Erin McCarthy - It’s About Time

Not that she was resisting.

When he broke off their kiss, she actually went and whimpered again.

Caleb stroked Trish’s back, sliding down past the bottom of her tank top, feeling her bare flesh in the dip of her body before it reached the firm curve of her smooth backside. She was nibbling his ear, running her fingers through his hair, and he loved the way she took what she wanted. He had her on him, part for the press and grind of her luscious body along the length of him, but also because he knew he was big and strong, and didn’t want to overpower her or trap her or hurt her.

But he should have stripped her naked first. He wanted to see, feel, and taste her bare breasts. He tugged on her tank top, trying to work it up awkwardly. Trish caught the hint. She sat up with her legs around his thighs in an enticing straddle and raised her shirt over her head.

It went flying across the room, hit the wall and slid to the floor. Trish ran her fingers through her hair and arched her breasts toward him.

Caleb forgot to breathe.

He didn’t know what was sexier-the curve of her breasts, the tips of her dusky nipples, or the sexy I-know-you-like-them smile on her face.

His air came back on a desperate groan.

“In my dream, you were sucking my nipples, refusing to touch me anywhere else,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be that cruel,” he managed to say, though he was feeling something like a two-by-four had been taken to his head.

He should have known Trish would be different from his ex, but he hadn’t really had time to follow the thought through. April would never have sat on him, baring her breasts so enticingly. Nor would she ever have spoken out loud what had happened in a sexual dream, though Caleb doubted she’d ever even had any. April had been inhibited sexually.

And hot damn, it looked like Trish wasn’t at all.

“Then touch me,” she said, leaning forward and clasping one of his hands in her own. “I’m still wet from my dream,” she added, like this was a selling point.

He’d been sold the minute she’d dug in his jeans for the bike keys.

With a groan, he reached for her breast with the hand she wasn’t holding, took the fullness and squeezed. Trish gasped, her eyes drifting closed. He dragged his thumb across her nipple, felt the tight plumpness of it, felt the tremor that stole over her as he whispered her name.

Her eyes snapped open. “Caleb, oh, I want you so much.”

His briefs were too tight, his cock strangled alongside her inner thigh as she rocked over him, her breast heaving in his hand. Heat from her sweet spread reached him even through her tight shorts and his underwear.

Still holding her small, soft hand in his rough one, he sat up and swiped his tongue across her nipple. “I want you, too.”

His intent was to settle her firmly in his lap and suck her nipple into his mouth for a good long taste. But Trish had other ideas. She pushed on his chest.

“Lay back down. I need to take my shorts off.”

He did as he was told, and she collapsed on his chest, hot, perky breasts fitting over him. Caleb stroked her back, kissed her chin, while Trish wiggled around, pulling on her waistband.

“Dammit, I can’t get these off. Help me.”

“I’m just going to enjoy what you’re doing for a minute or two.” All that moving around felt pretty good, in a painful, torturous kind of way.

“It will feel better with my shorts off.” She buried her head in his shoulder as she lifted her hips and shoved.

He felt the fabric of both shorts and panties go down, felt her hot skin hit his, right above his briefs, felt the soft, feathery touch of her pubic hair on his midriff, and he swallowed a bucketful of saliva.

Then when he cupped her tight ass he swore at the pleasure of it. “You feel so incredibly good.”

Caleb stroked her in delicious exploration, rolling his thumbs across the swell, slipping into the dip between her cheeks with his middle finger as he palmed over her. He breathed hard, so primed just from touching her that he was afraid he would embarrass himself. Damn, he had waited so long, and she felt so fucking right.

“Your hands are huge.” She gave him a glassy-eyed stare. “How big are your fingers?”

“Not too big,” he assured her, not wanting to scare her. Shuddering, he lay still, battling his need into submission. “Look, Trish, anything that you’re not comfortable with, just say so. If I’m hurting you in any way, yell or slap me or whatever to let me know.”

He’d castrate himself if he hurt her.

But Trish shook her head and licked his bottom lip. “I wasn’t concerned. I was actually hoping your fingers would be big.”

Damn.

And she rolled off of him and onto her back, slipping her shorts the rest of the way down her legs, kicking them off with a little flip of her toes. Her hands lifted over her head and one knee elevated. Her stomach dipped in, her breasts rose and fell, and her mouth turned up in a wicked smile.

“Hurt me, baby.”

Caleb watched her for a second, all laid out for him to touch and taste and fuck, and he felt something akin to awe.

“Now that’s a beautiful thing, Trish.”

Then he reached for her.

When one of those rough hands of Caleb’s cupped her between the legs, Trish gasped, rising up into his touch. His mouth played with her nipple, sucking lightly first one, then the other, while his hand just sat there and she squirmed in agony.

Trying to encourage him to do something besides letting his hand lie like a crotch-potato, she squeezed the solid muscles right above his waist. Then promptly did it again, enjoying the tight, wide feel of him.

He pulled away from her breasts. “Am I hurting you? Should I stop?”

Not in the way he meant. Trish wiggled again and his hand started to retreat.

No, no, no. Wrong answer.

“You’re not hurting me at all. I want you to show me how big your fingers are.”

Her voice must have driven her meaning home because he nodded his head. “Aah, I see.” Then with a grin, he lifted his hand off her completely and held it in the air. “This is what my fingers look like.” He wiggled them.

Never having entered into a study of finger-size comparison, Trish could draw no immediate conclusions. Caleb’s fingers certainly looked bigger than average, and his hand looked like he could palm a watermelon, but there was only one way to really tell.

“I don’t want to see them, I want to feel them.” She took his hand and guided it to her, sliding his index finger across her slick folds.

She rolled her eyes back in her head.

Caleb moaned. “Oh, shit, Trish, you feel so damn good.”

Look who was talking. His finger pushed inside her, filling her, and sending her muscles into little jerks and spasms of pleasure. He retreated, came back, went deeper, pulled out to swirl moisture around the swollen button her clitoris had become.

Her hand still rested on his wrist, his movements dragging her with him, and Trish decided this was indisputable proof of a much-argued maxim.

Bigger was definitely better.

“Like that? Not too big?”

“Absolutely not,” she managed, the thought of him withdrawing striking terror in her sex-crazed heart.

“Try adding another one,” she suggested.

His green eyes darkened to the color of a dense forest. His mouth covered hers with a moist, demanding kiss at the same time another finger plunged into her, stretching her and setting off a climax that she couldn’t stop.

Holding on to his arm with both hands, Trish let his tongue take her while she came with tight, shattering pulses. She yanked her head away from his to suck in air and let the pleasure take her under.

For a long, quiet second after she stopped shuddering, he held his fingers inside of her until she finally gave him a shrug and a smile. “Oops.”