Locked Out of Gran's Secret Room, I Wore What Was Inside novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Loft

In his boat shed loft she orders him to strip, takes his mouth between her legs and then all of him, and falls asleep telling him to stay.

The loft door had barely shut behind us before I had him by the shirt.

"Take it off," I said.

Tiago pulled the wet shirt over his head and let it fall.

The one bulb in the rafters swung a little from the draft and lit him in pieces.

He had a broad chest and a rope scar across one forearm.

A flat brass disc hung on a cord against his breastbone.

I took it for a saint's medal and didn't ask about it.

"Now the boots."

"Yes, Captain."

He sat on the edge of the narrow bunk and worked the laces with cold fingers while I stood over him and shook.

My engagement dress clung to me, heavy with seawater.

Salt had dried stiff in my hair.

I reached behind me for the zipper and couldn't find the pull.

"Come here," I said. "Do this."

He stood and turned me by the shoulders.

I felt his breath on my neck before I felt his fingers.

The zipper went down slowly, one tooth at a time, and the cold air touched my spine and then his mouth did.

I made a noise I didn't recognize.

"Good?" he said into my skin.

"Don't stop."

"I wasn't going to."

The silk dropped off my hips and puddled on the boards.

I stood there in a wet strapless bra and the stockings he'd found with his hand an hour ago, and I turned around.

He looked at me.

He looked for a long time, with no hurry in his face at all, and then he said, very low, "Christ, look at you."

My knees went soft.

"The light," I said. "Turn it off."

"I want to see you."

"I know you do. Turn it off anyway."

He reached up and pulled the chain.

The dark came down, with the rain starting on the tin roof and a thin gray stripe from the harbor lights across the floor.

"Learn me by hand," I said.

He drew a breath through his teeth.

Then his palms found my waist and moved up my ribs, slow and flat, and unhooked the bra with a flick of his thumbs.

He pressed his mouth between my breasts.

His beard-rough jaw dragged across the underside of one, and I let my head fall back.

"Tiago," I said.

"Mm."

"Mouth. On me. Now."

He took my nipple between his lips and sucked, and my hands went into his hair and held on.

He did it slowly at first.

He swirled his tongue around it, drew it deep, and let it go with a wet sound that went straight down my body.

He turned to the other one and gave it the same attention.

I was already pushing against his thigh, which he had set between my legs without my asking.

"You're soaked through," he said, against my breast.

"It's the ocean."

"It isn't."

I laughed, and the laugh turned into a gasp when he bit down, very gently.

"Sit on the bunk," I said.

He sat.

I stood in front of him, my hand in his hair.

"Stockings," I said.

He rolled them down my legs one at a time, kissing the inside of each knee, each ankle, and I felt his mouth smiling.

When I was bare, he put his hands on my hips and looked up at me in the stripe of gray light.

"Tell me what you want, Captain."

"I want your mouth on my pussy," I said.

"I want you on your knees on that floor, and I want you to make me come with your tongue."

His fingers tightened on my hips.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, hoarse.

"Captain."

"Yes, Captain."

I sat on the edge of the bunk.

He slid off onto his knees on the boards, pushed my thighs apart with his big hands, and put his face between them.

The first long lick went up through the middle of me, and I cried out.

He did it again, flat and slow.

Then he circled my clit with the tip of his tongue until my back arched off the blanket.

"Right there," I said. "Oh, God. Right there."

He stayed right there.

He had a patient, filthy mouth.

He sucked my clit between his lips and flicked it.

He sank two fingers into me and curled them forward, and the sound I made bounced off the rafters.

"You're so wet," he muttered. "You taste of salt and you taste of me wanting you."

"Don't talk," I said.

"Then tell me to stop."

"Don't you dare."

He grinned against me and went back to work.

My thighs shook on his shoulders.

I pulled his hair, and he groaned into me, and that was the end of me.

I came with my head thrown back and my heels in his shoulder blades, loud and shuddering.

One hand was fisted in the blanket.

He held me through it and didn't stop until I pushed him off.

I lay there with my chest heaving.

"That," I said, "was a very good start."

He wiped his mouth on his wrist and looked up at me.

He was the most pleased man I had ever seen.

"On the bunk," I said. "On your back."

"I'm not done."

"You're done when I say."

He lay down.

I got up on my knees beside him and unbuckled his belt.

He lifted his hips so I could drag the wet jeans down his thighs.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

I wrapped my hand around it.

He swore, once, softly.

"Hold still," I said.

I stroked him slowly from base to tip, and again, feeling him pulse, thumbing the slick from the head down the shaft.

His abdomen went hard.

I bent down and ran my tongue slowly around the head, and tasted salt and heat.

His hips jerked off the bunk.

"Jesus," he said. "Captain."

"Quiet."

I took him into my mouth, as far as I could, and hollowed my cheeks.

I worked my hand where my mouth couldn't reach.

I moved my head in a slow, wet rhythm that made his heels dig into the mattress.

He fisted the blanket in both hands, because I had not told him he could touch me.

He didn't touch my hair once.

I had never known how much I would like that.

I pulled off with a small wet sound and looked up the length of his body.

"Miss Tillinghast," he said, strangled. "I'll finish in your mouth."

"No, you won't."

I moved over him and braced my hands on his chest.

The disc was warm under my palm.

I lowered myself slowly onto the head of his cock, and then I stopped.

It was so good that I wanted a moment inside it.

He was big.

He filled me in a long, stretching slide that made us both groan.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you feel."

"Tell me."

"Tight. Hot. Perfect."

I took all of him and sat there, full and shaking, with my forehead against his.

His hands came up and held my face.

He kissed me, deep and careful, and I started to move.

It was slow at first.

I rolled my hips and felt him drag against the front of me, and each stroke pulled a sound out of both of us.

His hands slid down to my ass and gripped hard.

"Keep going," he said. "God, keep going."

"Harder?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Say please," I said.

"Please, Captain."

I rode him faster.

The bunk creaked, the rain beat on the roof, and I leaned down until the brass disc swung forward and brushed my lips.

I closed my teeth on the cord to hold it out of the way.

His hand came up and covered mine, firm and sudden.

"That stays where it is," he said. "Please."

"All right."

I let it go.

I kissed the place beside it instead, and he turned his head and caught my mouth.

His thumb found my clit and rubbed while I rode him.

The heat built in my belly again, tighter and faster than the first time.

"Tiago," I said.

"I've got you."

"I'm going to."

"Do it," he said. "Come on me. Let me feel it."

I came with a cry that I bit into his shoulder.

My body clenched down on him, wave after wave.

He swore and drove up into me and held me still on his cock while I shook.

Then he flipped us.

The mattress sank under my back, his weight settled between my thighs, and he hooked one of my knees over his arm.

"My turn," he said, and his voice was rough and low.

"Yes."

He did not thrust at once.

He drew almost all the way out.

He dragged the head of his cock slowly through my wetness, up over my clit and back down.

I swore at him.

"Say what you want," he said.

"Inside me. Now," I said.

"Say it nicer."

"Tiago, fuck me, or I'll find the rope in this shed and tie you to your own bunk."

He laughed, low in his throat, and filed that away.

I could tell.

Then he pushed in, slow and deep, all the way to the root, and held there.

My whole body went tight around him.

"There she is," he whispered.

I reached down between us and felt where we were joined, his hard base and my slick skin.

The touch made him shudder.

"Move," I said.

He thrust into me deeply, again and again, until the bed knocked the wall.

I hooked my ankles behind his back and met every stroke.

"Look at me," he said. "I know you want the dark. Look at me anyway."

I opened my eyes.

I could see the shape of his face and the shine of his eyes.

I saw the exact moment he stopped holding anything back.

He came inside me with my name caught in his throat, and my body took it and held it.

For a long minute neither of us moved.

He lowered himself onto his elbows, kissed my forehead, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

Then he rolled off and gathered me against his side, and pulled the blanket over both of us.

The rain went on.

I had never been held after, not by Crispin, not by anyone I could remember.

I lay with my cheek on the disc and listened to his heart come down.

"Stay," I heard myself say.

It was out before I had decided to say it.

I felt him smile in the dark against my hair.

"Yes, Captain," he said.

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