on all fours at Turner’s request, and he was kneeling behind her.
“Spread your legs more,” he said roughly.
Becca did as he instructed, planting her knees farther apart on the bed, glancing back to watch him as he knelt between her legs.
“That’s good,” he said as he leaned over her.
He pressed his mouth to her ass, brushing his parted lips over the sensitive flesh, palming her, squeezing her, nipping her gently with his teeth. He cupped both hands over the breasts swinging beneath her, lifting them, separating them, squeezing them. Then he dipped his head between her legs and tongued her wet flesh, tracing with his finger the line bisecting her ass from where it began at the small of her back, down to that part of her that was so wet and ready for him.
Oh, Becca thought as he completed the action. Oh, it felt so good. The slow circular motion of his tongue against her clitoris was exquisite. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the languid, liquid sensations pouring through her, held her body completely still to let Turner go wherever he wanted to go next.
Where he wanted to go was inside her. Because he slid his tongue into the damp, heated opening between her legs and pushed it inside her, moving it in and out in a slow, methodical fashion that left her feeling anything but slow or methodical.
“Oh,” she said aloud this time. “Oh, that feels so good….”
“It’s about to get better,” he told her.
And before she could ask why, he was working his body under hers, positioning it in the opposite direction, so that his head was still between her legs, and her head…
Oh, my. What a prize she saw beneath her, situated perfectly for her to enjoy. Still bracing herself on all fours, she dipped her head down and covered Turner’s shaft with her mouth, circling its tip with her tongue, exerting varying amounts of pressure as she drew him in and out. Vaguely, she heard him groan, the sound vibrating his tongue against her overly sensitized flesh, something that made her moan in response, inadvertently increasing his pleasure, too.
For long moments, they pleasured each other that way, their bodies jerking in time with their mouths, their passion rising with each new touch. But when Becca felt close to coming, she lifted her head from him and scooted forward, straddling Turner’s middle, positioning herself over his thrusting rod. Her back to him, she lowered herself over him just as he settled his hands on her hips, and he filled her so full, he nearly split her in two. She bent forward a little to ease the pressure some, then decided she liked the pressure and straightened her body again. His hands on her hips clenched tighter and he bucked his hips upward, embedding himself even deeper inside her. Becca cried out, moving her hands to the twin spheres between his legs, something that made him buck upward again.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Do that again.”
With great enthusiasm, he did as she told him, jerking his body upward again and again. Never in her life had Becca felt so complete. Never had she joined herself so completely to a man. In that moment, she could almost believe that she and Turner had fused into one being and that they would never be separated again. And then that keen, familiar sensation of pleasure began to coil tighter inside her, and she ceased thinking at all. After that, she could only feel. Turner inside her. Turner beneath her. Turner filling her hands, her body, her heart, and so much more.
With one final upward thrust, he felt as if he was deeper inside her than he had ever been before—physically, emotionally, in every way he could be—and he filled her up as he came. But after a moment, she felt him relax, and he withdrew from her—physically, at least. She turned and collapsed alongside him, opening her hand on his chest, loving the way his ragged heartbeat buffeted her palm.
She wanted to tell him something very important, but a deep, narcotic fatigue was trying to overtake her. It was right there at the very fringe of her brain, though, what she wanted to say, right there at the edge of her soul, pushing out of her heart. She wanted, no, needed, for him to know it. It was absolutely essential that he know how she felt.
“Turner…” she began softly. But her eyelids fluttered closed, and she gave in