Roustabout (The Traveling #3) by Jane Harvey-Berrick Read Free Book Online Page B

low moan he pulled back, cupping himself over his jeans with one hand, his lips trembling against my neck.
    A pause. A breath.
     
    And then our bodies crashed together again.
    There was no slow seduction, no tender moment; this was possession—mine, his. It didn’t matter.
    Our teeth clashed, hot breaths panting into each other’s mouths. I grabbed his hair, my fingers slipping through the short locks, nails biting into his scalp. I angled his head, tugging his lips to my neck, where he licked and sucked so hard I knew that I’d have hickeys. He fisted my hair and pulled my head sharply, his mouth urgent and demanding.
    While his hands were occupied, my roaming fingers skated over his torso, once, twice and for a third time, greedily tracing the ridges and dips of his muscles. I watched, fascinated, as he sucked in a sudden breath.
    Then he yanked his shirt over his head and my eager hands were thirsty, stroking and sliding over his satiny skin, pulling roughly at the smattering of soft hairs on his chest.
    When his hands tugged on the hem of my t-shirt, I took the hint, yanking it up and tossing it over my shoulder. Immediately, his head dipped to my chest and I felt his warm, wet mouth fastening over the lace of my bra, his tongue working under the material, his teeth pulling the cups down.
    As he licked and sucked and bit my nipples, I arched into him, pressing his face into my boiling flesh, suffocating him against my breasts, watching him gasp and drown.
    Then he was on his knees, kissing and sucking my belly, working his hands into the waistband of my jeans. The tight fabric bit into my flesh as he forced his hands inside, lower, lower and lower again, until his fingers were brushing against my clit.
    I scrabbled frantically trying to find the button to open my jeans, fighting those possessive, knowing fingers as they fucked me where I stood.
    An orgasm flamed through me, taking me out at the knees and we stumbled backward toward the bed. When I fell, Tucker’s hard, heavy body crushed me into the mattress. I gasped and shoved at his shoulder and he rolled suddenly, pulling me on top of him so I was splayed across his broad chest, the hairs tickling my exposed skin, as I gasped and wheezed and tried to fill my lungs.
    He snapped open the clasp on my bra with one hand and pulled it from my body with brutal strength.
    But he didn’t let up. He grabbed and pushed and forced the denim from my legs as I lay on top of him. I broke a nail as I struggled to pull the zipper down and he growled as the broken edge scored a red line across his stomach.
    I was naked and lying on top of a man made of muscle. He was satin-hard, iron-soft, polished stone and silky skin.
    He rolled again and this time I was underneath him and I thought he’d fuck me through his jeans, the rough material abrading the smooth skin of my thighs.
    “Off!” I gasped. “Take them off!”
    I scrambled with shaking hands to undo the button and zipper of his jeans, and he let his cock spring free from his briefs, the blunt head poised at my entrance. I shoved him hard and he swore, lifting his body to push the denim away so his jeans fell into a pile at the bottom of the bed, his black briefs still tangled on one foot. He kicked again, and his clothes disappeared onto the floor.
    I thought this was it. I thought this was the moment when Tucker McCoy would fuck me for the first and last time, but I was wrong.
    His body slid lower and lower down the bed, the scruff of his cheeks and chin harsh on my sensitive flesh.
    I whimpered as his head pushed between my thighs. Unapologetically making room for himself, he hooked my legs over his shoulders and opened me wide.
    Heat that was part embarrassment, part arousal, flooded through me. When his tongue touched me, stroking me, probing me, I cried out, grabbing his hair and forcing his face deeper.
    His fingers tightened against my thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he spread me open again, the pressure of