Southern Hotshot: A North Carolina Highlands Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  She stares back, not moving an inch. Eyes glowing like burning embers.

  I smirk. “You want to do it again, don’t you? Touch me?”

  She keeps staring. A voice in my head keeps screaming What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck are you doing?

  “Do it,” I say. “Touch me again. You wanna slap me? Fuck me? Do it.” I hold out my arms. “I dare you.”

  She stands there, two inches from a kiss, tits rising and falling on sharp breaths. My dick perks right up.

  Emma isn’t leaving.

  Which means she wants to stay.

  Aw, yeah.

  Slowly—carefully—Emma lifts her arm. My entire being pulses when she wraps her hand around my throat. Her gaze, heated and hazy, moves to my mouth, like she can’t look me in the eye.

  Good. I won’t be able to look myself in the eye after this either.

  “You’re full of shit,” she whispers. And then she tightens her hand around my neck and pushes me against the wall and presses a bruising, hot kiss to my mouth.

  My dick goes full salute in one second flat. She’s strong for such a little thing, and my shoulder blades sting from the impact of being shoved against the wall.

  “Give me permission to put my hands on you,” she rasps.

  “Already did,” I murmur against her lips.

  “No.” I nearly jump out of my skin when her other hand skates down my belly to the waistband of my sweats. “I mean put my hands on you.”

  “Granted. Yes. Done.”

  Her hand slips inside my sweats and finds my dick. She gives it a tight, almost painful tug.

  Goddamn, do I like all this pain.

  I like how she gets right to it. She knows what she wants, and she wants my dick.

  I ain’t mad at it. When was the last time a woman was so fearlessly up front with me about what she likes? I could always tell when my partners were holding back. Playing a part, almost, as if they were feeling me out to see what I liked and what I wanted. They were putting on a show.

  Hell, I’m certainly guilty of that sin. I’m guilty of it every damn day.

  But Emma, per usual, isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. She isn’t afraid to be selfish in seeking out her pleasure. It’s filthy and sexy and so damn great I want to do it too.

  What if what pleases me pleases her?

  I shove the thought from my head. This is hate sex, pure and simple. Nothing more.

  She tugs me again, and again, and behind my closed eyelids I see stars. Her kiss tastes like wine. It’s deep, urgent, our tongues and breath tangled. She bites my bottom lip, and I growl. She tightens her grip on my neck, and I do it again.

  I don’t think it’s a sound I’ve ever made before.

  She takes her hand off my cock.

  “Emma—”

  “Shut up,” she says into my mouth. She grabs my hand and guides it inside her leggings. My entire being leaps when my fingertips meet her pussy.

  Emma goes commando too? Fuck. My dick is in agony.

  I jump the gun and try to part her lips with my fingers. Immediately, her teeth come down on my tongue, and she pulls back my hand.

  “Mine,” she snaps, her voice smokier and raspier than ever.

  Fuck. Yes.

  I owe her this at least, the ability to punish my cowardice.

  Her lips curve into a smile against mine. She pushes my finger inside her slit, and my eyes fly open.

  Hers are open too, and they’re on mine. For a second, we break the kiss to look at each other.

  She’s wet. So fucking wet and swollen I buck my hips, the heaven of sinking inside her almost too sweet to contemplate.

  She’s gotta let me do something. Taste her. Fuck her. See her.

  She must read my mind because together, we circle the pad of my finger against her clit. Her breath catches.

  Without a word, and her other hand still on my throat, she pulls me away from the wall and walks us closer to the edge of the island.

  Yes.

  If she’s doing what I think she’s doing, yes.

  Since she’s reading me so well, I try to return the favor. Her hips are rolling against my hand as her ass meets the countertop. She’s bending one knee, pulling it up, and I instinctively take her leg in my free hand.

  “Uh-huh,” she breathes, dipping her head in a quick nod. She releases the hand I’ve got between her legs, and I use it to grab her other leg and lift her onto the counter. Her hand isn’t on my throat, her hands are moving up my chest, stopping to play with my nipples. A direct wire of sensation between there and the head of my cock lights up.

  She pushes my hands to the waistband of her leggings again. Off, her eyes say.

  So off they go. I pull them down to her ankles and she spreads her knees, leaning back on her elbows.

  It’s my turn to stare. Emma’s little landing strip is maddeningly hot.

  “Gorgeous,” I spit out, stepping between her legs. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Emma.”

  She bites her lip. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reaches down and lazily plays with herself. Teasing me with her pink, slick, and ready pussy.

  I’m going to scream if I don’t get to fuck her soon.

  “Why do you look so pissed?” she asks.

  “Because you’re a pain in the ass, remember?”

  “I do.” Her eyes flick to the floor. She raises her voice. “Get on your knees, Beauregard.”

  Fuuuuuuuuck.

  I drop down and she grabs me by the hair and yanks me to her. My blood roars at the way the hardwood floors bite into my knees.

  This time she doesn’t need to tell me what to do.

  I lean in and gently suck on her clit. She hisses, head falling back. I sink one finger inside her, and my balls tighten. She’s small and right, so fucking right, I want to weep.

  She pulls my hair harder. Another.

  I slowly push another finger inside her and feel her stretch around me. She sucks in a breath, and I almost stroke the fuck out when she lies all the way back on the countertop. Her free hand disappears inside her shirt, and I can see the outline of her hand as she plucks at her nipple.

  “Let me see,” I grunt, shoving her shirt up her belly.

  She’s wearing a sports bra. She hasn’t bothered to hike it up, so I do, exposing her breast. I thumb her nipple, and the crown of her head meets with the counter, her eyes squeezing shut.

  I lick her clit and thrust my fingers, and her walls flutter, clamping down on me once.

  “Beauregard,” she yells, eyes still closed. “Where the hell did you learn to eat pussy like this?”

  I just shake my head and continue my mission to make her come.

  My cock is full-on tenting my sweats. I can feel the wet spot where my pre-cum’s leaked through the fabric.

  She’s biting her lip, moaning as she rides my mouth and my fingers. Her pussy clamps down, hard this time. Her eyes open and find mine.

  She comes, and it excites me so much—the sounds she makes, how her body arches off the counter, the way she looks me in the eye—that I almost come with her.

  But scumbags don’t deserve release. So I don’t give in to mine.

  I can’t be punished enough for what I’ve done, and what I’m doing now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emma

  I come apart in Samuel’s hands.

  His tongue on my pussy, his fingers curled into my thighs, I come so hard it knocks the breath out of me. The force of the orgasm is propulsive, sending wave after wave of sensation crashing through my center. My entire being pulses in time to the tide, a quick, eviscerating drumbeat I feel down to my toes.

  It’s the best orgasm I’ve had in ages. Maybe because I shaved? I’m always experimenting with my grooming habits. Or maybe it’s because I’m coming on someone else’s fingers, with someone else’s tongue on my clit. I don’t have to try—to focus, to think, to fantasize—because the fantasy is happening right here, right now.

  Granted,
it’s a fucked-up fantasy. Can you even call a hate hookup with a coworker a fantasy, especially after that coworker treats you like shit?

  But the man knows what he’s doing.

  Those broad, strong fingers I’ve been staring at for days touched me just the way I like to be touched. His lips are as soft and full and knowledgeable as I imagined they’d be.

  And there’s something true about the way he’s looking at me right now, blue eyes wide and full of emotion. He’s not hiding or smirking or glowering. He’s shocked, just as shocked as I am that he likes what I like.

  He likes that I like being bossy. From the way he looks, and keeps looking, I can tell he’s curious too. He’s not afraid. He’s not judging me.

  I’ve met so few men outside the internet who don’t judge me for being on the alpha side of the power dynamic scale I’ve started to believe they didn’t exist.

  But none of that matters when the guy in question treats you like garbage. Even a great orgasm doesn’t change that.

  It also doesn’t change the fact that I never should’ve touched Samuel in the first place. This is wrong in a million ways.

  He was wrong to taunt me, and I was wrong to let him.

  How awkward is it going to be at work now? Will I be distracted and fuck up? What if Samuel runs his mouth, and it gets out I was (mostly) naked with a Beauregard brother?

  I have so much to lose. My dream job. My reputation. My entire future.

  Because here’s the reality of the situation: I have a hell of a lot more at risk than Samuel does. He has an ownership stake in the resort, for crying out loud. His brother’s the CEO. He’d have to do something pretty egregious to lose his position. But me? I’m new. No one really knows me, not yet anyway, so I’m vulnerable in ways Samuel will never be.

  My orgasm fades, and the reality of what just went down sinks into my skin like a chill. I’m naked in Samuel Beauregard’s kitchen. Tit out and legs spread, his handsome head between them. Mouth slick with my arousal.

  Looking down at him, I’m overcome by anger like I’ve never known.

  “What is it?” he asks, his brow crinkling. “Emma, talk to me.”

  My pulse thunders in my ears. I’m shaking. I’m needy. My body wants more, but I know better. I fucking know better.

  I sit up. Tugging my bra over my breast, I look Samuel in the eyes. He has the nerve to appear concerned. Brows curved up, mouth curved down.

  Longing rips through me. I want to believe him, to believe he cares, so very much. Today, I thought I saw a guy who cared. But clearly that was another front, another mask. Was he planning this all along?

  Fuck him.

  He reaches for me, but I flinch, pulling away.

  His eyes go wide with confusion.

  “Don’t,” I say, and I leap off the counter. Tugging up my leggings, I make a beeline for the front door.

  I’m mortified by the sudden burn in my eyes. Keep it together. I have to keep it together until I’m safely out of this gorgeous hellhole. I will not let him see me cry. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  But Samuel is hot on my heels, footsteps heavy on the hardwood floors.

  “Hey,” he says, reaching for my elbow. “Hey, look, whatever just happened, I’m sorry.”

  I pull out of his grasp. “Stop pretending you give a shit.”

  “Are you kidding? I just made you come. Of course I give a shit.”

  We’re in the foyer now. He does this dip fake-out move thing and effortlessly overtakes me, putting himself between me and the door.

  Athletes. Ugh.

  “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You know exactly what’s wrong.” I glare at him. “Step away, Beauregard. Now.”

  “Please.” The pleading note in his voice gives me pause. He gestures to his impressive erection. “Look at me, Emma. I’m at your mercy here.”

  No, I think. I’m at your mercy, and that’s the problem.

  I reach for the doorknob, and he lets me. He steps aside, eyes following my every move, and I open the door.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t leave like this,” he says.

  “Why? Because you want to get off?”

  His expression softens with hurt. “Because I know you don’t feel good about what just went down, and neither do I.”

  Shaking my head, I scoff. “You take such pride in faking it. You’re good at pretending, Beauregard, I’ll give you that. Really, really good.”

  “You really think I’m proud of that?”

  “I think you don’t know who you are.” I meet his eyes one last time. “Who the fuck are you, Samuel?”

  He looks stricken. He looks away, a muscle in his jaw clenching against his carefully trimmed scruff. “I don’t wanna be the kind of man who hurts you, I know that much.”

  “Horseshit,” I say, throwing his earlier line back at him.

  Before he can reply, I slip through the door and walk back to my cottage on unsteady legs. What the hell did I just do? I thought touching Samuel earlier today, and being touched by him, was inappropriate.

  But I enjoyed it. I loved that Samuel didn’t fight me when I had my hand around his throat. That he let me tell him where and how I wanted him.

  Stop. I can’t go down that path. This is my job, my future, my fucking career.

  I cannot, under any circumstances, touch Samuel Beauregard again.

  The only relationship I can have is one with Blue, especially while I’m proving myself here at the farm. But coming so hard with someone else’s hands on me makes me wish I could actually meet my cybersex partner.

  I want his cock inside me, rather than just imagining how good it would feel.

  What if we did meet in person?

  I recognize I’m not exactly in the best state of mind to be making big decisions about my romantic life, but I need something to look forward to.

  Something to give me a sense of hope. Because my situation at work just started to feel pretty fucking hopeless.

  Blue did say he’s in the area. We could meet at a local restaurant or something. Have drinks and get to know each other. Chances are, the chemistry we have online won’t translate to the world outside our computers. Still, it’s worth a shot, right? He does have the body of a god. And a beautiful cock. Samuel’s girthy, heavy dick felt exactly the way I imagined Blue’s would feel in my hand.

  I close the door behind me, then close my eyes. Enough. Enough of this Samuel bullshit. He’s a coworker. End of story. Any other relationship we might’ve had—sexual, romantic, whatever—was never supposed to happen.

  That’s what Blue is for.

  In the meantime, I’ll keep my relationship with Samuel strictly professional. No more attempts to get him to open up. No more opening up to him. We don’t need to be close to do our work, although it would’ve certainly helped.

  That ship has sailed.

  Chat #3

  MyBoyBlue4: Confession: I just defeated the worst case of blue balls I’ve had in my life, so I’m not sure how much energy I have left.

  LadyV76: You’ve been a very bad boy.

  MyBoyBlue4: But really. I’m a piece of shit.

  LadyV76: Hey. Don’t beat yourself up, it’s just internet sex. TBH, I’m not really in the mood to get down either. Bad day. Well, great day, but it ended on a pretty terrible note, so. Yeah. If you want to take a rain check, I understand.

  MyBoyBlue4: Thanks for understanding. I had an awful night too.

  LadyV76: Why don’t you just jerk off?

  MyBoyBlue4: Long story. I know you don’t like to get personal, so I won’t go there. Any chance you’re free tomorrow for that rain check?

  LadyV76: Wait, wait, wait. I know I’m breaking my own rules here, but I really don’t want to be alone right now. I’m happy to hang around for a bit and chat if you are.

  MyBoyBlue4: God yes. Talk to me, V. What’s on your mind?

  LadyV76: I try to follow my heart and take the right risks.
But a couple of things happened today that made me question whether that’s the right way to live.

  MyBoyBlue4: Lol. Wow okay, you went deep right off the bat.

  LadyV76: I do like it deep.

  MyBoyBlue4: I do too. At least since I’ve met you. You talked about this before, second-guessing yourself, and it made me think. Like, until I started chatting with you, I never really questioned much at all. I was certain about who I was and what I liked. I never really bothered trying new things because I thought I’d done it all.

  LadyV76: Why’d you start chatting with me then?

  MyBoyBlue4: See, that’s just it. On the outside, everything was perfect. But inside, I was lonely. Still am. For so long, I could ignore that loneliness because I was busy AF. But after a while, it got louder and wouldn’t leave me alone. I guess the stuff I did to keep it quiet wasn’t working anymore. So I thought hey, maybe I’ll find what I’m looking for on the internet.

  LadyV76: Typical millennial.

  MyBoyBlue4: I know right? PS I’m 35, *am* I a millennial? Let me confer with Google.

  LadyV76: I’m 31, and I’m definitely a millennial. You are too, I think.

  MyBoyBlue4: Yep, Google tells me I’m right in the millennial range #facts. Anyway, I see that going to the internet was a bonehead move. But there’s an element of anonymity here that I need. The universe must’ve been looking out for me because I found you, and you showed me I like to be dominated. Never would’ve thought it, but now that I know that about myself, it makes me wonder all the other things I’m wrong about. I’m wrong about a lot.

  LadyV76: I love everything about this. I’ve made you hungry for more! More sci-fi-based fantasy scenarios and more self-exploration.

  MyBoyBlue4: Exactly. But it’s scary. I find myself doing stupid stuff, like lashing out and shit, when I’m pushed out of my comfort zone. I’ve got this one coworker in particular…she’s constantly pushing me, and while part of me hates her for it, another part of me knows she’s right.

  LadyV76: I like this coworker.

  MyBoyBlue4: I like you.

  [A pause]

  MyBoyBlue4: Shit, I went too far, didn’t I?