Southern Charmer

by Jessica Peterson

  His eyes go wide. “Seriously? You went in today? That’s incredible news! Congrats, baby.”

  “He was impressed with my resume, and even more impressed with my knowledge of the romance market. Apparently they’re trying to make the department a bit more career focused, so my specialty lines up nicely with that.”

  Eli tugs me into another hug, giving my whole body a squeeze this time.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you, Olivia. This sounds like something that’s so you. You love to write, and you love to teach. Now you’ll hopefully get to do both. And in my city, no less.”

  I’m smiling so hard I worry my face is going to crack.

  “Charleston’s my city now, too.”

  His turn to pull back. He searches my eyes.

  “You mean that?”

  I bite my lip. Nod. “I do.”

  In reply, he dips his head and nips at my earlobe. My breath catches. So does a hit of lust between my legs. It feels slightly different on my bare sex. More tingly. Which just makes me that much more turned on.

  “We should celebrate,” he breathes.

  “We should. I have another surprise,” I say. “But first, that wine you brought looks good.”

  Eli groans, hooking his first finger in the top button I have done on my shirt. “You really gonna make me wait?”

  “Delayed gratification,” I reply with a smirk. “It’ll make the payoff that much better. I promise.”

  Rolling his eyes, Eli reluctantly takes his hands off me and goes back into the kitchen.

  I watch the muscles in his forearm pop as he uncorks the bottle.

  “Cabinet above the stove,” I say when he looks up for glasses.

  He smiles. “I’m learnin’, sweetheart.”

  I join him in the kitchen, taking the glass he presses into my hand.

  His gaze flicks appreciatively over me again. His nostrils flare.

  I’m hit by the juiciest wave of that feeling—the feeling that there is nowhere on earth I’d rather be right now than in this kitchen with Eli. Drinking wine.

  Drinking each other in like horny teenagers.

  He nods at my shirt. “So you gonna take it off or what?

  I take a sip of wine. Sancerre. It’s perfectly cold, crisp, just a hint of fruit. I close my eyes, allowing myself a second to enjoy the feel of it on my tongue.

  “What are you going to give me to take it off?” I tease, opening my eyes.

  Reaching up, he tucks my wild hair behind my ear. Takes a sip of his wine before setting it back on the counter.

  “You know what I wanna give you, baby,” he says, his voice lower and softer and rougher, all at once.

  A new rush of heat to my pussy makes me squeeze my legs together.

  I’m a little sore. Nothing new there. He’s just so much bigger than I’m used to.

  He fucks me harder and better than I’m used to.

  I open my eyes to see him looking intently down at me. His eyes are soft.

  Hungry.

  My heart twists.

  Jesus, I am drowning in this man. Just when I come up for air he pulls me under again. A look, a sound, a touch—that’s all it takes to send me reeling. He never gives me a moment to catch my breath.

  He steps closer, surrounding me, and starts unbuttoning the shirt. Case in point.

  “How are you feeling?” he says, eyes not leaving mine. His concern is so sweet it makes me ache. Ever since I bled that first night, he’s been extra careful with me.

  Not to say he hasn’t been ardent in his attentions. He just knows my body better now. Knows when to push and when to pull back.

  His skill is intoxicating.

  “Like I’m drunk,” I reply honestly. “On you.”

  He laughs. “I can relate.”

  The top buttons are undone now. He reaches inside and gently cups my tit.

  Runs a calloused thumb over the nipple, coaxing it to a hard point.

  I arch into his touch, my breath catching.

  “Eli,” I plead.

  His hand moves back to the buttons. “Keep drinking the wine.”

  I blink. “The wine?”

  “You’re enjoying it.” The shirt is fully unbuttoned now. He parts it, putting his hands on my waist. “So keep drinking it.”

  He kisses my mouth. I rise into him, kissing him back.

  He hooks his finger into the strap of my thong. “You have no idea how much I love these little panties of yours.”

  “I do, actually,” I murmur. “But that’s not the surprise.”

  Eli pulls back to look me in the eye.

  “I like this game,” he says.

  Then he’s trailing his mouth down the slope of my jaw. He kisses my collarbone, my chest. Stops to take one nipple, then the other, into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder.

  Harder.

  My clit pulses. Agony.

  He crouches the further south he goes until he’s on his knees.

  Gliding his hands up my thighs, he gathers my hips in his hands and leans forward. Buries his nose into my crotch and inhales.

  “You smell so good here, too,” he says, pressing his lips to the red lace. “I can tell you’re already wet.”

  His fingers are in the straps at my sides now. I’m bursting with anticipation.

  My hand shakes as I bring the wine to my lips. I close my eyes and take a sip at the same moment Eli pulls my thong down.

  His hands go still on my legs. Silence.

  My heart flips. I drink the wine, letting it slide down my throat. I feel the start of a happy buzz inside my skin.

  “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he growls at last.

  I open my eyes to see him staring reverently at my bare pussy.

  “You did this?” His eyes flick to mine.

  My heart flips again.

  “I like it,” I reply. “Maybe not always. But it’s fun to try something new.”

  He shakes his head, letting out a pained scoff. “Fun. Jesus Christ, Olivia, sometimes I think you’re tryin’ to make me stroke out.”

  “So?” I shoot him a look. “Are you going to have fun with me? Or are you going to have that stroke?”

  In reply, he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, spreading me wide. Then he twists my thong in his fingers and gives it a solid, savage tug, snapping it in two. He throws it behind him.

  Turns his attention to my sex.

  He uses his thumbs to gently prod me. He feels the smooth skin on my labia. Rubs it. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  Watching his eyes darken with need as he looks at me, looks, turns me on so much it hurts.

  His thumbs open my lips. Now I’m spread wide right in front of his face.

  He’s still staring at me with such intensity I want to scream.

  He swipes at my clit, back to front, with the tip of his thumb. Just once.

  A tremor claps through me. Making my legs shake.

  “Yes,” I hiss. “Dear God, yes.”

  He shoots me a dark, saucy look before gliding that questioning thumb through the length of me. Front to back this time. I’m slick enough that he goes easily. Smoothly.

  My hips roll into his touch.

  His middle finger finds me. Sinks inside me at the same moment Eli leans forward and kisses me.

  He kisses me just above where my lips meet.

  I dig a hand into his hair and give it a pull.

  “I like that,” I say.

  Eli’s eyes flick up to meet mine. “Don’t forget your wine. Keep drinking, Olivia.”

  “How can I—”

  “Do it. Otherwise, you’re not getting this,” he says. His middle finger slips out of me, and he gives my clit a hard pluck between the knuckles of his first and second fingers. I moan.

  I tip back my wine and take a long, long sip.

  “That’s my girl. Good, right?”

  It is good. My buzz is growing in tandem with the throb in my sex. The two of them togethe
r is sensory overload.

  I love it.

  And then Eli is slipping a hand onto my ass, his fingers toying with the crease. He kisses my clit next, and my need for release tightens. Becomes almost unbearable.

  He tilts his head a little and then full on french kisses me. Takes all of my pussy—everything that I can see, anyway—in his mouth, laving at me with his tongue. His teeth. His lips.

  Slowly. Oh so slowly.

  I can’t help it. I cry out his name. I feel myself getting weak. Losing my footing.

  But Eli holds me up. One hand on my hip, the other still on my ass. His fingers are slipping lower inside my crack.

  Lower.

  I buck against his mouth when he presses a finger to my asshole.

  He doesn’t insert it. He just plays with my pucker, teasing me as he sucks hard on my clit.

  I moan again.

  I feel the wave coming. It’s already huge and overwhelming.

  “Why,” I gasp, tugging at his hair. “Why do you have to be so good at loving me?”

  Loving me. Panic lights in my belly at the words.

  I hadn’t meant to say that. I wanted to say those words when we weren’t—well—doing this. It’s important to me that I tell him I love him not in the heat of the moment, but in a moment I intentionally choose.

  Shit.

  “Because.” He gives my pussy a long, slow lick before locking eyes with me. His are clear, free of lust. “I do love you, Olivia.”

  It’s his eyes that do it. Yes, we’re in the heat of the moment right now. But he’s still somehow clear eyed.

  That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.

  I come. The orgasm to end all orgasms.

  Tears spring to my eyes at the bite of its intensity. I crumple against Eli as my limbs stiffen, then go slack. Beat after beat after beat of sweetness roils through my pussy. My blood.

  My heart feels like an open wound inside my chest. It’s bursting. It’s tender. It’s vulnerable, helpless against the onslaught of everything, everything Elijah.

  I close my eyes.

  I surrender.

  Eli gives my clit one last kiss. I feel him rising to his feet, his body brushing against mine. He grabs my wine. Sets it on the counter. Grabs me and lifts me onto the counter, too, looping one arm around my waist to hold me upright as he settles between my legs. I’m helpless. I cling to him, too overwhelmed to move.

  Above the furious working of my heart, I hear the tear of a foil packet. He pulls back for a minute.

  Then he’s prodding my entrance. He’s using his arm to guide me onto his dick. He sinks slowly into me, letting out a hiss between clenched teeth.

  He feels so good I can’t look at him. I’m worried I’ll combust. Be left in mangled pieces on the floor.

  Capturing my mouth in a kiss, he begins to roll his hips. God, I love the way he moves inside me. Deeply and strongly and slowly. Great, rolling, athletic thrusts. He takes his time.

  He’s always giving me time. Time and space to be who I am.

  I curl my arms around his neck.

  “I love you too, Elijah,” I say in his ear.

  He goes still mid-thrust.

  He pulls me a little closer, hanging his head.

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from you,” he says. His breath is ragged. “You’re all I want.”

  I’m finally able to roll my hips, needing him. He rolls back, needing me.

  Together, we bring him to orgasm. I feel him pulsing inside me, coming with a howl.

  “I don’t know how this keeps getting better,” I say when he finally catches his breath. “But it does.”

  “I’m a chef,” he says, pressing his lips to my neck. “You knew I’d eventually have to make love to you in a kitchen, right?”

  I laugh, pulling him closer.

  I can never get my southern charmer close enough.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Eli

  I wake up the next morning in Olivia’s bed with a big stupid grin on my face.

  She said it back.

  She told me she loved me.

  I’ve known for a while that I’m in love with her. Ever since—

  Well. I honestly couldn’t tell you the exact moment I fell in love with Olivia. Coulda been that night we danced to Bruce Springsteen in the rain. Or the moment she melted into me when we first kissed.

  Coulda been that first morning she showed up in my kitchen. That fire in her eyes. The way she’d smiled after devouring the breakfast I’d made her.

  I never had a chance, did I?

  Olivia rustles beside me. She’s on her side, her back to me. The sheets fall away, revealing her bare shoulder.

  Getting onto my side, I take it in my mouth. She moans. Without rolling over, she wiggles her hips, settling her ass into my groin.

  Grabbing her top leg, I pull it over mine, opening her. I reach around to slide my hand down the plane of her stomach and find her.

  Lust bolts through me at her bareness. As if I didn’t wake up hard enough as it is.

  She’s swollen. So slick her arousal coats my fingers.

  I groan my approval, giving her clit a soft, slow massage with my fingertips.

  “Mornin’, baby,” I murmur into her neck.

  She presses her ass into my cock. “Please,” she breathes.

  “Not too sore?”

  “Baby, please.”

  I grin harder. First time she’s ever called me baby.

  I fucking love it.

  I grab a condom from the bedside table and roll it on.

  Her leg still resting over mine, I guide myself to her cleft. I take her hip in my hand. Then I slip inside her, quick and quiet, biting the tendon that connects her neck to her shoulder.

  “Oh,” she pants, voice still raspy with sleep. “That feels—Elijah, that feels so nice.”

  I adore how she tells me what she likes. What she wants.

  Olivia reaches down and starts playing with herself as I thrust gently in and out of her.

  She comes five seconds later, clamping down on my dick like a vise. Then I come, too.

  All this sex has made me feel so connected to her. She’s become an essential part of me. When she’s not with me, I feel like something is missing. I feel sore, like her absence is a literal bruise.

  “I love you,” I say.

  Olivia glances at me over her shoulder. She smiles, those blue eyes flashing with happiness.

  “I love you too.”

  My heart soars.

  She sits up, letting the sheets fall to her waist. Her tits are nice and heavy, nipples puffy and a little red from the attention I gave them in the middle of the night.

  I reach up and take her left breast in my hand, fondling it absentmindedly as she checks her phone.

  “I have a lot of writing to do today,” she says, turning to run a hand through my hair. “Would you be cool letting yourself out? As much as I’d like to stay and do this”—she motions to our nakedness—“all morning, I should probably grab a shower and get a head start. Cate and Gunnar are about to have their black moment, which means I’m pretty damn close to being done with the book.”

  I give her tit a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

  “I’m proud of you, Olivia,” I say. “Just promise me you won’t torture Gunnar and Cate too much, all right? They’re very real to me, and I’m gonna hate to see them hurt.”

  She grins, tapping her first finger on the tip of my nose. “Sorry, Elijah, but you know how I love to torture them.”

  “You’re a sadist.”

  “That’s a serious accusation.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Want to find out if it’s true?”

  I groan at a new throb of desire in my groin.

  “Get in the shower. Now,” I grind out. “Otherwise you won’t be writin’ a damn thing today.”

  Laughing, Olivia gets out of bed and closes the bathroom door behind her. I always want to join her in the shower—and I have, many t
imes—but she didn’t invite me today. And there’s only so much sex a man can take. My dick is actually sore. Girl is tight. Means if she wasn’t sore before, she probably is now.

  Best to take a little time off, lest one of us suffer an unfortunate sex-related injury that keeps me from putting my hands on her for days rather than hours.

  Billy’s also waiting on me at home. I need to let him out.

  I roll off the bed and tug on my boxers and jeans. Grab my phone from the nightstand. Wallet. Keys. I leave the handful of condoms I brought with me. There’s already a stash I left here the other night, but you can never have too many of these things lying around.

  I hear Olivia turn on the shower.

  My gaze catches on the shirt on the floor by the foot of the bed.

  My shirt.

  The one Olivia stole because it had my smell on it.

  I grin, flicking my gaze to the dresser on the opposite wall.

  Two can play this game.

  Shoving my wallet and keys into my back pocket, I put my phone on the top of the dresser and open the first drawer.

  It’s filled to the brim with bits of lace.

  “Fuck. Yes,” I murmur, sticking my hand inside.

  All kinds of goodness catches on my fingers. I recognize the candy apple red bra. The nude thong. A naughty corset she wore the other night with see through cups and laces I couldn’t get undone fast enough.

  I’m more interested in the underwear, though.

  I want one of those red thongs. The kinds she wears when she wants me to notice.

  I keep digging. She’s got a lot of lingerie. A lot of it looks new. I smile when I think about her buying it just for me.

  My knuckles meet with the bottom of the drawer. Only—wait. It’s not the drawer. It’s some kind of box.

  A velvet box.

  My heart skips when I see that it’s small. Square. Familiar. A jewelry box.

  A ring box.

  I feel a weird sensation in my ears. The growing roar of an approaching wave.

  The velvet is suddenly clammy in my palm. Or maybe it’s my palm that’s clammy.

  This box belongs to Olivia. She put it in a drawer for a reason. I have no right to open it. I had no right to be digging through her drawers in the first place.