Indecent Suggestion (13 page)

“I’m absolutely, positively sure,” she told him. “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

“But those other times, you thought you wanted me then, too. What happens if you wake up in the morning and think you’ve made a mistake?”

There was no way Becca was going to wake up and think she’d made a mistake. Not unless she did something now to make Turner change his mind. “That’s not going to happen,” she told him.

He still didn’t look convinced. So she spread the fingers of one hand between his shoulder blades and framed his jaw with the other.

“I want this, Turner,” she told him with utter and complete confidence. “I want us to be together. I want to feel you inside me.”

For a long time, he didn’t respond, only gazed into her eyes as if he were searching there for the answer to a very important question. Which, she supposed, was exactly what he was doing. So she remained silent, knowing that he would find the truth in her eyes, and that then he would be reassured, once and for all. And after a moment, Turner smiled, the sort of smile that let her know he had indeed found the answer he had been seeking.

“Then take me, Becca,” he told her, pulling her against him. “Take me every way you know how.”

But it was Turner who did the taking after that, covering Becca’s mouth with his once again. And as he thrust his tongue deep inside her, something hot and frantic splashed through her midsection. She moved her hand from his hair to curl her fingers over his warm nape, and lost herself in his kiss. He responded by pressing his hand more insistently against her back and moving his mouth from hers to brush his lips over her jaw and her cheek and her chin, then nuzzling the sensitive flesh where her throat
joined her collarbone before skimming his lips along her shoulder.

“You taste sweet,” he said as he pulled his head up and gazed down into her eyes, echoing her own earlier thoughts about him. He smiled. “But there’s something kind of spicy in there, too.”

She chuckled low. “I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she said.

He stroked the pads of his fingers over her face, lightly tracing her lower lip and chin, then up along her jaw and cheekbone, then down again, over the sensitive skin of her throat. But his smile fell some as he moved his hand lower still, over the scooped neck of her dress, a caress that made her heart pound against her breastbone in anticipation. Instead of closing his hand over her breast, though, as she had expected he would do, he raised it back up to her face, as if he wanted to drag out the excitement for as long as he could. When he curled his fingers slightly and turned his hand to brush his knuckles tenderly across her cheek, Becca’s eyes fluttered closed. A sharp heat sped through her with each gentle stroke, searing her to her very core.

More,
she thought feverishly. She wanted—
needed
—more from him. More
of
him. His careful caresses somehow only enflamed her, sparking a hunger inside her she knew wouldn’t easily be appeased. Touching him wasn’t enough. But with Turner, she never would get enough.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smoky, musky, masculine scent of him. No namby-pamby department store fragrances for Turner, no way. He smelled of pure, unadulterated man, and the woman inside Becca responded in kind. Instinctively, she arched her body against him to better experience his heat, and his desire, and his
hunger and him. And still it wasn’t close enough for her. She wanted—needed—so much more.

As if he’d read her mind, Turner leaned forward and kissed her, and Becca opened to him enthusiastically. She dipped the fingers of one hand inside the opening of his shirt, skimming her fingertips over the dark springy hair she encountered there. As he deepened the kiss, he pressed his body fully against hers, then began to move forward, urging her to move backward, in the direction of her bedroom.

As they completed their slow dance, they went to work on each other’s clothes. Turner found the zipper of her dress and tugged it downward, past her waist and over her hips, pulling open the fabric when he finished the journey and splaying his warm hands over her bare flesh. Becca, in turn, freed his shirttail from his trousers and unfastened every button, opening her palms over the coarse hair on his chest and torso, raking her fingertips over the ridge of every muscle.

She wasn’t sure how long it took them to reach her bedroom, but at some point, her legs connected with the edge of her bed. By that time, her bra was gone and her dress was down around her waist, and Turner’s jacket and shirt had been discarded. Between kisses, they managed to pull the covers back, and then down, down, down Becca fell, until she felt the cool kiss of the cotton sheet against her naked back. Turner fell with her, and she looped one arm around his neck and the other across his back while he, in turn, arced one arm over her head and settled his body alongside her own. Then he bent his head and kissed her again, long and hard and deep.

She growled something needy and incoherent in reply, clinging to him, and he responded with a sound that ech
oed her own hunger, pushing himself half on top of her. Then he insinuated one leg between hers, jerking his thigh roughly into the juncture of her own. The slim cut of her dress prevented her from spreading her legs for him, but the pressure of his thigh against her excited core only enhanced the delicious friction. Heat pooled low in her abdomen, and she bucked her hips against him. Turner responded by dropping a hand to the hem of her dress and jerking the fabric upward, over her hips and around her waist. Then he spread her legs wide and shoved his thigh even harder against her, which made Becca lurch upward so she could rub herself against him again and again and again.

As she pleasured herself that way, she felt him tugging at her dress until he’d pulled the garment over her head to toss it aside. And then she lay beneath him in only her black panties, garter belt, stockings and heels.

Turner pushed himself up from the bed and stood beside it, gazing down at her. His chest rose and fell with his ragged respiration as he studied her, his expression revealing the extent of his passion—his eyes were dark, his cheeks were burnished and his mouth was swollen from her kisses. And seeing him that way made Becca burn for him even more. Because she knew she was the one who had roused him to such a state. And it would be she, and she alone, who brought him satisfaction.

“Becca,” he whispered hoarsely, “you are such an unbelievably sexy woman.”

The compliment made something primitive and satisfying purl through her, and she smiled. She threw one arm over her head and reached out to him with the other. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she murmured. “Now come and show me what a man like you does to a sexy woman.”

“Gladly,” he said without hesitation before returning to her.

As he stretched out alongside her again, he took her bare breast in his hand, covering the tender mound with sure fingers, squeezing it, palming it, fingering it, before raking his thumb over the stiffened nipple. And then his mouth was where his hand had been, wet and greedy and deliberate, soaking her warm flesh as he tried to suck as much of her into his mouth as he could.

Becca gasped, but her breath got stuck in her throat when he moved his other hand between her legs, pressing his three middle fingers over the silk of her panties, wet now with her body’s response to him. She opened her legs wider, and Turner spread his fingers wide, too, moving them in slow circles over her sensitive flesh to pleasure her even more. Never had she felt more reckless, more ravenous, more
aroused
than she did in that moment. Her breathing had become shallow to the point of making her dizzy, and her thoughts were chaotic and indistinct. All she registered were the dual sensations of Turner’s mouth consuming her breast and his diligent fingers wreaking havoc between her legs.

More,
she thought again. She needed more of him. She needed
all
of him.

Impulsively, she reached for the waistband of her panties, then lifted her hips from the mattress and shoved the garment down. Once Turner understood what she wanted, he helped her in her efforts, until her panties had joined her dress on the floor. Becca reached for one of her garters, intending to remove that and her stockings, too, but Turner covered her hand with his and halted her efforts. When she glanced up in curiosity, he was smiling.

“Don’t,” he told her. “Leave them on. The shoes, too. It’ll be incredibly erotic.”

She arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“That first time in your cubicle,” he said, his voice hoarse and breathless, “when you climbed into my lap and your was skirt hiked up and I saw what you were wearing…” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if remembering. “I couldn’t believe you’d been wearing stuff like that and I never knew it.” He grinned wickedly. “Turn over a minute,” he told her.

“Why?”

“I want to see what they look like from the back,” he said.

Oh, boy…

“Come on, Becca,” he cajoled. “Just show me.”

She felt herself grow warmer and damper just hearing the timbre of his voice as he spoke the request. She sat up on the bed, then turned around and rose up on her knees to give him a full view of her from behind. She’d heard, of course, that men found garter belts on women to be very sexy. But surprisingly, although she’d always liked wearing such undergarments herself, Becca had never made love in them. They’d always come off with the rest of her clothes. No man had ever asked her to leave them on. And the fact that Turner did now…

Well. She found it to be very sexy, too.

He must have liked what he saw, because she heard a sound, low and feral, from behind her. When she turned to look over her shoulder, she saw that he was staring at her ass. Feeling playful—or something—Becca bent forward until her hands were flat against the mattress. She was about to say something—something flip and flirtatious that would make them both laugh—but before she could get the words out, Turner had a hand on each buttock, and he was bending forward, too, pressing his mouth to one sensitive cheek.

The sensation was quite exquisite.

So exquisite, in fact, that Becca pretty much forgot what she had intended to say. Especially when Turner dipped a hand between her legs again and slipped one long finger into her slick, heated channel.

“Oh,” she cried out at the deep penetration. “Oh, Turner. Oh. Oh, that’s so—”

Her words halted there, however, because he brought another finger into the action, and nipped her fanny lightly with his teeth as he drove into her. He kept tasting her as he continued to penetrate her, his fingers moving slowly at first, then quickening, until she was right at the edge of an orgasm. But he seemed to sense her nearness and pulled back again, just when she would have lost herself to the ecstasy.

The big brute.

When she turned around to call him that, she saw him smiling, and realized he had left her that way on purpose because he wasn’t finished with her yet. Pouting in frustration, she lay on her back once more. But as Turner gazed down at her, she saw the fire burning in his eyes and realized he was even further gone than she was.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “We’re not even close to being finished. Right now, I just want to look at you. All of you. And then I want to touch you. All of you. And then I want to taste you, and smell you, and listen to every little sound you make while I do all the things to you that I want to do to you.”

“Oh, Turner…” She was close to climaxing, just listening to his roughly uttered promises. Somehow, though, she found the strength to ask him, “And what are all the things you want to do to me?”

Slowly, he lay down beside her again. He curled his fingers over one bare shoulder, then skimmed his hand downward, over one breast. “I want to suck you here,” he said, circling his thumb over her nipple. Then he moved his hand lower, over her flat belly. “And I want to suck you here.” He moved his hand lower still, into her tawny curls. “And I want to finger you here.” He brushed a fingertip lower still, over her tender clitoris, but only long enough to rouse a hiss of wanting from her. “And I want to lick you here.” A shudder of heat racked her as he completed his to-do list, and she wished he would hurry up and get to it.

“And then,” he said softly, “I want to bury my cock inside you, and I want to watch you come apart at the seams.”

Oh, dear…

He rolled over on top of her, settling himself between her legs, and she groaned in frustration that he was still dressed—or at least halfway. She flattened her palms against his hard chest, loving his strength and the density of each elegant muscle she encountered. Her fingertips skimmed over ridges and sinew, tripped along ribs, dipped into the hollow at the base of his throat. Turner closed his eyes as she explored him, as if he wanted to relish each brush of her fingers. When he opened his eyes again, they seemed darker than before somehow, and a thrill of anticipation shot through her when she realized what that meant.

He scooped his hands beneath her hips and pulled her toward him, rubbing his body urgently against hers, and she felt how full he was, how heavy, how hard. Before she realized his intention, he’d circled her wrist with strong fingers and pushed it between their bodies, flattening her palm over his stiff erection. Eagerly, Becca curled her fingers over him and stroked him through his trousers, lov
ing the frantic sound that erupted from somewhere deep inside him.

And she smiled, thinking it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one who could wreak sexual havoc.

“Oh, Becca,” he gasped against her neck as he buried his face there. “Do that again.”

Becca threw her head back to grant him better access, then rubbed her hand against him again. And then she did it again. And again. And again.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded when she slowed her hand.

She raked her fingers obediently—and none too gently this time—over him.

“Again,” he whispered coarsely.

Once more she palmed and possessed him.

“Again, Becca, again.”