Page 65 of Her Age Gap Match

“Please, John, please,” I begged. “Give me your cock. I want it so bad, please, I love you⁠—”

He slid inside me to the hilt.

I keened, crying out to the ceiling, my nails embedding in his shoulders to the point where I was certain they’d leave marks. He started fucking me hard right away, one hand coming around to brace my hips against him, the other playing rough with my breasts.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled. "Taking me so well—every time, Poppy, every goddamn time⁠—"

"John—"

"I know." His hips drove forward and I lost my breath entirely. "I know, baby. I've got you."

His hand moved from my hip to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, making me feel completely claimed, completely safe, both at once. I arched into it.

"Yeah," he said roughly. "That's it."

"More," I managed. "Harder⁠—"

He gave me harder.

The headboard knocked against the wall and I didn't care, couldn't care, could only hold on and take what he gave me and give it back in kind—my hips meeting his, my nails in his shoulders, his name coming out of me in pieces.

"Who do you belong to," he said.

"You," I breathed. "You, John⁠—"

"Say it again."

"You." My head pressed back into the pillow. "Only you, only ever⁠—"

"Good girl." His thumb found my clit and I shattered, my whole body pulling tight and then releasing all at once, his name tearing out of me. “And I’m yours, Poppy…I’m all yours until the day I die…”

Our rhythm went wild and unfocused, time ceasing to exist. I didn’t know how long we kept at it—his cock driving into me, his hand steady at my throat, ihs lips against mine. All I knew was that I came again, again…then he was jolting and falling over the edge with me.

We lay together like that, his body half-covering mine, his cock still inside me. My pussy clenched every so often with little aftershocks, and every single time it felt right to have him there, lingering.

He finally pulled back to look at me.

“When we get back to the city,” he said, “we’re still waiting…I promise, I need that—but I want you to start thinking about a ring. Whatever you want, it’s gonna be all yours, baby.”

My breath caught.

"A ring," I said.

"A ring," he confirmed. His thumb moved across my cheekbone. "I told you six months. I meant it. But I want you thinking about what you want so that when the time comes I get it right."

I looked at him—this man, in this bed, in this house he built alone on a lake he'd wanted since he was fifteen years old.

"I don't care about the ring," I said.

"I know you don't," he said. "That's why I want to get it right."

I laughed, a little watery, and pressed my face against his chest.

He held me there, one hand moving through my hair, the snow-light coming through the window.

"John," I said.

"Yeah."