Page 25 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

turner

. . .

I don’t bother knocking.

She’s expecting me.

My pulse is hammering so hard, it’s a miracle I can still hear anything over the dull roar of blood in my ears. Every muscle in my body is drawn tight, coiled and straining, barely holding me together.

What I’m not expecting when I walk into Poppy’s room is the sight of her standing on the opposite side of the bed wearing the same bra and underwear she had on the first day we met; sheer material, her nipples and pussy on display.

The sheer material clings to her skin, every curve an invitation. Her breasts are full and high, nipples peeking through the lace, hard and begging to be touched. My gaze travels lower, past the soft swell of her belly to the tiny scrap of fabric between her legs that barely conceals anything.

My eyes don’t know where to freaking look.

My hands are shaking as I close the door behind me and lock it.

I’m nervous.

Poppy stands there, eyes locked on mine, a flush blooming across her cheeks that matches the rise and fall of her chest. She swallows, lips parting, and my gaze drops to the line of her collarbone, to the delicate strap of her bra that’s slipping down her shoulder.

I do my best not to stare at her chest, but her tits are literally… right there. Full. Perky.

Just like I remember them. Just like I’ve been dreaming about.

A more beautiful pair of boobs I have not seen.

Her nipples are hard, pressing against the delicate fabric, begging for my mouth.

And I want to suck them already. I want to press my lips to every inch of her, drag my tongue over that smooth, warm skin, taste the salt and sweetness of her.

“Before you take another step, take your shirt off,” she whispers, her voice a low, sultry command. “It’s only fair.”

Her wish is my command. Reaching for the hem of my tee, my fingers tremble, pulling it up. I tug it up slowly, teasing both of us, baring inch after inch of skin.

Poppy’s eyes track every movement, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip as I peel the fabric up and over my head, dropping it to the floor.

“Better?” I ask, voice low, rough.

Poppy steps closer, her bare feet barely making sound against the hardwood floor. She’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off her skin; her breath mingling with mine.

“So much better,” she whispers.

Her fingers begin tracing a delicate line down my chest, palms skimming over my pec muscle, dipping down to the curve of my abs. My breath shudders out, and when her hands flatten against my stomach, my entire body tightens beneath her touch.

“Kiss me.”

My hands go to her face, and I look at her several long seconds before my lips touch hers; the way her lashes flutter, the way her mouth parts.

Juicy, kissable lips.

Dick sucking lips .

The first brush of our lips is soft, a gentle tease, a barely-there taste that sends a shiver racing down my spine. But when she presses up on her toes, angling her face to deepen the kiss, it’s game over.

I slide one hand down to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, and kiss her harde r.

Heat. Desperation.

Our mouths move together in a slow, filthy rhythm that makes my blood throb beneath my skin. So much tongue. Sloppy.

Blood races through my cock until I can feel the tip throbbing agonizingly against my shorts.

It strains toward her through the mesh, and she moans, hands sliding up my chest, nails scraping lightly over my pecs before dipping lower, fingers splaying against my abs.

My muscles tense beneath her touch, and when her tongue flicks out to taste my bottom lip, a low moan rumbles in my chest.

I run my palms down her spine.

Down, over her ass.

Grip her butt, pulling her up, into my erection.

It aches.

This is the best first kiss I’ve ever fucking had in my entire life. She’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever had my hands on, I swear it.

I drag my mouth away from hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, over her neck, licking and sucking until she’s panting, her hips rocking against mine in a way that’s driving me fucking insane.

Can’t get naked yet…

Maintain control.

I want to see her.

Feel her.

Get naked with her.

I force myself to step away, legs like jelly, so I can look at her— really look at her as she stands in the sheerest excuse for lingerie I’ve ever seen.

The lace bra cups barely cover her nipples, the delicate pattern of flowers strategically placed but see-through enough to make my pulse hammer. And the panties?

Fuck. Me. Thin as a whisper, showing me the perfect dip of her hips, the curve of her thighs, the shadow of dark hair on her pussy.

I reach out, unable to help myself, and trail a thumb along the curve of her breast, my touch featherlight.

Her skin is warm, soft, and pebbling with goosebumps beneath my fingertips.

Her chest rises and falls, breaths coming fast, and her eyes lock onto mine, wide and dark and full of something that feels a lot like surrender.

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t move. Watches me as I trace the swell of her breast, the edge of lace, the dip between. My hand shakes a little as I slide lower, thumb skimming the delicate fabric, feeling the hard peak of her nipple through the lace.

Poppy swallows, throat working, lips parting on a shaky breath, it’s all I can do not to drop to my knees right then and there.

This is the most erotic moment I’ve had with a woman, honestly, finally mature enough to appreciate the curves, my fingers skimming over a tiny freckle above her left nipple, and I can’t help but lean in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to it.

Poppy shivers, her breath catching.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I murmur, trailing my lips down, kissing a path between her breasts, letting my tongue taste her skin, warm and sweet and impossibly soft. “Beautiful.”

Her hands find their way into my hair, nails scraping against my scalp as I circle her nipple with my tongue, feeling it tighten, pebbling up for me. I close my mouth around it, sucking gently through the fabric, letting my teeth graze enough to make her gasp.

I blow, watching it pucker more.

“Turner,” she breathes, head lilting back. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

The mouth on her.

The confidence.

It’s intoxicating .

I’ve been drunk on her since the second I saw her standing in my kitchen.

“Yeah?” I murmur, voice rough as gravel. “You want me to fuck you, Poppy?”

“Yes,” she pants, back arching, pressing herself harder against my mouth, as if she can’t get close enough. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“ Yes ,” I croak out, voice no longer functional.

I want it all.

My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I step forward, the ache in my jeans unbearable. My hands come down on her ass, palms splayed over the smooth, perfect curves, fingers digging in and causing her to shiver.

Fuck, she’s unreal.

I can’t help myself—I raise one hand and bring it down in a sharp, resounding slap, watching as her skin flushes from white to a gorgeous, glowing red. The sound echoes through the room, and Poppy moans, the sound broken, her head dropping forward as her fingers grip the sheets.

Her eyes are dark, lips parted. The look she gives me is a challenge. A dare.

A plea.

I bend, sinking to my knees on the floor beside the bed, hands still cupping her ass as I spread her wider. She’s shaking, breaths coming in fast, shallow pants as I lean in, pressing my mouth to her pussy from behind, hot and hungry, sucking her clit through the thin, damp lace.

She gasps.

“Fuck,” she moans, voice trembling, spine bowing as she pushes back against my mouth, seeking more.

So wet already.

I groan into her, the vibration making her whimper. She’s soaked, the sheer fabric clinging to her. She’s wet and warm and fucking delicious. I drag my tongue over her, tasting her through the lace, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband to pull it aside, needing to feel her bare and open beneath me.

Poppy moans again, louder this time, her head dropping forward, hair falling in a messy curtain around her face as her body trembles.

I slide one hand up her back, feeling the delicate line of her spine, then bring it down to her hip, holding her steady as I lick her again, slow and deep, like I’m savoring every drop.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she whimpers breathlessly.

Her hips buck against my mouth, desperate and insistent, and I grip her tighter, pressing her down, holding her exactly where I want her. But she’s squirming, restless, fingers fisting the sheets, moaning my name like it’s the only word she knows.

“Turn me over,” she gasps, voice catching on a sob. “Please, Turner. I want to see you.”

Please, Turner…

I pull back, chin glistening, eyes dark as I watch her collapse forward onto the mattress. Her back arches as she rolls over, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving as she sprawls out before me.

She’s a goddamn vision.

My hands find her ankles, sliding up the insides of her legs, pushing them apart as I climb onto the bed, caging her in. Her thighs fall open, and I settle between them, pressing down so she can feel every inch of me.

Hard.

Ready.