My fingers tickle his balls as his head hits the pillow, chest moving up and down, breathing labored, abs flexing under every breath as he fights the inevitable.
When he goes rock hard, I lower my head, taking him inside my mouth and sucking… sucking… bobbing my head up and down, as I’ve seen in videos, enthusiastically blowing his cock as if I were being paid for the service.
As if I were waiting for him to break.
Make a noise.
Make. A. Noise.
The silence is just as sexy though, and the determination makes me hotter. The determination to make him crack spurs me on.
Because every ragged breath Turner takes—every muscle that tightens, every flicker of his jaw—is him fighting the urge to lose control.
And I love it.
The tension.
The restraint.
The way he grips the sheets like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart under my touch.
His hips shift, just slightly. Not enough to break the rules. But enough to saypleasewithout using a single word.
I glance up.
He’s flushed. Eyelids heavy. Neck tense like he’s seconds from breaking and trying so hard not to.
The determination inhissilence makes my blood roar.
Makes my vagina clench.
Wanton.
Wet.
More, more, more…
turner
. . .
She 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.
