The Love Shack - By Christie Ridgway Page 0,77

yanked them down, letting them fall to her ankles.

She was completely naked to him.

He jerked his head away from hers, breaking the kiss. She heard the slow suck of his breath as his gaze took in her nude form. Trembling, she didn’t hide from the perusal, knowing she was not voluptuous and not tall and definitely not Tess.

But she was his for the taking.

And as if she’d said it aloud, he did.

One moment she was standing before him; the next they were in a race down the hall. In her dim bedroom, he took her by the shoulders and propelled her backward until her hips hit the end of the high mattress and she fell onto the bed.

She stared up at him, breathing hard, and felt another shimmer of delight work through her as he reached behind his neck with one hand to toss away his T-shirt. He toed off his shoes and shoved down his jeans and boxers and there he was—there it was—the aggressive jut of male flesh that said he wanted to be here.

Her stomach jittered in anticipation and she scooted up toward the pillows, but he caught her ankles and hauled her back. The height of the bed was such that if he stepped forward—

Then he did. Pushing her thighs wide apart, he moved into the space. The thick head of his penis brushed the inside of her thigh, and she jerked, the heat of it like a brand. He circled one hand around her thigh, keeping her open for him, and then grasped the thick stalk of his sex.

He directed it toward her pleated flesh, but instead of thrusting, he nudged her layers apart with short strokes and gentle prods. Her body flowered easily for him, making it clear she was more than ready for him. But he continued toying, playing, tapping at her clitoris and then sliding wetly down to her entrance to tease her with the promise of penetration.

Her fingers clutched at the bedclothes, and she arched her hips, trying to entice him into her heat. The hand encircling her thigh controlled her, though, and she made a needy sound low in her throat.

Teague’s gaze lifted from the place where they weren’t quite joined, to her face. His eyes were glittering, his skin seemed to be stretched tightly against his cheekbones. She’d never seen him look so harsh, his handsomeness almost brutal with desire. Another wave of sexual longing ran through her and she shuddered against the cool sheets. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t make me wait another minute.”

Her skin was throbbing everywhere, her inner muscles were rhythmically clenching with her body’s need to be filled, her clitoris was so sensitive that when he gave it another delicate tap, she lurched, driven a giant step closer to orgasm.

“I won’t,” he said, and his hand pushed her thigh even wider.

Exposing her. Exposing everything.

He stared down, seemingly mesmerized, and then he penetrated, a slow, thick parting of her flesh. Moaning, Polly closed her eyes at the exquisite sensation. She was so ready for him that there was only the tiniest, sweetest pinch of discomfort as he continued inside. Oh, yes. He was hot and smooth and—

He wasn’t wearing a condom.

Her lashes flew up and she opened her mouth to warn him, but then he rooted deep, and she gasped at the goodness of it. He held himself motionless inside her, and she could feel her muscles clenching around him, her body trying to incite movement. She moaned with impatience.

“Shh,” he murmured, and caressed her hip. “Let yourself get used to me.”

Pleasure was breaking in little waves across her body. Condom, she thought sluggishly, her mind trying to bring the word to her mouth. She was on the Pill so she wouldn’t get pregnant, but—

“God, Pol.” Teague suddenly jolted, his body almost leaving hers so she had to clamp her knees against his flanks to keep him close. “No, no. Listen, I’m not wearing protection.”

His urgent voice cleared her own mind a little.

“Do we really need it?” she asked. “Because...because I’m thinking not.”

He stilled, staring at her face. “Polly...”

She met his gaze. “I’m thinking not,” she repeated. Teague was well aware she was on birth control. Just last month, on their way to a weekend of wine-tasting with friends, she’d had to ask him to turn around to retrieve her forgotten little packet of pills. As for STDs, they were close enough to know that wasn’t an issue, either.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

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