Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
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 inside her, 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.
He’s outside now, laughing loudly at something Cash said, his abs on full display as he leans back in a patio chair. I watch him tip a beer bottle to his lips, and my stomach does this embarrassing little flutter. His hair is damp from the pool, and his skin glows in the sun, tan and slick.
From here, I swear he knows I’m watching because he glances at the window and smiles knowingly.
“Yo, Poppy!” Cash is staring at me through the screen. “Come have a drink!” He lifts his beer. “We’re gonna play pool volleyball soon.”
“I’ll be out in a minute. I, uh—have to put my suit on.”
“Atta girl! This is not a party for bores.” He laughs, tipping his head back and chugging the rest of his beer like he’s the life of a frat party and not a grown-ass man.
I close myself in the bedroom.
Piles of swimsuits are shoved in a drawer but the thought of pulling one on right now—skimpy and sexy—after what Turner did to me… after the way he said my name when he was inside me… after the way he took me apart and put me back together again—makes my skin prickle with heat.
With excitement.
He loves my boobs.
He’d said as much last night, more than once, his mouth hot and wet against them as he murmured, “Perfect fucking tits, Poppy. Perfect,” punctuating the words with a flick of his tongue that had me arching off the mattress and clawing at his back.