Free Make Me by Alyssa Turner Page A

or Manny might wake up and put her safely in his bed, away from the nice erection lodged against her thigh. At some point her leg had meandered over his waist. She didn’t remember doing it, so she figured she couldn’t be held accountable.
    TV light still danced in the room, but the volume had been turned down. Rebecca chanced a sniff of his neck. Pure intoxication. Pure torture. She wanted to press her lips there, where his pulse beat steadily under his caramel skin. My God, what she wouldn’t do to get a lick.
    He rolled toward her, still asleep, yet his expression was wrought with pain; pinched brow and those luscious lips pressed together in a thin line. His breathing became ragged and shallow. Rebecca noticed the way he suddenly clutched the sheet draped over them both. When the shuddering moans came, she knew a dark dream had him hostage.
    “Manny.” She shook him gently. “Manny, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.”
    He held on to the darkness, or it held on to him. His furrowed brow had become dewy with sweat.
    Rebecca doubled her efforts. “Manny!” She touched his face, cupping his cheek, and then tapped him not so gently on his chest. “Wake up!”
    “Kyle.” The name fell from his lips just as his eyes opened.
    Rebecca stroked his cheek, the way you might for a startled child. “I think you were having a bad dream.”
    Manny sat up, wiped his brow, and looked around as though he needed confirmation he wasn’t where he’d been moments ago. He caught his breath, raking his hand over her head. “Fucking war. Sorry.”
    “No, no. Don’t apologize.” She rubbed his arm. Manny’s eyes were wild, wide, and intense. His stare seemed enough to send her into flames.
    “Come here.” He pulled her close, slipping his long fingers into the nest of curls beneath her ponytail at her nape. She went willingly as he commanded. The gruff tone was something she’d never heard him use.
    His tongue found hers without apology, like a bullet to a mark. This time his hands found every reason to be under her blouse and no excuses for why they shouldn’t. Manny’s need was almost tangible, as real as the ache it promised to satisfy inside of her.
    “Are you sure?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
    “Do you want this as much as I do?” He nipped at her lip, a lion under tenuous control.
    She nodded, aching for him in a way that didn’t say much for good judgment. She knew he was suffering, nothing else was certain. “Let me try to make it better.”
    Rebecca freed him from his T-shirt, and he returned the favor with her blouse. Even in the dim light of the television he was beautiful. Too many hours had passed since she’d seen that strong chest with its dusting of hairs on the sternum. Her tongue went right for a small brown nipple while her hand gained purchase on his strong shoulder. Since the moment she’d seen him shirtless and wet, Rebecca had wanted to lick at that little piece of candy. The sexiest sound she’d ever heard came from him then, and her hand slid over the ridges of his torso to settle against his cock. He was large and firm in her hand as she rubbed the length of him against her palm through his shorts. He rocked into her strokes, pulling her head from his chest and kissing her again. His hands scooped both breasts from the demi-cups of her bra, and his mouth left hers to rain attention on one and then the other.
    She took in the sight—simple yet so erotic—as he lapped at the stiffened tips. He’d made her forget how to breathe. Her whole body tingled from the sensation and from lack of oxygen. The feeling consumed her from the inside out. His fingers had their own agenda, working the buttons of her shorts and sliding them over her thighs.
    He leaned back then to look at her in a soaked lace thong, her breasts spilling from the matching bra. “Mystery Girl, you’re so beautiful.”
    Rebecca smiled at her nickname as much as the compliment. “Not so much of a mystery