I lean down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. My hands stroke her soft skin, cupping her breasts; I drag my lips down to suck on her nipples. She arches into me with a breathy whimper.
I smile against her skin. “I’ve wanted to taste you again so fucking badly.” My lips skim lower, tongue dipping into her belly button. I nudge her legs apart, wide, and kiss the top of her sex. At the sight of her blonde hair, a little darker here, against the deep pink flush of her skin, my cock twitches painfully. “Watching you writhe on my tongue as I catalogue every note.”
She buries her hands in my hair, whining. She’s absolutely soaked, so turned on even the barest touches make her jolt. I press my face against her, beard scraping along her delicate skin as I lick and suck and taste. She’s a feast, all for me. She’s salty, and a touch sweet, with a rich note that’s purely her. I slide my hands under her bottom, angling her so I can fuck her on my tongue. She rewards me with a shout. A beautiful sound. It’s clear she’s not feeling the least bit self-conscious, even with our friends in other rooms of the house.
“I’ve tasted nearly everything,” I murmur against her skin. “The best champagne. Caviar. Fruit off the tree, fish off the boat.” I’m rambling, but I don’t care. Not when I’m lost in the heaven that’s between Poppy’s thighs. “White truffle. Foie gras. Kobe beef. Saffron.”
“Jack.” She’s laughing.
“Nothing compares to this.” I pause, flicking my gaze upward, and sure enough, she’s looking at me. At the sight of her, I’m breathless; there’s no space between my ribs for air. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. She strokes my hair away from my forehead. “That might win the award for cheesiest dirty talk ever.”
“I accept.” I circle around her clit with the tip of my tongue, then suck until I hear her cry out. “Happily.”
As I continue to taste her, I slide two fingers into her, crooking them at an angle that has her jerking on my hair. She goes over the edge so easily after that, shaking underneath me as she cries my name. It’s not long before I’m hard again, straining to feel her from the inside.
“I need you,” I whisper, kissing her inner thigh. “Tell me I can have you, Poppy.”
She strokes the back of my head. “Of course you can.”
The next moments are quiet, minus our gasping breath. I coax along her seam until her slick coats her, each touch of my fingers setting off shivers. Her nails dig into my skin, pinpricks of pleasure-pain. She spreads her legs, urging me to sink into her, and I nearly rip apart the condom in my haste. She laughs breathlessly. I shake my head as she helps me, guiding my length to her sweet, slick core.
She’s looking at me, lips parted softly, eyes so trusting, as I join our bodies together. She lifts her hips to meet mine with each thrust, wanting me deep, moans falling from her mouth like jewels. I rake my lips over hers, hoarding the evidence of her pleasure with pride.
It’s torture to pull out completely, but I do in order to angle us on our sides, her body held in my embrace. I urge one of her legs up toward her chest, keeping my hand on her knee, while my other hand circles her clit. I pepper her neck and shoulder with rough kisses. My beard drags against her heated skin. The whimper that escapes her makes me hot all over again. I groan as I sink into her from this new angle, as languid as the slide into the deep end of a pool. My finger glides around her clit, her pretty curls, and lower, rubbing the place where we’re joined together.
“Jack.” Her back arches against my front. “Don’t stop.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted.” I bite the freckled curve of her shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”
“More.” The word tumbles out of her without hesitation. Pride surges through me. “More, harder—please—”
As I continue to thrust, I wiggle my finger in next to my cock, stretching her even farther. She sobs, her breath catching.
“Too much?”
“More.” Her voice is high, but steady.
I move my finger in time with my hips, getting it good and slick before pressing it against that other, even more intimate place. She tenses, but I whisper praise to her until my finger slips in, inch by slow inch. Filled in both holes, she relaxes. It’s nearly enough to make me come on the spot, the feel of her pliant body. My Poppy. My sweet fucking girl. A tidal wave of possessiveness crashes over me, painful in its intensity.
“Good?” I whisper roughly.
She nods frantically.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? Just like this?”
“Yes. Fuck. Oh, Jack, yes...” She clamps tightly around my cock—and the finger teasing her bottom. I let out a shaky breath, fighting to keep my rhythm. She’s too perfect. Too sweet and filthy, all at once.
My mind startles me with the image of her filled with my seed, tits swollen, belly gently curved. It’s not a question of desire, or even a question of need. It’s something in my bones, yearning for that connection, that claim. I want to knock her up, and for the whole damn world to know that she’s mine.
I thrust so hard, the bed shakes. She meets each movement eagerly, not holding back even the slightest whimper. I bury my face in the crook of her neck with a pant. I can’t say a damn thing about what I’m thinking. It’s too fucking intense.
But true.
I’ve never thought of the future and happiness in the same breath. Especially not when it comes to a woman and the urge to make her mine, to see her with my child, to create something so fiercely special with her. I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy in my life until right now, and I’m terrified beyond reason to lose it.
I can’t tell her any of that.
