Poppy moans too, hands on my ass to drag me closer, deeper, holding me there as I empty myself inside her, pulse after pulse, my body shuddering with every hot, wet spurt.
I can feel her heart hammering against my chest, her fingers stroking the back of my neck, her breaths coming in slow, shaky gasps as she comes down, her body still clenching around me while my body wracks from the shockwave of my orgasm.
Her fingers trail up my spine, slow and lazy, her nails grazing the back of my neck as she lets out a soft, contented sigh. I drop my head to the pillow, lips brushing her damp skin, mouth kissing her shoulder.
We’re still connected.
Still joined.
My cock is softening insideher, but I don’t move. Don’t pull out. Don’t want to. Not yet.
“Holy crap,” she breathes, voice soft and hoarse, a dazed, sleepy smile tugging at her swollen lips. “That was…”
“Yeah,” I mutter, my lips ghost over her collarbone.
I lift my head, leaning back enough to see her face. Her hair is a wild, tangled mess around her head, her cheeks flushed, her eyes half-lidded and heavy as she blinks up at me. She looks thoroughly wrecked. Thoroughly satisfied—and the sight of it makes my chest squeeze.
My hand finds her hair, fingers threading through the dark, damp strands as I brush them back from her face, stroking them gently. She leans into my touch, eyes falling shut, a little hum escaping her lips.
Her eyes open and she gives me a heavy-eyed grin. “I can’t feel my legs.”
I chuckle, low and rough, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s a great sign.”
“A great sign—or a medical emergency?”
“I could always give you mouth-to-mouth to be on the safe side.”
Her eyes glint, a wicked smile curving her lips. “What about mouth-to-pussy? You know, for safety reasons.”
My cock twitches inside her, and her eyes go wide. “Are you getting hard again?”
I kiss her mouth. “Guess we’re not done yet.”
poppy
. . .
I’m in the kitchen the morning after, wearing the oversized T-shirt I threw on after Turner and I did what we did. My legs are still wobbly, and every time I shift my weight, a dull, tender ache between my thighs reminds me of every filthy thing he said to me.
Every filthy delicious thing he did to me.
And now, I’m supposed to pretend none of it happened because Cash decided today was the perfect day to invite a bunch of friends over—both guys and girls—for a BBQ pool party. Naturally, the entire yard is packed with shirtless dudes in swim trunks, and girls in bikinis are sprawled out on lounge chairs, squealing dramatically every damn time Nugget climbs out of the pool and shakes his fur off.
I stare out the window, the glass cool against my forehead.
Cash is in his zone, manning the grill, spatula in hand and flipping burgers while simultaneously wrestling one of his friends who’s trying to steal a hot dog that isn’t ready yet. There’s a soundtrack of blaring music and laughter, as one of them jumps up and down on the diving board.
Boing, boing, boing…
None of it really registers.
I’m too busy obsessively replaying last night over and over in my head. I shiver, remembering how relentless Turner was. How demanding.
How big he felt.
I can still feel the phantom weight of his hands on my hips, the way he squeezed hard enough to leave a faint bruise when he pulled me closer, the way his mouth moved against mine as he rasped, “You’re going to take every inch, Poppy. Every single one.”
Gripping the edge of the counter, I inhale a deep breath and steel my spine. I can go out there and pretend like Turner didn’t fuck me into the mattress a few hours ago. I can pretend like he didn’t bury himself inside me, curse my name, and come so hard we both saw stars.
