Page 37 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

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. . .

S he thinks she’s winning.

And maybe she is—my whole body’s on fire, every muscle coiled tight like I’m a second away from detonating. Two can play this game. And I’m not going down without a fight.

So while her lips are still on my skin and her hand is still driving me insane, I reach—slowly, purposefully—for the drawer in her beside table.

Her eyes flick open, tracking my movements.

Poppy pauses. Suspicious.

My fingers ruffle through the drawer’s contents like I’m on a treasure hunt. Chapstick. Pens. A scrunchie.

And then—BINGO.

Her eyes widen.

I grin.

I hold it up—one eyebrow raised, absolutely smug—and watch her face flush like a guilty little cherry.

She opens her mouth. Closes it.

Doesn’t make a sound.

But her glare is loud.

I waggle the pink vibrator in the air like it’s Excalibur.

Her nostrils flare.

With one hand, I nudge her thighs apart—slow, patient, like I’m unwrapping something expensive. Her breathing picks up, chest rising and falling fast, lips parted just slightly as she struggles to keep it together.

The second I switch the vibrator on, her eyes go wide. Teeth bite down on her lower lip.

She’s excited.

I lower it—slowly—hovering just above where I know she’s dying for it. Her hips twitch. Her hand shoots out, grabbing a handful of my bicep like that’s going to stop me from torturing her.

It won’t.

I brush the toy over her inner thigh, featherlight, not even close to where she wants it. Her eyes narrow in warning. I smile sweetly.

Then I slide it higher.

The second it touches her fully, her head drops back.

I move the toy in slow, taunting circles, keeping the pressure light—barely enough to give her what she wants, absolutely enough to drive her insane.

Bzzz.

Bzz…

Bzz…

Right on her clit.

Using my fingers, I widen her pussy lips, finding that pink, little nub. And because I’m feeling left out, I lower my face to suck it, tongue lapping her up several seconds before I replace it with the vibrator…

Press the button on the side.

Bzzzzz.

Harder.

More.

Her fingers dig into the sheets, her thighs shaking under my hands, her body doing everything but screaming out loud.

The toy buzzes harder against her—rhythmic, merciless—and I don’t stop. I just watch her fall apart quietly, beautifully, silently.

When her eyes meet mine, they’re glassy. Dazed. Pleading.

Please.

And yeah, that does it.

I flick the toy off and set it aside, then crawl up her body, pressing every inch of myself against her slick, trembling skin. She’s molten.

Breathless.

Her pussy needs saving and I’m here to help .

I slide in the barest inch, teasing her.

Tease some more…

Every part of me screaming to move faster.

But I don’t.

I slide in another inch. Her mouth drops open, eyes roll back, her entire body arching beneath mine like I’ve just short-circuited her soul.

Still—no sound.

Good girl…

I sink in deeper.

Her nails bite into my skin. Her legs wrap tight around my waist. And I swear I can feel her pulse through every part of her.

This isn’t a game anymore; it’s a test of willpower.

And we’re both seconds from breaking.

I pull out.

Push back inside.

Watch as Poppy bites her lip at the same time she pulls me by the hips, urging me forward—a silent plead not to move away again.

I press a finger to my lips.

Shhh …

Then push deeper, slower this time, just to feel the way her back arches and her mouth opens on a gasp that doesn’t quite escape.

She’s a whisper away from losing.

So am I.

It’s not about noise anymore. It’s about control. Trust. The maddening thrill of knowing we could fall apart at any second, and neither of us wants to stop.

She clutches my back, nails digging in as she holds me close, grounding herself against the force of everything we’re not saying.

I kiss her jaw. Her cheek. Her temple.

Silent.

Focused.

Completely wrecked by her.

And even if I don’t say it out loud, I feel it in every pulse of my body:

She’s it.