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“More,” she gasps as I slip into her, my cock embraced by the tight, slick walls of her grip. “Fuck me, Connor. I need all of you. Let me make you feel good.”
I want to make it good for her, to give more than I take because I’m in heaven inside Poppy. But there will be hell to pay for this and I know it. Eventually, she’s going to regret this night, but if I do everything in my power to give her the physical pleasure and release she wants . . . maybe she won’t hate me when it’s all said and done.
I’m burning, my desire for Poppy and anger at myself mixing with who knows what in my veins. But I use it as fuel to give her exactly what she asks for. I pound her, fucking her with every ounce of my strength and clapping my hips and balls against her body.
Take it . . . take it, Poppy, I think as I fuck her hard and deep with demanding strokes. I don’t know if I’m punishing myself for being unworthy of her or punishing her for taking me anyway, but instead of my breaking her, she meets me equally, surging up to capture my mouth with a hard, sucking kiss.
We give in.
We tear into each other, hair is pulled, fingernails score my back, hips piston, and my cock surges, harder and thicker than I’ve ever been. Suddenly, we’re on the edge of eternity, ready to hurtle into the dark abyss, and I freeze.
I stare into the abyss, but like a philosopher once said, the abyss stares back as Poppy bucks herself up into me, and I see . . .
Her leap. Not a fall into pleasure, but rather, an absolute wingless flight into floating bliss. It sends me tumbling, spiraling wildly after her.
“Poppy!” I growl, plunging into her. My balls tighten before spilling over, my orgasm carrying me away as I fill her with hot spurts of my seed. She holds me, her legs locked around my waist as she quivers, her own climax sending aftershocks through her body that seem heightened with every jet of my release.
In the silence that follows, I collapse, holding her in my arms as I sag into the sweat-soaked sheets. For damning her, I feel . . . lighter. Like maybe, in all of that, she did shine a little bit of light on my soul.
Poppy curls into me, kissing my chest softly and humming happily until she stiffens suddenly, her body going tense. “What is it?”
Poppy sits up, blurting out, “I need my laptop.”
Okay . . . uhm, not what I expected. Then again, I expected tears, anger, and getting thrown out of here, but this is not at all what I thought might happen. “I know. We’ll go get it tomorrow night.”
“No, no . . . the one in the kitchen,” she explains with a happy giggle. “I need to write down my thoughts on this. Right now.”
Without another word, Poppy hops from the bed, as naked as the day she was born, and runs from the room. I lie there, stunned. I don’t think I can ever say this has happened before, and I’m not sure what to do . . . or even what the fuck is going on.
She said her thoughts on this, obviously meaning the sex we just had. Is she going to give me a report card? Like a ‘needs improvement’ and ‘exceeds expectations’ type deal? I’m down for feedback, but that’s a bit much, right?
But before I decide whether I should get up and get dressed or follow her to the dining area, she’s back with her cheap little backup laptop in her hands, almost leaping into the bed to flop down next to me. Yanking the cover open, she starts typing.
I look over, wondering exactly what she’s typing about, but she doesn’t seem to mind as I start reading her story.
. . . his eyes roam over my body, the searing heat trailing behind like his laser intensity is real. His hunger is a palpable thing, as real and physical as his sexy, chiseled chest, and when he reaches for me, I can’t resist even though I know I should.
This isn’t what good girls do.
She keeps typing, so fast that her cursor stays ahead of my reading. I’m surprised steam isn’t rising from the keys of the cheap little computer, not only because of how fast she’s typing but how super hot and over the top it is.
I mean, it’s sexy as hell, and I sort of wonder if more men should read romance like this. They might learn a trick or two.
“And . . . yeah, the clit thing,” Poppy murmurs, lifting a finger before going off on another speedy rush of flying fingers and smokin’ hot words on the page.
