Page 18 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

turner

. . .

M y arm goes around Poppy’s waist.

She’s warm. Soft. Still.

My hand shifts on her stomach, thumb brushing a lazy circle against her skin. I tell myself I’m just comfortable. That this is about comfort. Warmth. Sleep.

Not want.

Definitely not need.

Then she makes a soft sound in her throat, some sleepy exhale of contentment, and my body answers before my brain has a chance to shut it down.

Don’t move your hand off her stomach, don’t move your hand off her stomach, don’t?—

Too late.

I slide my palm lower. Just an inch.

Maybe two?

Enough to feel the curve of her hip, the bare skin there—warm, smooth, addictive.

My throat tightens as I drag my fingers back up, slow and deliberate, because I’m a fucking dumbass with zero impulse control and a growing list of regrets all beginning with her name.

“Poppy.”

“Hm?”

“You smell good…”

I scoot, pulling me in so we’re spooning, her sweet little ass nestled into my front.

My jaw clenches as a slow, hot pulse works its way down my spine, pooling low and heavy. I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through it. Trying not to grind into her like some horny teenage boy.

Fuck!

It’s impossible with her right here, so damn close, her hair tickling my chin.

My hand flexes against her stomach, fingers twitching with the need to move. To slide lower. To see how much she’d let me get away with…

But I can’t.

Won’t.

That would make me an asshole and a complete fucking creep.

So instead, I bury my face in her hair, inhaling deep, letting my nose drag along the curve of her neck. Squeeze my eyes shut, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The problem: every inhale is more of her. More of the baby powder scent, more shampoo, more soft skin. Every exhale comes out ragged and heavy, heat coiling low and tight in my lower belly until it’s unbearable.

My hand twitches.

I could glide it down. Just a little. Just enough to feel the dip of her waist. The curve of her hip.

God, I fucking want to.

Want to so fucking bad it hurts.

My jaw tics as I force myself to keep still. To not rock against her the way my body is screaming to. To not move my hand a single centimeter, fingers itching to map every inch of her skin.

But then.

Poppy’s hand slides over mine, slowly… deliberately...

My pulse spikes, pounding so hard it’s all I can hear. She doesn’t say anything; slips her fingers over mine and gently guides my hand to the hemline of her tank top so the fabric skims my knuckles.

My hand flexes, fingers splaying wide. Spreading across her stomach, feeling every shiver and hitch of her breath.

Poppy drags my hand along with hers, sliding it over her skin, over the gentle slope of her ribs, until I’m cupping the underside of her breast.

My Adam’s apple bobs, mouth dry as sandpaper. My thumb moves without permission, grazing the delicate curve of her flesh, rolling over her hard nipple.

Cock goes hard, pressing into her ass cheeks. Desperate to bury itself somewhere. Inside.

My mouth presses against her neck, lips brushing the soft skin there as my thumb rolls over her nipple again, a slow, deliberate circle.

Poppy shudders, a tremor that runs straight through her, and her hips push back against me, rubbing against the length of my dick like she’s testing how hard she’s made me.

I press against her, unable to stop myself, grinding until she gasps.

I’m burning up from the inside out, skin too tight, blood pumping heavy and thick in my veins. My hand cups her breast now, kneading it, loving the weight of it in my palm. Thumb flicks over her nipple and I want to lick it.

Suck it.

Watch it pucker.

Poppy arches into me, pressing her ass harder against my cock.

“Goddamn,” I rasp, mouth trailing down her neck, tongue tasting her skin—lemon sugar and heat and everything I can’t have but desperately want. My hips move again, rolling against her in a slow, helpless grind, and she whimpers, a soft, needy sound that shoots straight to my dick.

“Shit,” I mutter against her skin, lips hovering below her ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

She grinds her hips again, the curve of her ass snug.

My control snaps.

Hand drifts lower, tip of my thumb tracing a line down her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her thin shorts.

She isn’t wearing underwear.

“Please,” she whispers, voice wrecked and breathless. “Don’t stop.”

My mouth latches on to the side of her neck, suckling while my flat palm eases into her bottoms.

A guttural sound tears from my throat, muffled against her neck as my finger dips between her folds, sliding through the slick heat of her. Poppy gasps, her hips jerking forward, thighs parting to give me more access. To let me in.

“On your back,” I whisper against her skin as my finger drags back up, finding her clit and circling, slowly and torturously one time before moving. Pulling her along with me so she can roll to her back, and I can fuck her with my mouth.

It’s dark.

I pull at her shorts as I work down her body, kissing my way down.

She whimpers.

Spreads her legs so I can settle between them, shouldering them apart.

Lick, pressing my tongue into her core.

Poppy gasps.

“Like that?” I grind out, hips rocking against her as I tease her clit with slow, deliberate strokes. “That what you want, baby?”

“Yes,” she breathes, her head falling back against my shoulder, her chest heaving with every panting breath. “God, yes.”

I go at her as if she were my last meal, the taste of her hits me like a drug—sweet, hot, addictive. My tongue drags over her slick folds hungrily and she shudders in my mouth, fingers threading through my hair and gripping tight.

She pulls.

I close my eyes, my hands slipping beneath her ass to lift her hips, so I can angle her exactly where I want her; where I can devour her.

Poppy gasps, her thighs trembling around my head, and I grip her harder, pulling her closer, pressing my tongue deep inside her, groaning at the way she clenches around me.

She’s so fucking wet… dripping onto my chin and I can’t get enough.

My tongue works her, teasing her entrance, circling her clit, sucking it between my lips until she’s writhing, hips rolling against my mouth, chasing every lick and stroke like she’s starving for it.

“Oh my god…” she whines frantically, voice high and breathless, and it’s the sexiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

I slide a finger inside her. Then another.

Curling them just right, thumb pressing her clit, and her back bows off the bed as her head falls against the pillow.

She moans.

Moans some more.

Thighs quiver.

“So fucking pretty,” I murmur against her clit, breath hot, my fingers pumping slow and steady as my tongue flicks and sucks and licks. “Get dirty, baby. Let me hear you.”

She makes a broken, desperate sound, hips rocking against my face, grinding down harder, and I grip her thighs to keep her still.

Hold her where I want her as I devour her, tongue fucking her until she’s trembling, gasping, moaning, groaning.

And I’m nowhere near done with her yet.

Smooth.

Bare.

Pussy.

My hips rock against the mattress, friction setting my nerves on fire, and I bite back a groan, fighting to keep my focus on her.

We’re both so hot for one another. Have been for days. I can’t walk into a room with her in it anymore without my heart racing…

The taste of her is all I can think about right now; sweet and intoxicating—like the way she sounds gasping my name—breathless, wrecked—makes me ache everywhere.

I drag my tongue over her clit, circling, sucking, loving the way she trembles beneath me. Her thighs quiver against my cheeks, her heels digging into the mattress as she rocks against my face, chasing every stroke like she’s starving for it.

She’s close to coming.

So close.

I want to fuck her…

Bury myself inside, bang her so the bed is slamming into the wall. Sweaty, wild.

Naked.

Wet.

“Oh god…” she moans. “Oh god…”

Yeah. Fucking come.

Harder.

Harder.

“Oh fuck, Turner, ohhh…”

I keep my tongue on her clit, keep my fingers buried inside her, dragging out every last shudder and gasp and broken, breathless moan.

Boneless.

Trembling mess.

I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

In the darkness, all I can hear is her breathing—soft, uneven, still catching up. All I can feel is the way she’s splayed out beneath me, open and vulnerable, chest rising and falling against my cheek as I crawl up her body.

When I settle beside her, the room is still and quiet, the only light a sliver of moon filtering in through the blinds. I can’t see her face, but I can feel the way she’s watching me, her fingers reaching out to brush against my jaw, tracing the rough line of stubble there.

“You okay?” I murmur, voice rough, words falling into the darkness between us.

Her breath hitches. “So good.” She pauses. “Turner?”

“Mmm?”

“I want to watch you.”

I hesitate. “Watch me what?”

More silence.

Then.

“Watch you come.”

The air between us thickens, her words hanging there like a live wire, crackling with heat and want.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You want to watch me come?”

Her fingers reach over to trace my jawline. “Yes.”

Something hot and dark surges through me.

Something taboo.

I feel it everywhere—in the tightening of my muscles, the hard, aching length of me pressed against her hip, the way my pulse pounds so loud I can hear it echoing in my ears.

Before I can respond, the room floods with light.

Poppy’s hand flies up to shield her eyes, and I squint, blinking against the sudden brightness. The overhead lamp is on, blinding and too fucking real.

My gaze snaps to Poppy; she’s on her knees, crawling toward me now. Rests on her haunches to study me while I study her body.

The strap of her tank top has slipped down one shoulder, exposing more skin than I can handle right now—her rosy nipples I can see through the fabric.

Stomach.

Bare pussy.