Real Ugly(56)

So now, Turner, who I guess maybe really is there, is touching me, sliding my tank top up and over my head, running his fingers down my body, caressing my hips. I'm not sure what to do, trapped somewhere between that handful of pills and those memories. That's what I tell myself anyway. I refuse to admit that I actually want him there. That would be sacrilegious at best.

“Turner,” I begin, but he stops me with a gentle kiss, one that's the complete opposite of the bloody teeth smashing thing we've been doing lately. He presses his lips tight against mine and runs his fingers down my body, pushing my legs gently apart. I think he's there to fuck me at first, but then he starts to tease the skin on my inner thighs, brushing his hand down to my knee and back up again, like he's petting a fucking pussy cat or some shit. But it feels so damn good that I let him, relaxing my head into the pillow and letting him massage my tongue with his.

After a few moments of this, Turner takes off my panties and then his shirt, laying across me so that my naked body presses against his skin and my bare crotch lines up with his clothed one. He's erect and ready, but he doesn't take off the sweatpants he's got on. Instead, he continues to touch and feel me, rubbing my breasts in gentle motions, gliding his palm across my nipples. His actions are so unexpected, so unlike anything I'd ever think Turner Campbell would want to do that I convince myself once again that this is all a dream and try to relax into it.

Seriously, I've never had anyone but him touch me like this. It's intoxicating. I mean, it's not like I'm a virgin or anything, but let's just be honest, my sexual experiences have been limited to quick ruts and one night stands. The only boyfriend I've ever had was my damn foster brother and that never went anywhere at all.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask when it's clear that Turner didn't come here for sex. As mind boggling as it seems, I'm pretty sure he came here to prove that's exactly what he wasn't looking for. Or maybe he remembers that night, the way he skimmed my body with his lips, the way he teased my nipples with his tongue. Either way, I'm a bit shocked. Or I will be when these damn pills wear off. Right now, I just feel weightless, like I'm floating on a sea of feathers. Fuck.

“Why not?” he asks, and when he lifts his head and smiles at me, I know I'm in trouble. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?” And then Turner descends and buries his head between my thighs, cupping me under the ass with his hands and holding tight, locking me down and flicking his stud across my clit. Tears spring to my eyes and my back arches off the bunk, fighting against the tight grip that Turner's got on me. Holy shit, that feels fucking sickening. Nice to know that mouth's good for something other than singing. And I'd thought that was his only talent. Silly me.

My fingers curl into the sheets as he works his mouth against my cunt, tasting me, not afraid to dive in and use his entire tongue to reach out and penetrate me, draw me into him. He leaves no spot untouched, gliding up and down with his lips, breathing against me, spreading me open and eating me out like he knows everything about me, like we've been together for years. It's fucking weird. Weird because I don't know him, weirder because he doesn't know me, weirdest because that's Turner fucking Campbell down there.

Just when I think he's about to finish and pull away, he slides his fingers into me, and I can't hold back. My body squeezes around him tight and my hands reach down to tangle in his hair. I pull his mouth up to mine and grind my hips against him while he teases me, sliding in and out, drawing gasping breaths that escape my lips and crash into his. All the while, I can feel his erection straining against his pants, begging to fuck me.

“Do it,” I whisper, and he grins like he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

“Not tonight,” he tells me, voice low and rough, like he's about to come in his pants. Still, that self-assured look never leaves his face, and I just know, even through the haze of fatigue and pills and pleasure, that I'm never going to be able to live this down if I come in his fucking arms with tears rolling down my goddamn face. So I reach up and wipe away the moisture with my knuckles, and then before he can stop me, I'm thrusting my hand down his pants and grabbing his dick so tight that my nails cut into his skin and he bites my lip hard enough that I bleed. Seconds later he's blowing a fucking wad into his sweatpants and slamming his knuckles against my pussy, bruising my pelvic bone and drawing an orgasm out of freaking nowhere.

The pleasure grips my body like a vice and sends shockwaves rolling through me, leaving me a panting, shaking mess.

Turner withdraws his hand and wipes it on my blanket.

“God, Knox,” he says as my eyelids start to flicker closed and the word spins around me. “You sure are something else, you fucking know that?”