Page 31 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

poppy

. . .

H e’s going to follow me—I know he is.

How do you know, you might be asking?

Because Turner is a man, and men are predictable.

I push through the sliding glass door, the wet glass cool against my fingertips, and the second it clicks shut behind me, a wicked grin spreads across my lips.

He’s going to follow me .

I saunter through the living room, dripping water on the hardwood, feeling the damp, slick fabric of my bikini cling to every curve.

My pulse continues a steady throb between my legs, skin still buzzing from Turner’s hands on me, his mouth against my ear, his fingers deep inside me beneath the water.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror as I pass—a girl with flushed cheeks, pulling at her wet hair elastic, removing it from her hair and giving it a shake.

I want more.

I make my way to the bathroom, stepping inside and leaving the door ajar. My heart is pounding, eagerness zipping through my veins, making my skin hum, nipples pebbled against the wet fabric of my bikini.

I untie it.

Let it fall.

Push my bottoms down, party noises muffled and distant. Yelling. Whooping. Drunken fun outside.

Me inside.

Me and my anticipation .

I’m buzzing with it.

I step out of the bathroom, completely bare, go into my bedroom and climb onto my unmade bed, the cool sheets a shocking contrast to my overheated skin, and settle in the middle, my legs spread, wet hair falling against the pillow.

My heart pounds as I reach up, trailing my fingers over my breasts, circling my nipples, tugging gently, a soft whimper escaping my lips. My other hand drifts lower, over my belly, down to the place that aches the most, the place that’s still pulsing from the way he touched me beneath the water.

I arch my back, pressing my head deeper into the pillow, my thighs falling open wider.

Where is he?

A shadow moves in the hallway, and then?—

There he is.

Turner stands in the doorway, shoulders filling the frame, his wet hair hanging over his forehead, droplets sliding down his chest, his swim trunks slung low on his hips.

Shuts the door behind him.

Locks it.

Turner doesn’t say a word.

He just reaches down, hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his swim trunks, and shoves them down his hips in one smooth, practiced motion.

They hit the floor with a wet smack, and my breath catches in my throat as he straightens, completely bare, every inch of him on full, glorious display.

God.

His body is carved from stone, every muscle tight and straining beneath his skin, veins popping along his forearms, down his hips, leading to his cock—thick, hard, and heavy, curving up toward his navel, dark and flushed and already dripping.

I lick my lips, thighs pressing together, aching, throbbing, but then he steps forward, those dark eyes locked on mine, and I can’t move.

“I’m going to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, sinful rasp. “But not like this.”

“What?” I manage, my voice breathless, shaky, my heart hammering so loud I swear he can hear it. His grin widens, eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous.

“I want you to sit on me. You’re going to come on my tongue,” he growls, his hands kneading my ass, pulling me down until my wet, swollen pussy is hovering just above his mouth. “I want to you to fuck my face.”

Holy shit.

He lays on the bed and grabs at my hips, directing me to climb on top.

“C’mon,” he says, voice low and rough, eyes dark and hungry as he sprawls back against the pillows, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, cock hard and thick and resting against his stomach. “Get your pussy up here.”

My entire body is trembling, every inch of me hot and flushed and aching, but when his hands grip my ass, dragging me down, my brain short-circuits.

I gasp, fingers digging into the headboard as his mouth meets me, tongue sliding through my folds, slow and deliberate, eating me out like he’s savoring every single inch.

“Oh my god,” I cry, my head falling back, my hips rocking against his face, every nerve ending on fire as he licks and sucks and fucks me with his tongue like he can’t get enough…

“Fuck,” he groans against me, the vibration of his voice sending a shockwave straight to my core. “You taste so fucking good.”

His hands grip my ass, spreading me wider, holding me in place as he sucks my clit between his lips, his tongue swirling over it in tight, maddening circles that have me crying out, my hips rocking against his face, my head falling back as my vision goes hazy.

His nose bumps against my clit… hands squeezing my ass… holding me down against his mouth as he devours me…

I shatter.

My back bows, a strangled moan ripping from my throat as I come hard, my body trembling, my hips jerking against his face as he keeps licking me, sucking me, his tongue fucking me through every wave, every spasm, until I’m a gasping, quivering mess above him.

But he’s not done.

His hands grip my hips, strong and sure, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing, sliding me down his body until I’m straddling his lap-- can’t stop myself from reaching down, wrapping my hand around him, stroking once, twice, feeling him pulse in my grip.

“Oh shit,” he rasps. “I need you to fuck me.”

His back hits the mattress, head resting back against the pillows, those dark, hooded eyes locked onto mine as he spreads his thighs, invites me on.

Slowly, I sink down onto him.

I hover there, teasing him, lowering just enough to brush against him, letting the tip slide through my folds, coating him in my wetness, and his eyes roll back, a low, desperate growl rumbling from his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” he grits out, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending a bolt of heat straight to my core. “You trying to kill me?”

“Yes,” I murmur, leaning forward, dragging my wet heat over his length, back and forth, slow and torturous, until he’s panting beneath me, muscles straining, cock twitching against me.

“Please,” he begs, fingers biting into my hips, his eyes dark and blazing. “For fuck’s sake, please get on my dick.”

Get on my dick…

No sweeter words have ever been uttered.

My breath catches, a thrill shooting down my spine, and I can’t wait any longer.

I sink down , inch by gloriously fat inch , taking him inside me, feeling his thick, pulsing cock stretch me wide, fill me up, until he’s buried to the hilt and I’m gasping, hands pressed against the headboard, head falling back as I try to adjust to the sheer size of him.

“Fuck,” Turner groans, his fingers flexing on my hips, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. “You feel so fucking good. So tight.”

Oh god…

Oh god…

I lift up, then slide back down, my thighs quivering as his cock drags against every sensitive spot inside me, hitting so deep I can barely breathe.

Turner’s hands leave my hips, sliding up my body, palms warm and rough as they cup my breasts, squeezing them, thumbs flicking over my nipples.

“I’m obsessed with these,” he growls, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing up at me. “Love watching them jiggle while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

His words…

Filthy.

Sexy.

Hot…

My breath comes out in a shaky rush, my hips rolling, grinding, chasing the friction, chasing the way his cock drags against that perfect, devastating spot inside me while his fingers knead and pluck them, loving the way his eyes are locked on my chest, so transfixed.

Lusting.

Desperate.

It sends pleasure straight to my core.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, filthy rasp, his eyes wild, his hips pumping up beneath me. “So fucking beautiful. All mine. All these perfect tits. All this sweet pussy. Mine.”

His dirty mouth moans loudly.

I groan, my second orgasm already vibrating through my spine. And then…when his mouth latches on to my nipple, I moan so loud there’s a knocking on the door…

The headboard hits the wall…

“Yes, yes…” I’m ready to snap when he smacks my ass, groaning right along with me.

More banging on the door. Drunken hollers.

Drunken laughing.

Makes this so much better.

I am lost.

So lost…

Heaven.