beside me.
Lord above is he a sight. Thick thick thick, torso wrapped in strong muscles and a flat, broad belly. Veins snaking down his enormous arms, his biceps bulbous and firm.
He’s also kinda…
Hairy.
A good bit of wiry, reddish-dark-blonde hair that starts at his chest and trails down his belly. Darkening—thickening—at his abdomen above his jeans.
Wrong that I like it?
Because I do. I actually love it. There’s something wonderfully imperfect about it.
Very who-gives-a-fuck.
Makes me feel like real is the MO in Luke’s bed. Nothing perfect. Nothing forced. Just real connection and real orgasms.
He’s looking down at me. The blue in his eyes slicing through my middle.
The blue and his need and the hairy chest—
It’s so great.
He wraps his hand around the back of my right knee and guides it down to the bed. Spreading me open.
“Show me,” he bites out. “Pull those panties to the side so I can see your cunt.”
I bite my lip. My nipples are hard and I’m wet—so wet—and my skin is burning.
I hesitate. This is usually the point in the hook-up when I start to get really pensive. What if I smell? What if I reach for him instead? Put the focus on him, because penises are so much easier and more straightforward than vaginas?
What if he doesn’t like what he sees?
But the way Luke is looking at me—eyes narrowed, skin beside them crinkling happily—it overpowers those questions.
Fills my head with a voice instead.
Fuck that noise.
His voice? Mine?
Either way, I find myself reaching down and doing as he tells me. My body jumps when my fingers feather against my clit.
I moan. This strangled, small sound.
Luke looks positively murderous.
I loop my finger around the crotch of my underwear. I am swollen and soft against the back of my finger.
Then I pull the lace aside. Hissing as cool air meets my hot flesh.
Luke looks at me there.
His nostrils flare.
Grip on my knee tightens.
“So pretty,” he mutters, putting his other hand on his erection. “Gracie, baby, you got the most beautiful little pussy I ever seen. Show me how wet you are.”
I swallow.
“How,” I pant, “do I do that?”
Luke’s hand—the one on my knee—slides to my ankle. Spreads me wider as he climbs between my legs, still on his knees.
Then.
Then he leans down and settles himself on his forearms, the muscles in his shoulders bulging. His head in prime pussy-eating position.
My pulse takes off at a sprint.
He ducks down and trails his lips across the inside o
f my knee. Starts moving toward my center, bending my leg—spreading me wider—as he bites and licks his way up my thigh. Beard scratching my skin.
“I want you to finger yourself. One finger only. The middle one.”
This time, I don’t even think about it. His commands are taking me out of my head and putting me firmly inside my body.
A body that very much wants more of this.
I’m so wet my finger sinks easily inside me.
My clit throbs. Begging to be touched.
The scent of my arousal blooms between us.
His nostrils flare again. Fire in his eyes as he moves closer to the source.
“Now another finger. The first one. That’s it. Now thrust them. Get them nice and wet. Good girl.” His eyes are on mine again. “Now I want you to put your fingers in my mouth.”
My fingers go still.
This is lewd.
This is something I would’ve never in a million years attempted with Nick.
But with Luke?
Seems natural. The energy between our bodies—it’s got this earthiness.
This ease.
Luke nips at the tendon that connects my leg and groin. He sits up, leaning in to glide his lips across mine.
“Baby girl, you best give me what I want. Right now.”
Holy shit this is hot.
So fucking hot. And dirty. And delicious.
My gaze latched onto his, I pull my fingers away from between my legs. Reach up and press them to his lips.
“Like this?” I whisper.
In reply, he opens his mouth. Draws my fingers inside, lapping at me with his tongue. The inside of his mouth feels hot and slick.
Then he sucks.
Gently at first. Then a little harder. Then harder still. No need to tell me he likes the taste.
Because he’s showing me he likes it, very much.
I start rolling my hips. Maybe because I’m imagining it’s my clit he’s sucking on.
Luke smirks. He puts his hand on my side, thumb brushing possessively across my bare belly.
He releases my fingers with a groan, and then he’s reaching down, tugging at my thong, and I lift my hips to help him take it off.
Southern Player: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 9