Southern Player Page 21

  Whatever we’re doing—whatever pervy shit I throw at him—he makes me feel safe. Welcome. Like I’m not crossing any lines because there are no lines between us. It’s wide open space.

  His fingers are really moving between my legs now. Catching on my clit, making me close my eyes. Taking me higher. Pushing me closer.

  Without warning, he pulls them away.

  “What the fuck?” I gasp, eyes flying open. “Don’t you—I’m so—I wanna come, Luke! I’m dying here.”

  “You’ll come on my dick.” He unzips his pants and pulls himself out. All savage, confident movements.

  Looking up, he reaches for the buttons of my shorts. Rips them through their buttonholes and shoves them down my thighs, along with my underwear.

  “Step out of them,” he murmurs against my mouth, licking inside my lips.

  I shimmy a little so my shorts and undies fall to my feet. I do as he tells me.

  I am naked from the waist down. In public.

  The feel of the air against my pussy and ass makes me draw a sharp breath. I glance to the left. Another couple on the sidewalk. Strolling along, unaware that twenty feet away are two desperate, panting animals about to fuck each other into oblivion.

  I look back at Luke. Eyes on my face, he grabs my leg and hikes it over his hip, spreading me wide. Settling himself between my legs, he takes his dick in his hand and carefully—slowly—parts my folds with the head. He slows when he comes to my clit, circling himself there. Slowly. I feel the slick warmth of his pre-cum making me even wetter.

  My orgasm coils low in my belly, twisting, tightening. Ready to release at any moment.

  I’m on the edge of pain.

  “Luke,” I plead. A little too loudly.

  He covers my mouth with his hand at the same moment he shoves inside me.

  I cry out. The muffled sound only making me hotter.

  “Be.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Quiet.” Thrust.

  He stays there for a second, buried to the hilt, and circles his hips.

  Hits my clit.

  I fall.

  I fall right the fuck off that cliff, bucking against Luke as my orgasm uncoils. Quick and painful. Sharp sharp sharp sensation. Clench after clench while he still pounds into me. The wooden slats on the wall behind me dig into my back, but I don’t care. I like the pain.

  This orgasm has bite. Teeth and tremors all at once.

  So I bite him. Luke. I open my mouth and sink my teeth into the calloused skin of his palm.

  He makes a noise. A smothered growl.

  And then he’s pulsing inside me. Coming, too, curling his body around mine. I feel the hot stickiness of his cum somewhere between us.

  Luke drops his head onto my shoulder. Breathing hard.

  He lets the hand fall from my mouth.

  I still struggle to catch my breath. That was…

  Intense. Intense and wonderful.

  Exactly what I wanted.

  Exactly how I dreamed it would feel.

  Luke nips at my collarbone. Trails his mouth over my shoulder. Lingering, scruffy kisses that draw my nipples to hard points. I try to dig my hand into his hair, but I find his hat instead. So I glide my middle finger between his hat and ear. Teasing the licks of hair that curl out there.

  Straightening, he watches my face as he pulls out of me. Slowly.

  Puts himself back inside his jeans with a wince. He bends down and grabs my shorts and underwear, instructing me to lift my feet so he can put them back on.

  I stand very still as he dresses me. I’m worried if I try to move my legs will give out.

  I am still shaking.

  I feel sticky and sated. Possessed.

  Had. I feel fucking had.

  And bewildered. I can’t get a grip on my body. My thoughts.

  My feelings. I was prepared for intense.

  I was not prepared for how overwhelmed it would make me feel.

  I mean. I just got fucked. In public. Outside of a bar.

  It’s rude and it’s wrong and it was so, so good.

  Luke buttons the top button on my shorts. I’m put back to rights.

  Wordlessly he takes my hand again and starts to lead me back toward the street.

  A knot of people, loud and clearly drunk, approach on the sidewalk.

  Luke’s cum is seeping down my leg.

  I can’t. Can’t calm down. Overwhelmed.

  Reading my distress, Luke slips an arm around my waist and holds me against him. Propping me up. His arm is the only thing that keeps me upright as we step onto the sidewalk, joining the crowd like we’re just another pair of tourists in town for the weekend.

  Like we’re not two fiends who just fucked in an alley, ten feet from curious eyes.

  “You like it?” Luke murmurs.

  I manage a scoff. “Did I like it? Luke, I liked it so much I think I might need a cigarette or something.”

  “You smoke?”

  “Would you judge me if I did?”

  “Naw, baby. I don’t judge.”

  He doesn’t. One of the five hundred thousand reasons why I adore this man.

  I look down at my leg. Nothing noticeable. But I feel it.

  “What?” Luke asks.

  “I need a napkin.”

  He slows his stride. “Wanna use my shirt?”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “Shirt looks too good on you—I don’t want to ruin it.”

  “I think Mama put some wet wipes in my glove box.”

  I look up at the street. It’s busy. Lit up. Loud.

  I look up at the sky. I can just barely make out the stars.

  The ocean is two blocks away. Bet we could see the stars there.

  I could also take care of this bodily fluid situation.

  “Let’s go to the beach instead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gracie

  The bustle and lights of Middle Street feel a world away the second we step over the dunes and onto the beach.

  I unbuckle my sandals. Luke toes off his boots and takes off his socks.

  Then he’s reaching for me. Curling his hand around the nape of my neck, holding me in the warm little hollow between his arm and torso.

  A tug of panic.

  This feels too nice. I’m falling too fast.

  I’m showing him too much. If he leaves—

  Stop.

  Stop stop stop.

  All of that is true. But I choose to see the bright side instead.

  I choose to be brave.

  I choose it for one heartbeat, then another. And another. My feet sinking into the sand, still warm from the day’s sun, Luke moving steadily beside me in long, even strides.

  I feel a weight start to lift off my chest. It’s still there. Not entirely gone. But it’s not as heavy as it was when the night started.

  Not nearly as heavy as it was when I ran into Luke that afternoon outside The Pearl.

  The roar of the ocean is loud. Sky enormous and speckled with stars. Breeze stronger here, coming off the water with salt-scented intensity.

  I feel full and achy everywhere. Sticky, too, between my legs and along my ribcage, where my tank top clings to the sweat on my skin.

  I need to wash it all off. The sweat. The cum. My fear.

  I need to step into the water—step into my life—and begin again. Not knowing how it will go. If it will blow up in my face like it did before.

  But going in faith nonetheless.

  I head toward the ocean, Luke still beside me. He swipes his thumb along the side of my neck. I close my eyes, allowing myself to revel in the feel of his touch.

  I love the way this man touches me. Easy and thoughtful and thorough. Always reaching for me. Wanting me. Like he needs to have me within arm’s reach at all times.

  Like he wants to be with me, right beside me, all the damn time.

  Tide is out. Leaving a wide swath of gently sloping beach. The sand is wet here. Cooler than the sand up by the dunes, but still warm.r />
  I look over my shoulder. No one is around—not at this time of night.

  I look back out over the water. A three quarter moon is reflected in a blue-white lane across the ocean’s surface. It narrows toward a dark horizon.

  The ocean rises and falls. Rises and falls. Calmly. Patiently.

  Waiting for me.

  Ducking out of Luke’s grasp, I tug my tank top over my head.

  “Whoa,” Luke says. “You’re actually going in?”

  I turn to look at him. “You don’t have to come.”

  “You’re crazy if you think I’m lettin’ you swim at night alone,” he says, crossing his arms to reach for the hem of his shirt.

  I shuck off my shorts.

  I don’t wait for Luke to start wading into the water. Not because I’m trying to be rude. But because I need a minute alone.

  I need a minute.

  The water is warm. It hits my ankles. The middle of my shins. I feel a thousand tiny seashells pressing into the soles of my feet. I wince when I step on an especially sharp one.

  Otherwise, the sand is soft.

  I’m up to my knees. Then my thighs.

  “Gracie,” Luke calls from behind me. An admonishment to wait.

  I keep going.

  There could be sharks. Rip currents. Crabs with pincers poised, eager to clip off a toe.

  But I keep moving forward. The sound of the ocean calming my thoughts, my body. Only the beating of my heart loud enough to be heard above it.

  I’m up to my waist when I stop. Holding my arms against my chest.

  I look at the ocean. I look up at the sky.

  Then I close my eyes and I bend my knees and I go under the water. Head and everything.

  My first thought is ohmigod I really hope there are no sharks it is so dark down here.

  But then my second thought is okay it’s okay.

  The water crashes into my body as a wave passes, and I imagine it crashing into the guard I’ve had up. I imagine myself lowering it, inch by inch. The water sloshing over the top and into my chest.

  I can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

  It’s terrifying.

  Seriously, there better not be sharks.

  The urge to jump up and run back to shore overwhelms me. But I resist it. Stay under. Unfurl my arms.

  For a second, I just float.

  I surrender.

  And you know what? A shark doesn’t eat me. I’m not swept away by any tides or currents. Once I get past those fears it’s kind of…

  Peaceful.

  Warm.

  Okay.

  Maybe this is just me claiming what was mine all along. Maybe I’m finally claiming my own damn life from the lists and the shoulds and the perfectionism that tried to take it from me.

  Maybe I’m finally showing up for myself in a way I should’ve been doing all along. I can have good sex and a good man, too.

  I can be myself and be loved for it, too.

  I feel a sensation in my chest. The kind you get after a good cry, when the worst has passed and you’re able to breathe again.

  A relief, almost. The relief that comes when the emotions running roughshod over your heart move on. Leaving tire marks in their wake.

  Marks that have already started to heal.

  Told you so, a voice inside me says.

  In the darkness I hear my name. Gracie. Gracie, you okay?

  I stay down for another half second.

  I make my choice.

  And then I pop back up, gasping for air.

  “Jesus Christ, Gracie, I thought you went under!” Luke says.

  I turn around, making the water swirl around my waist.

  There he is.

  Just the sight of him fills me up. He’s up to his hips in the water. Bare chested, no hat. Hair flying up in the breeze.

  I can’t help it. I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands move up my sides, slow and soft, like he’s checking for injuries.

  “I’m all right,” I breathe.

  He curls his arms around me. Pulls me so tight against him that he lifts me out of the water.

  “You scared me, baby,” he murmurs in my ear.

  You scare me too. But I’m going to love you anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Gracie

  I wake up in Luke’s bed.

  The biggest, coziest bed in existence.

  How can this be the first time? I think as I blink open my eyes. I feel like I’ve been in love with Luke forever. Whole lifetimes. How is this the first time I am waking up in his bed?

  It’s been years, right? Years, not days, since that night at The Spotted Wolf when we talked about truth and love and sex?

  I smile. Hard enough to hurt.

  Even harder when I think about everything that went down last night.

  I can love you like that, he said.

  How did we cover so much ground in the space of one night?

  How is all of this happening so quickly?

  Maybe it’s been happening all along—for years now—and I just didn’t recognize it. Too wrapped up in my own shit to ever consider the idea of Luke making me happy.

  Funny how the things we think will make us happy usually don’t. While the things we don’t even consider—the people we don’t consider—send our hearts soaring.

  I glance at the bed beside me. The covers are pushed back. Luke is nowhere in sight.

  I listen for running water. The sound of a shower, of heavy footsteps downstairs.

  Nothing but the quiet.

  So, so quiet. The kind you don’t get living downtown.

  It’s strange. But nice.

  Sunlight pours through the windows on the opposite side of the room. The light is ardent but thin. It’s early.

  Welcome to your thirties. When you wake up at the ass crack of dawn despite staying up all night fucking and drinking and laughing.

  I stretch, feeling a pulse of arousal at my nakedness.

  I am sore. Everywhere. My face. I can only imagine that’s from so much smiling and laughing. Between my legs and along the sides of my back. My hip flexers ache—yep, I’m definitely thirty-one—and so do my hamstrings.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it all over again. I have a meeting with my contractor at 12, and another with my staff at 2:30. A million errands to run and an infinite number of details to arrange. Emails to answer. Calls to make.

  With the re-opening in less than a week, my plate is full.

  But I’m gonna find a way to squeeze Luke into my schedule if it kills me. Maybe he can sleep over at my place again tonight. I can probably swing a late dinner, or at least a drink…

  We’ll make something work.

  In the meantime, I just hope there’s time for one more round this morning.

  “Ow,” I say when I get out of bed. My legs are wobbly. Weak.

  Somehow I manage to grab my underwear off the floor. Along with Luke’s t-shirt. I take a big inhale as I slide it over my head.

  The nubby, worn fabric smells like him.

  Another hit of arousal. Walking to the bathroom, I realize that I am wet.

  Is this how life with Luke is going to be? Walking around in a state of constant arousal and post-fuck exhaustion?

  It’s almost too much.

  Almost.

  I freshen up in the bathroom and head downstairs. Smile when I see a shiny new coffee pot and mug on the counter. The carafe filled with coffee that, from the smell of it, was just brewed.

  Luke doesn’t drink coffee. He must’ve bought this—the coffee maker, the mug, the unopened quart of half and half I find in the fridge—just for me.

  My heart, already full, spills over.

  Cupping the mug in my hands, I poke around for Luke. He’s nowhere to be found, so I head outside. Maybe he had to go check on something. Or maybe he went for a little early morning naked tractor ride, just because he can.

  The morning is already warm. Humid. Quiet. I pad out on
to the lawn, the grass still wet with dew and soft beneath my feet. Then I hear a noise—a splash—somewhere in the distance.

  Maybe Luke is on the dock he showed me yesterday.

  I head that way. Careful to stay on the strip of grass between the sandy grooves no doubt worn by Luke’s tractor. Sipping my coffee slowly. Savoring it.

  For Luke’s first effort, it’s pretty damn good.

  The dock is longer than I remember. It stretches way out onto the water, which is a smooth sheet of glass right now. Except for the little ripples I see near the platform at the end of the dock.

  My pulse starts to pound.

  “Luke?” I call, making my way down the dock. “That you?”

  And then he appears. Emerging from the water like some kind of bulging, beatifically naked John the Baptist.

  Luke grasps the handles of the metal ladder at the end of the dock and hoists himself up. Biceps literally bulging. Veins in his forearms popping. Water sluicing off him.

  He is naked.

  Amen I say.

  Amen.

  Spearing a hand through his hair, he looks wild. Unkempt. Huge.

  Huge and naked and at home. Like he belongs out here. As much a part of the landscape as the river and the oaks and the sky. Dick hanging between his legs, innocent. Innocuous. Like it isn’t a destroyer of bodies and souls and sexual hang-ups.

  Luke turns his head. One side of his mouth quirking up when he catches me staring.

  “Mornin’, Gracie girl. Needed to stretch my legs and cool off,” he says. “See you found the coffee. Any good?”

  For several beats I just stare at him, the mug of coffee in my hands scalding my palms.

  “Fuck off,” I finally say. Heart popping in my ears.

  “Pardon?”

  “You. Your shoulders. That dick. Just—Luke, fuck off.”

  He smirks. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, baby girl? That’s all right. Breakfast will make you feel better.”

  I bite my lip. “Grits?”

  “You,” he replies, shaking his head. “Your cunt. That’s what I want.”

  I keep staring. The velvety scent of coffee filling my head and Luke filling my lungs and my heart and my entire fucking being.

  “You hungry for me, too?” he says.

  I let out a breath. A scoff. Of course.