Makes this so much better.
I am lost.
So lost…
Heaven.
turner
. . .
How do we come back from this?
How do we go back to being “just roommates?” Just friends. Just two people who live across the hall from one another.
Answer: We don’t.
I know it the second I roll over and see her lying there, naked and tangled in her sheets, her hair a dark mess across my pillow, her mouth swollen and pink, her lashes fluttering as she sleeps.
We can’t go back. Not after that. Not after I’ve had her the way I just did—after I’ve fucked her so hard and so deep that her fingernail marks are still etched into my back, her scent still all over my skin.
I scrub a hand over my face, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving, trying to get my goddamn heartbeat under control.
It doesn’t work.
Nothing works.
Because all I can think about is how soft she was. How hot. How tight. The way she rode me like she couldn’t get enough, her tits bouncing, her eyes locked onto mine, her lips parted in those breathless little moans that made my cock harder than it’s ever been in my life.
Jesus Christ.
I turn my head and look at her again. She’s still asleep, one hand tucked under her cheek, her lips parted, her brows drawn together like she’s dreaming.
Of me?
God, I hope so.
Because all I can think about is how fucking good it felt to bury myself inside her, to feel her pulse around me, to watch her fall apart on my cock, her nails clawing down my back, her thighs squeezing my hips, her breathy little cries filling the room.
I swallow, my throat dry, my cock twitching against my thigh because apparently, I’m a goddamn masochist who can’t get enough of her.
But what now?What the fuck do we do now? Do I wake her up? Ask her if she wants coffee?
Pretend like we didn’t just fuck each other’s brains out?
Yeah, right.
Because now that I’ve had her, I want her again. And again. And again.
I want her on her knees. On her back. Bent over the goddamn counter.
I want to hear her say my name again. Want to see those pretty eyes roll back in her head as she comes all over my tongue.
But…
Not just that.
I like Poppy—actually like her. As in: I could fall in love with her. As in:I may already be halfway there.
