The image flashes through my mind: Luke lying down in his bed. One arm tucked underneath his head. The other reaching inside those fucking jeans and grabbing his dick.
My mouth waters at the memory of his taste. Salt. Skin. Him.
“Is now a good time?” I ask. “I don’t mean to bother you—”
“Baby, you callin’ for phone sex is never a bother. I always got time for that.”
My chest swells a little bit. “You sure? And how’d you know that’s what I was calling for?”
“Lucky guess. It’s too late for either of us to travel. And your voice—I could tell by your voice. It’s different. Little huskier than normal.”
My entire body pulses. The water suddenly feels a little too hot.
“You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you.”
I take a deep breath. Making my nipples break the surface of the water.
“Hi, Luke,” I say.
“Hey, Gracie,” he replies. He groans again, a little softer this time.
“What was that?”
“That was me lyin’ down on my bed. Figure it’s best to be comfortable for this kinda thing.”
Oh Goooodddddd.
“Are you wearing a shirt?”
He chuckles. This masculine sound that makes my nipples harden.
“As a matter of fact, I’m not. Had a long day here on the farm, so I just showered. I’m wearin’ a pair of sweats.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“They don’t happen to be grey, do they?”
Another chuckle. “Yes, they’re grey. And yes, they leave very little to the imagination.”
Picturing Luke in his big cozy bed, no shirt, smelling like the shower, uncut cock bulging against the thin fabric of his sweats—
I’m surprised I don’t have a fembot moment, my head exploding from too much hairy sexiness.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” I ask.
“Gracie. I promise I’m okay with this, and that you’re not bein’ a bother. I’d let you know otherwise.”
“Okay.” I let out a breath. “Okay.”
A beat of uncomfortable silence. Now that we’ve agreed to do this, I feel a little…awkward. Since I’m the one who initiated, I need to be the one to take the lead here. I’m just not quite sure how to do that.
I try to focus on the sensations moving through me. Focus on what Luke said yesterday.
Tell me everything.
You got the prettiest little pussy I ever seen.
Yup, that’s it.
“If you were here, you’d…” I say, switching my phone from my right hand to my left. How did this bathtub sex thing go down with Max and Jane again? “You’d come into my bathroom and kneel beside the tub.”
“There bubbles in that bath? Or is the water clear so I can see everything?”
I glide my hand down my chest and cup my breast. “No bubbles. I use epsom salts.”
Another groan. “What do your tits look like?”
“You look at them, and my nipples get hard. So you roll up your sleeve and you reach down, cupping one.” My pulse is drumming. But I’m too turned on to stop. “You play with my nipple.”
I start to do the same, running my thumb over it. A slow, patient circle. Just how Luke would do it. A charge of heat bolts through me, landing in my clit.
“Aw. Aw, yeah. Okay.” He sucks in a breath. “Then what?”
“Then you’d play with the other. Eyes on my face the whole time. You’d make me wet. Really, really wet.”
“You like it when I play with your nipples,” he says.
“I’m playing with them right now.”
“Fuck. Gracie—honey, I gotta touch myself. Tell me how.”
I bite my lip. Luke took charge last night. But he’s asking me to take the lead.
I am the one calling the shots.
The thought excites me.
I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. I guess I didn’t think I’d like dominating. Too much exposure to Christian Grey or something.
But I am turned on by it. The idea that I have complete control over this giant piece of man. No denying that.
Immediately resistance rises up inside me. Too weird too dirty too embarrassing.
I hesitate.
But then I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Then another. My body blinking awake with awareness as I walk those negative thoughts back.
Luke is handing me one of my fantasies on a silver platter. I don’t know when I’ll have an opportunity like this again.
I have to take it. I owe it to myself to try.
My heart marks a staccato beat. Try. It. Try. It.
Try it.
I pinch my nipple.
“You gonna do exactly as I say?” I ask.
“Down to the stroke. Yes. But for fuck’s sake, make it happen sooner rather than later. I’m hurtin’, baby.”
Another charge of heat. My body is winding up. Curling tight in anticipation of release.
“Take your hand and move it down your chest. Go slowly.”
Luke lets out this little breath. I see him in my head. Phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as his big, broad hand wanders down his big, broad chest. Fingers catching in his wiry, blond-red chest hair.
“Now touch your nipples,” I say, lust shooting through me as the words leave my mouth. “Pinch them.”
I wait. And then—
Then he hisses. “I like that.”
“Imagine it’s me biting them. Licking them. Would you like that, too?”
“Ah. Ah, Gracie I—uh huh.”
He’s losing his shit.
He likes to be dominated as much as I like to dominate.
Time to jump in with both feet.
My hand dips below the surface of the water. “You want to wash me. So you take a washcloth. Get it nice and soapy.”
“And then,” he pants, “what do I do?”
“You wash me between my legs. They fall open, and my hips start to roll against your hand. Your thumb hits my clit through the washcloth.”
“Fuck fuck fuuuuck. Baby, let me touch myself. Tell me to touch myself or I’m gonna die.”
My middle finger slides into my folds. “Pull your sweats down. Not all the way. Just over your hips.”
I hear him breathing hard. “Okay. They’re down.”
“Tell me how your dick looks. But no touching it. Not yet.”
He sputters. “I’m—it’s hard, baby girl. So hard for you. There’s a little cum on the tip. And the vein—there’s two that—you can see them. Baby, please. Lemme touch it.”
I remember the feel of his cum on my lips. Slick, a little sticky. I was so vulnerable in that moment. So exposed. But I also felt powerful. Luke’s obvious adoration—his barely restrained lust—it made me feel like a fucking rock star.
I circle my fingertip around my clit. My hips buck.
“Rub the cum over the head.”
“O—okay.”
“Now give yourself a stroke. One only.”
He doesn’t wait. I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“Aw, honey,” he pleads.
I stroke myself again. “Another.”
“I’m there.”
“So you keep rubbing me with the washcloth. Your other hand—you lather it up with soap, keeping the soap in your hand while you glide it over my tits. You like how they look when they’re all soapy and slick. You keep pressing against my clit with the other hand, the rough cotton of the washcloth catching on my flesh. Driving me wild. I’m moaning your name.”
“Gracie.”
“I’m soft and spread wide open for you. I tell you that I want you to fuck me. But you say naw, naw baby, I’m gonna make you come first.” My finger is really working my clit now. “Start stroking yourself.”
“As much as I want?”
“As much as you want.”
His breathing becomes labored. I imagine t
he sinews in his neck tightening and his mouth falling open as he works his hand in smooth, hard strokes.
“I grab at you. My orgasm is close. You lose the washcloth and touch me. I’m soft. Ready for you.”
He lets out a strangled growl.
“Your first two fingers sink inside me as you use your thumb to make me come.”
“You’re coming?” he says, his voice cracking.
I’m pulling at my nipples now, working my clit hard with my other hand. “I come. Really hard.”
“Then,” he breathes. “Then what?”
“And then you pull me out of the bathtub. You grab me and spin me around and bend me over the sink. Water is everywhere. The pants you’re wearing are soaked. But you don’t care. All you care about is getting your dick out. I watch in the mirror as you lather yourself up with your soapy hand. Then…then youuuuu—” I lose my grip for a second when my orgasm threatens. “You say you’re going to put it in my ass.”
“Oh, baby,” he groans.
“You work my asshole open with your fingers. Stay fucking still you tell me when I start to squirm. You use your knee to pry my legs open. And then you put yourself at my entrance. You’re ready, you tell me as you meet my eyes in the mirror. I look away, but then you say You look at me when I’m fucking you.”
I hear Luke’s labored breathing. His obvious distress only eggs me on more.
“So I look at you. And you fuck me. Slowly at first. Sinking in one inch at a time. The pressure is unreal. It hurts at first. But then, when I get used to the feel of you, you start to move.” My orgasm is close. “You grab my hair and you thrust again and again, putting that baseball butt to good use.”
He scoffs. The sound half amused, half pained. “Gracie. I’m gonna come. Tell me it’s okay.”
“Can we—can we try to do it together? I’m close too.”
“You’re the one in charge. You tell me.”
I focus on the movement of my fingers over my clit. I close my eyes and imagine what Luke looks like on his bed, strung out on this little spontaneous fantasy I threaded together from bits and pieces of imagination. His chest barrels out with every breath he takes. Brow furrowed, dick hard but eyes soft.
He’s vulnerable. Even though I’m not actually there, I feel his openness, his willingness to let his need show, through the phone. It’s in his voice and his pauses. His sighs and his pleas.
All in the service of my fantasy. My needs.
The thought makes my chest contract. That ache I felt this morning—it’s back with a vengeance.
I can’t fucking breathe.
“Luke,” I say, my body arching out of the water. “I’m ready, and I want you with me.”
“I’m here, Gracie girl. I’m ready.”
I circle my fingers faster. Their motion blurring my senses, my vision, every line I’ve drawn.
“Luke—I’m—”
“I’m there,” he grunts. “I’m with you.”
The explosion rocks me. I shout—what, I couldn’t tell you—as my completion rips through me. My legs tremble, sending water over the edge of the tub. I feel myself unfurling, opening, letting go. I let go and ride the wave, praying I don’t drown. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Luke shouting, too. My name. God’s. Mine again.
He’s twenty miles away, but I feel him here. Feel his warmth, his confidence. His certainty that this is right, and this is good, and that I’m the only one he wants this way.
I am the only one.
Just the thought sends my heart on a rollercoaster ride.
My God, I think absently, the orgasm pounding through me, this is what I’ve been missing out on all this time.
This.
This.
This feeling of being worshipped for who I am.
My orgasm fades. I lean back against the tub, just trying to catch my breath for several beats. I hear Luke doing the same.
I don’t know what to say next.
Hey friend, how great was that?
Please don’t judge me for fantasizing about you fucking me in the ass.
Luke, I’m starting to want you in ways I shouldn’t, and it’s making me feel all mixed up inside.
“Gracie,” Luke says, bringing me back to earth. “Gracie, if I could high five you through this phone, I would. That was…the best phone sex I’ve ever had.”
I grin, the heaviness in my chest lessening just a bit. “It’s the only phone sex you’ve ever had.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t fuckin’ awesome. ’Cause it was. Baby girl, you’re a natural at this. I had no idea you had such—well. Imagination, I guess.”
My grin broadens into a smile as something nice blooms inside me. “Are you saying my mind turns you on?”
“I’m lying alone in my bed with my phone in one hand and my cum in the other. I’d say your mind is a big fucking turn on, yeah.”
Be careful.
How many other guys have complimented me, only to ghost after they’d gotten what they wanted?
A beat of silence passes.
“How was your day?” he asks. Because now the guy can read my mind in addition to reading my body, too.
I mean, didn’t Luke get what he wanted? Didn’t he come all over my tits last night?
But he’s still here. He could say goodnight. Hang up.
But he’s still listening.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
“Do what? Talk to you after putting my soap-covered dick inside you?” This makes me smile harder. “By the way, soap is never a good substitute for real lube. But whether or not I have to, Gracie, I always want to hear how you’re doing.”
My eyelids, my heart, my resolve—they all flutter as I look up at the ceiling.
“My day was insanely busy. Now that we’re getting closer to the grand re-opening at Holy City…” I let out a breath. “I tell everyone I’m excited. And I am. But if I’m being honest, I’m also getting nervous, too. We’re going to make the deadline by the skin of our teeth—construction is behind schedule, thanks to some lead pipes we somehow just found. And I worry that the added responsibility of running a bigger store will mean I get even less time behind the counter. Which I love.”
I haven’t told anyone this. Not my business partners, my store manager. My brother.
I don’t want to think about why I’m telling Luke.
“It’s a big transition for you, Grace. You’re taking a big risk, and there are no guarantees it will work out.” Through the phone, I hear a door open. A faucet being turned on.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Cleanin’ myself up. Some of us weren’t in a bath when we came.”
I laugh. “Right. I forgot. Carry on.”
“Anyway.” The water cuts off. I imagine him wiping his hands on a pristine white towel, fresh from the dryer, the muscles in those porntastic forearms of his rippling as he moves. “I remember when I was thinkin’ about retiring from baseball to buy the farm. Granted, I was injured, and I knew my days were numbered. But I had a good thing goin’ on. I loved the sport. My club loved me. I could’ve stuck around for a few more years, maybe transitioned to a coaching position.”
I roll my lips between my teeth. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because my gut was telling me I needed to do this other thing. Remember what I told you? It was the day we met, in your Mama’s garden.”
I smile at the memory. “You said you loved to grow things.”
“Yup. My mamas passed on their green thumbs to me. I can’t explain it. I just knew buyin’ this land and turning it back into the farm it was meant to be was what I wanted to do.”
“Exactly,” I say, sitting up in my excitement. Water sloshing over the sides of the tub again. “That’s exactly how I feel about growing my business. Deep down, I know it’s the right move. I know it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. But damn is it stressful. Because like you said, I had a really good thing going before the addition. Part of me wonde
rs if I’m being greedy or reckless, risking it all for more.”
“You’re neither of those things. But I understand how you feel. Hell, I still feel that way on hard days. But I will tell you that the good days—Gracie, those days are really fuckin’ good.”
Now I’m gripping the side of the tub. Holding on for dear life.
I’m feeling something fierce right now. Something that’s fierce and…soft.
Don’t be stupid, a voice tells me.
This is your gut speaking, another says, and you need to be brave.
Because this is a good thing. I know I should put myself back out there, even though I’m afraid.
I’m trying to work through my feelings. My fears.
I’m trying. Maybe that’s enough right now.
I clear my throat. The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
“What are your plans for this weekend?”
“My plans?” He sounds surprised. “Well. I was gonna harvest some watermelons. And. Uh. Make some dinner for my mamas. Otherwise…I’m pretty open. I’ll actually be downtown tomorrow if you’re around. Got my delivery to make to The Pearl. Then I was gonna head to the library to do a little research on some seeds. But afterward, I’m free.”
Oh, be still my nerdy, book-loving heart.
I don’t know what’s more stupid—asking what I’m about to, or not asking at all.
I decide to ask.
“I have a thing tomorrow night.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah. A cocktail thing. It should only last an hour or two. But the drinks are always great and so are the people.” I take a breath. Lord, please don’t let me be making a mistake here. “Come with me. Then we can hang out afterward. Grab a cocktail. Do butt stuff.”
Luke pauses, and my heart jumps to my throat.
“Gracie. What are you doing?” he asks. Voice low.
“I’m being open minded,” I say. “Just like I promised.”
Heart drumming as I wait for his reply.
And wait.
“I’d love to,” he says at last. “What time can I pick you up? And are you gonna bring the lube or am I?”
I laugh. “I got it.”
We spend the next hour talking about lube and legumes (he grows a lot of beans on the farm). About Olivia’s writing and the new Jack Ryan series—the one with John Krasinski (Luke and I are both big fans). About John Mayer and my attempts to remedy my addiction to Instagram and Luke’s shaving routine (he shaves his neck and trims his beard every other day, otherwise it gets itchy).
Southern Player: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 13
