Unraveled (Turner #3)(43)

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. He simply allowed her to explore him with her touch. She traced her hand down to his knee, and then up to his hips. And then, before her courage failed her, she ran her fingers down the length of his erection. His c**k was firm under her questing fingers. Firm and hot. She brushed the head and he hissed, his member twitching in her hands.

This was going inside her. She already ached for it, a deep throbbing want. And by the way he set his teeth as she stroked down that hard length, he ached for it, too.

One didn’t live in a traveling troupe of players without learning something about men. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on the tip. His hands fell on her shoulders, but he didn’t say anything. Encouraged, she licked him. His fingers bit into her, and he gave a small growl.

She took the tip of his erection in her mouth. He tasted of mild soap, and he pushed his hips forward. Her tongue traced him, touched the slit at the head of his penis. If she’d had any sense at all, she’d have been horrified at her boldness. She should have been frightened: he’d paid for this home and her gowns and even her body. He could do anything to her, and nobody would gainsay him. But in that moment, she felt as if she had taken ownership of him. It didn’t matter that he’d bought her; she’d taken herself back.

His c**k hardened even more under her ministrations, grew longer and thicker and warmer. The knowledge that she was doing that to him only increased her own want.

He pulled away when she moaned around him. He said nothing. But he simply reached down and lifted her to her feet. In one smooth motion, he pulled off her chemise, and then he pushed her back onto the bed.

Now. He was going to have her now. But even though he got on top of her—even though his chest brushed hers, and his hard erection nestled against her hip—he didn’t push inside her. Instead, he kissed her. His tongue darted into her mouth, more urgent than ever. He rocked her body with his, setting an insistent rhythm. It ought to have soothed her. Instead, it made her clench her eyes shut.

“More,” she told him. It was the first word either one of them had said, and he lifted his head and gave her a wicked smile.

“Like this?” he asked, and leaned over and brushed his mouth against the tip of her nipple. A warm rush of pleasure shot through her, and Miranda gasped. This was new, but she’d lost all sense of shyness. She simply arched into him. She pushed up, hard, feeling his tongue circle her.

“More,” she demanded.

His hand crept between her legs. And oh, it felt so good when his fingers brushed her sensitive flesh. So good when he drew a tight circle there. So much so that when he withdrew—but no, she wasn’t letting him withdraw. She reached down and took hold of his hand, pressing it back into place.

He dipped one finger inside of her, and the sensation transformed from exquisite to almost unbearable. She needed that. Precisely that, but…

“More,” she said. She rose to meet him, but even though it sent pleasure shooting down her limbs, it wasn’t enough.

It took her a moment to realize what she wanted. Not his hand. Not his mouth. Him. His whole body, pressing into hers. His cock, hard and thick, sliding inside her. This was what it meant to be ready—not just that her body was slick for him, but that she would lose her mind if he didn’t take her. She pushed his hand away and met his eyes.

“Now,” she said. “Don’t make me wait, Turner. Now.”

He gave her a fierce smile, as if he’d been waiting for only that. He adjusted himself against her. The hard ridge of his member pushed against her most private parts. He moved again, and it sent a delicious friction where they joined. It was so, so good to feel him, hard and thick, right where she wanted him most. Almost.

He made a scalded sound. She arched up into him. And like that, he slid into her.

It didn’t feel good. It stung, a hard pinch that stole her breath away. He tensed above her, holding still.

“Is that acceptable?” His hand came up to the side of her face. He stroked down her cheek, finding a little tendril of hair. Not hard and demanding, like his member inside her, but soft. Sweet. Almost…affectionate, and he’d said that wouldn’t happen.

She shook her head. He was such a rotten liar.

“It’s all right.” She moved underneath him. “It’s…it’s actually getting better.”

“Good.” His voice was hoarse. “Now let’s try this.” He took one of her legs and wrapped it about his hip. Just that little movement shifted him deeper inside her, so deep that his groin met hers. And then he withdrew.

She’d understood what was to happen. One couldn’t grow up with actors and retain any degree of innocence. But she hadn’t known it would feel so good, hadn’t known that when he slid his hands under her bottom and angled her up, that change in elevation would send him sliding inside her in a way that made her shudder. She hadn’t understood how powerful it could be to clasp him tight with her inner muscles and hear him gasp, to run her hands down his chest and feel his thrusts grow tighter, more controlled.

She hadn’t realized he would touch the deepest part of her, that he would slide up on his forearms and touch her between her legs. She hadn’t known that his fingers could make a counterpoint to his thrusts. She threw her head back and reached for his hips. Something vital coiled up inside her just as his thrusts grew more insistent. Her body was just as demanding. More. Harder. She could think of nothing but the pleasure of their joining. The sheer perfection of it had her digging her nails into his backside. Her inner muscles clamped around him hard—and then she cried out.