I moan, buried deep. “Look at how good you take my swollen cock, babe. Look howwetyou are for me.”
“Do you want to watch me down on my knees sucking it?” She gasps as I pump into her. “I want to suck it.”
The mental image of her blowing my dick nearly undoes me—her on her knees, lips wrapped around me, mirror catching every filthy angle, her eyes locked on mine as I fist her hair and try not to fall apart.
But I don’t.
Because Ican’t.
Tight, slick, pulsing—the idea of pulling out of Poppy would physically pain me.
“I can’t stop,” I growl, voice low and desperate. “You’ll get on your knees later. R-right now I need to f-finish inside you,” I stammer, each word forced out between clenched teeth, becausegoddamn,she feels good—like heaven and sin and every fantasy I’ve ever had, wrapped around my cock.
Poppy gasps, her head dropping back, hips bucking. “Then ruin me.”
And I do.
I drive into her like I’m trying to brand myself into her body—mine, mine, mine—every thrust rougher, messier, more frantic. Skin slapping against skin.
“You hear that?” I pant, eyes locked on the mirror. “That’s the sound of you getting fucked like youneedit. Like you’re mine.”
“Yes,” she chokes. “God, Turner, yes. I’m yours…”
I groan again, burying my face in her neck, tasting sweat, perfume, the faint sweetness of her skin—and then?—
RIIIIING.
The elevator phone starts blaring.
We ignore it, like we don’t even hear it—like nothing in the world exists outside this tiny, overheated elevator and the way her body squeezes around me.
She’s so goddamn tight. So wet. So perfect.
“Come on my cock,” I demand, drilling her tight little pussy, lifting her by the ass and pulling her into my pelvis.
The elevator phone rings and rings, but it’s background noise now. Just static against the only thing that matters:her falling apart on me.
“Right there,” I pant. “Right there, like that. You’re perfect, baby. So fucking good?—”
She gasps, legs locking tight, body convulsing in my arms.
Her orgasm rips through her with a force that takes me with it—her nails digging into my shoulders, her body clenching.
She jerks against me, nails biting into my back, mouth falling open on a gasp that punches straight through my chest. Her entire body trembles in my arms, tight and soaked and clenching around me like she never wants to let go—and I can’t hold back anymore.
I drive up into her once. Twice.
And then I’m gone.
Lights-out, white-hot.
I come hard, emptying into her with a growl against her throat, gripping her so tightly she squeaks—a broken, blissed-out sound that would’ve made me laugh if I had any oxygen left in my lungs.
“Holy shit,” she whispers breathlessly.
“Yeah,” I mutter, forehead still pressed to hers. “Holy shit.”
She giggles, then winces. “My thighs are going to be sore for a week.”
