Southern Gentleman: A Charleston Heat Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  Damn him, he makes it look so easy.

  “Stop thinking,” Julia says, curling an arm around my waist. Pressing her body to mine. Oh, Lord. “You’re at a wedding where the average age is fifty-seven. Trust me, you’re going to look good out here no matter what.”

  For one heartbeat, then another, I kind of just…stand there. Swaying slightly from one foot to the other. The gin loosened me up a bit, but I still feel awkward and stupid.

  I’m also worried about scaring people with my TDP.

  But then Julia is slipping her hands underneath my jacket. She’s pulling me even closer, grinding her hips against me.

  My dick screams.

  I start.

  “Jules—”

  “It’s all right.” She bites her lip. “No one will see but me.”

  And then she grinds against me again. And again.

  My body starts to move. Pure instinct and need. I’m hard but I don’t care. I just keep up with Julia. My hands on her waist, her sides. Her ass when no one is looking.

  We dance to Donna Summer and The Village People. She laughs when I spin her, and I laugh when she spins me and I completely fuck the whole thing up, nearly taking us both down when I bend my back too much.

  I stop thinking about what people will think.

  I stop thinking about my pants. Even though they’re getting really fucking tight.

  I stop thinking about my past. About work.

  I just dance. Like an idiot. I let go and throw my hands up when the band plays “Shout.” Julia falls on her butt when she tries to go low, and the two of us are laughing so hard we’re crying as I pick her up off the ground.

  I’m sweating. Smiling. Moving.

  Julia is right there with me, bumping into me with welcome regularity. She’s got her fingers in my hair. She’s turning around and rolling her ass into my crotch.

  I pull her to me, her back to my front, and trail my lips over her neck.

  She turns her head to look at me. Grins. Eyes alive with mischief. Arousal.

  I wonder how wet she is.

  “I’m happy,” she says.

  “Me too,” I say.

  We continue our dance floor dry humping until the very last song.

  * * *

  Back at the hotel, Julia comes out of the bathroom wearing a bathrobe tied at the waist.

  I’m waiting for her just outside the door. She startles, eyes going wide.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  In reply I pick her up and turn around, setting her on top of the tall boy dresser on the opposite wall.

  “I need you,” I say, using my hand to part her knees. Her robe falls open a little, revealing her red satin thong. “How bad do you need me?”

  She bites her lip. “You mean how much did your Patrick Swayze dancing turn me on? Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

  Keeping my eyes trained on hers, I use my first two fingers to glide her thong to the side. Revealing the slick folds of her pussy.

  I press my thumb to her center. Groan when I find her hot and swollen and fuck so soft.

  She’s this hot for me.

  She’s this hot despite the fact that I looked like an idiot on the dance floor.

  Or maybe because of it.

  Julia’s mouth falls open. She looks at me through heavy lids, breath starting to come in pants.

  I play with her for a minute, drawing my thumb lightly up her cunt. Across it. Staring at her in wonder. Her legs fall open a little wider.

  I step between them and, gliding my hand from her pussy up to her waist, reach for the knot there and give it a tug. Her robe falls open. I guide the robe over her shoulders, baring her tits.

  She shivers. I groan.

  Her breasts are fucking perfect. They’ve gotten heavier. Fuller. Her nipples have darkened, gorgeous, raspberry-colored circles.

  I lean down and trail my mouth over her belly. Up to one nipple. I give it a gentle suck, holding her bare waist in my hands, and Julia arches against me, fingers slicing into my hair.

  “You looked so beautiful tonight,” I say, carefully giving the underside of her tit a small bite. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since you stepped off that bus. And when you started dancing—sweetheart, I was done.”

  When I hook my fingers around the straps of her panties and pull them over her legs, she falls back against the wall. Face flushed, tits firm and high, cunt bared to me.

  I want her bared to me. All of her. The way I’ve bared myself to her.

  “I’m glad you decided to dance, Grey,” she says. “Really, really glad. You know, you’re not half bad.”

  I grin. “Hey. I was better than that, wasn’t I?”

  “Show me,” she says, a wicked little smirk on her lips. “Show me how good you are, baby.”

  I cup her breast in my hand. Draw my thumb over the hardened point at the same moment I press two of my fingers down over her clit, then back up again.

  Julia’s head falls back.

  I toy with her nipples. Toy with her pussy, circling my fingertips through her folds, taking my time while she eggs me on by bucking her hips.

  All the while I watch her. Eyes on her face. Taking in every sigh, every small smile, every time her breath catches.

  My dick presses painfully against the front of my pants. At this point, I could care less if they tear open. Seems fitting for the evening we’re having.

  I lean in and kiss her chest, her throat, moving both my hands to her pussy. Holding her lips open with my thumbs, I duck down and give her a quick, firm lick, back to front.

  “Grey,” she moans. “I’m close. Please.”

  Smiling, I sink two fingers of one hand inside her. I circle my thumb over her clit.

  And then, straightening, I tickle her asshole with my pinkie finger.

  Like clockwork, she comes.

  With a shout. Her legs clamp around my torso and she bolts upright, arms wrapped around my head as her cunt pulses around my fingers.

  I wait for her orgasm to subside and her breathing to slow.

  Then I make quick work of my pants and boxers. I lift her off the dresser and press her up against the wall. She slides down my torso, the heat of her bare pussy meeting with the head of my cock as I wrap her legs around my waist.

  “I love having you like this,” I say softly, pressing my thumb to her clit. “Bare.”

  After my screen came back negative, we stopped using condoms.

  The feel of her raw—it’s heaven.

  She runs a hand through my hair, smoothing it back from my face.

  Without a word, she reaches down and positions me at her entrance. Rocking her hips, she welcomes me inside her. Just my head.

  Just enough to make me see stars. The sensation of feeling her raw—hot, sweet, soft—

  The knowledge that she trusts me, that she’s letting me in—

  I growl, burying my head in the crook of her shoulder. I move my hands to her ass cheeks and guide her farther down onto my shaft. I can just feel the final echoes of her orgasm in small, sweet flutters.

  Fucking hell.

  I gotta have her. This woman who trusts me and knows me and keeps me, despite everything.

  Rocking back my hips, I surge forward, impaling her in one strong, measured motion. Her tits bounce; her mouth is open again, and I cover it with mine. Biting her, claiming her as I rock back, thrust forward, again and again and again. Each time harder and faster. Gliding through her slick heat with ease. Mindless with lust and love and my God look how far we’ve come.

  Look how good this has gotten.

  The dresser beside us rocks against the wall in time to my movements. Neighbors can definitely hear us fucking like animals but I don’t care.

  She sucks on my lower lip. Tears at my back with her fingernails, even as she spreads her legs wider, asking for more, wanting me to go deeper.

  I come. Hard. Going still as I empty myself inside her.

  Always.

  This is alwa
ys how I want it to be between us.

  Open and raw and real.

  Vulnerable.

  This is what I’ve been after. This is what I’ve been looking for my whole life without even knowing it.

  The truth. The trust. The connection.

  Seeing and being seen. It’s a risk.

  But now I understand it’s one worth taking.

  * * *

  Julia

  I wake up early the next morning. Beside me, Grey is still sleeping. I peek underneath the covers and smile when I see his bare ass, pale and thickly muscled.

  A pulse of desire flares between my legs.

  Will I ever get over how sexy this man is?

  I contemplate waking Grey up, but then I decide against it. The man danced that cute ass off last night. He needs his rest.

  So I head to the bathroom, then grab my book and settle back into bed. Nothing like some quiet Sunday morning reading time.

  I’m barely through a paragraph before I feel something, a flutter, low in my abdomen.

  At first I think it’s just gas. It feels like little bubbles. A ripple of air moving through my stomach.

  But then I feel it again. Stronger this time. Feels more like a distinct roll. Not the kind of stomach roll you get on a rollercoaster. But more of a sense of pressure, slight but insistent.

  I feel it again.

  My heart skips a beat. I put my hand over my stomach. I can’t feel anything from the outside, but I can feel another roll from within.

  It’s Charlie Brown. Has to be. I’m feeling him or her move for the first time.

  My heart starts to pound, and I smile. Hard.

  Holy shit, there is a live baby inside me. And she’s doing backflips first thing in the morning.

  The fact that I’m having a baby becomes suddenly—terrifyingly—real.

  My smile fades as panic rises inside my chest, making my heart pound harder. Grey and I are going to be responsible for another human life. There’s no going back.

  In a few months, life as we know it is going to be forever altered. Sexy nights spent in hotels? Quiet weekend mornings in bed together?

  Yeah, we can kiss those goodbye.

  The baby does another backflip. I try my best to breathe deeply, the way Katie taught us in yoga class.

  “Hey.” I almost start when I feel a hand move down my leg. “Hey, Jules, you all right?”

  Blinking, I turn to see Grey looking up at me from his pillow, brow furrowed.

  I take his hand and move it to my belly.

  “Baby’s moving.”

  His eyes go wide. He bolts upright, the covers falling from the broad expanse of his chest.

  “You can’t feel it from the outside,” I say, even though I keep his hand on my stomach. “But she’s definitely moving around in there.”

  “Does it hurt? The way you were breathing—”

  “Nah. Feels like bubbles. I’m just having a teeny tiny panic attack over the fact that we’re having a baby, and that she’s coming so soon.”

  Grey nods his head, pressing his hand a bit more firmly against me.

  “That’s fair. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? The permanence of it. The idea that we’re going to be responsible for keeping her alive.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “But.” Grey leans in and grazes his lips across my bare shoulder. “It’s also really, really exciting. What is her laugh going to sound like? Will she have hair, or will she be a sweet little bald peanut? Most importantly, is she going to be smart and beautiful like her mother—”

  “Or growly and demanding like her father?”

  He grins. “Let’s hope she takes after you.”

  I manage a tight smile. “You don’t get the excitement without the terror, I guess.”

  “Parenthood in a nutshell?”

  My smile grows. Of course he’d get me back to smiling.

  “Whatever the case, I’m grateful I get to do it with you,” I reply.

  Grey nods, his mouth moving to my chest.

  “Show me how grateful, exactly.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Julia

  After slogging through my first trimester, I feel like I’m riding a high in my second.

  Not only am I back to feeling like myself, both mentally and physically, I’ve also made some new mom-to-be friends through the yoga classes I’ve been taking. Hallie, Fiona and I meet once a week for coffee. We commiserate—swollen ankles, shitty sleep—and chat about babies and breast feeding and normal, non-pregnancy related stuff, too. Stressful jobs and sick parents and not-so-secret dreams that don’t disappear when you become a mother.

  Neither does your desire to connect with the world. Other people. New ideas. I always leave our coffee dates feeling energized and at ease. Like everything is going to be okay.

  I’m back to feeling like myself at work, too. I begin the spring semester on a high note, with the English department head approving a “Romance Summit” Olivia and I are planning for spring of next year. We’re inviting authors, agents, publishers, and other academics to campus for a weekend of all things romance related. It’s part of our ongoing effort to get the genre the recognition it deserves.

  I’m also in love. Head over heels in love with Grey. I spent the holidays with his family, which was wonderful. He’s been pretty great himself. A little distracted, yes. But he makes a real effort to ensure that I’m comfortable and looked after. He’s thoughtful. He makes me come at least once a day.

  He’s trying to find a balance between life and work.

  And I am content with that. The trying. It’s enough.

  Until it isn’t.

  Olivia, Gracie and I arrive at Hello Baby right on time on a sunny Saturday morning. We wait for Grey to show. And wait some more.

  “You sure you gave him the right date?” Olivia asks, glancing at my phone.

  I’ve sent Grey three texts and called him twice. No answer.

  “I’m sure. I reminded him this morning,” I say. I run through our conversations in my head, just to be certain. “He’s late sometimes, but never this late. I’m really sorry.”

  My annoyance, simmering up until now, flares to full blown anger. Why am I the one apologizing for Grey’s fuck up? It’s not my fault he forgot. Or was too busy at work to make it.

  Makes me wonder if he ever did that research or read any books yet. He’s on his laptop in bed pretty much every night. I’d hoped—maybe stupidly—he was doing the research and reading then.

  I’m twenty-one weeks. While we still have time, we definitely need to start thinking about things like what car seat we’ll bring Charlie Brown home in, and where she’ll sleep as a newborn and beyond. I don’t want to be unprepared or feel rushed. I imagine having a new baby will be stressful enough. Adding disorganization to the mix feels like a recipe for disaster.

  I’ve done my research. I’ve consulted half a dozen books on the stuff we’ll need, and I’ve copied a bunch of ideas from my fellow mamas-to-be’s registries. Case in point: I carry a literal folder of information with me into the store.

  Gracie glances at her watch. “Well. Why don’t we get started? Greyson can give us his thoughts when he gets here.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, and grab her hand. “Thanks, y’all. For being here. Clearly I’d be doing this alone without you.”

  Olivia gives me a sympathetic smile and runs a hand across my back.

  “He’ll show, Julia. It was probably just a mix up. And if it wasn’t, I will personally go kick his ass.”

  “I’ll go too,” Gracie says. “Luke taught me how to properly swing a baseball bat. I keep one in my trunk, just in case.”

  But Grey doesn’t show. The girls and I spend hours in the store. Scanner guns in hand, the three of us debating the merits of various bottle nipples and whether or not I’ll need a wipe warmer.

  It’s not super fun picking everything out. Studying the various safety features of car seats is only so exciting. But it is f
un being with my girlfriends for the morning. I always love their company. And it is exciting to think about using all this stuff when Charlie Brown arrives. Now that I can feel him or her moving, the whole thing is starting to feel thrillingly—terrifyingly—real.

  Still. There’s a lump lodged in my throat the entire time as my anger and disappointment and frustration grow.

  I feel like I’ve asked very, very little of Grey up to this point when it comes to the baby. Yes, he’s cooked. Yes, he’s been to a couple doctor appointments, and he’s taken me to Jeni’s when I’m craving Chardonnay but settle for ice cream instead.

  But he hasn’t dedicated real time to really un-fun baby things like I have. The bottle nipples and car seats are case in point. I’d much rather read romance than books on breastfeeding, or spend the afternoon recruiting panel members and keynote speakers for next year’s summit.

  Grey promised to be an equal partner in this. But the baby is barely the size of a spaghetti squash, and already I feel like I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.

  It’s not fair. And it hurts my feelings that he’d put me in this position. That he’d let me do more, full well knowing how important it is to me that we share the work as equally as we’re able.

  Grey calls just as we’re walking out of Hello Baby.

  “Jules,” he says before I can say hello.

  “Hey,” I manage.

  “Oh my God, I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart. Shit really hit the fan over at The Champagne Bar this morning. A server stole three cases of Cristal and six of Veuve Cliquot—some of the most expensive stuff we have on the menu. Over ten grand, just gone. The cops came and we filed a report. I was on the phone for a fucking hour with our insurance agent trying to figure out what to do. It was a total clusterfuck. I couldn’t get away, and I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. But I—”

  “Had to work,” I reply tightly. “Right.”