Page 32 of Whiskey & Wreckage

She wriggles under me, tugging my shirt up. “Take this off.”

I do. It’s gone in seconds. Her hands run over my chest, fingers splayed, nails scraping lightly, and I swear I’ve never felt anything so grounding and so electrifying at once.

I slide one hand between her thighs, finding the waistband of her shorts. “These too.”

She nods, breathless. I help her shimmy out of them, dragging her panties down with them. She kicks them offwithout a second thought, completely bare beneath me now, flushed and gorgeous and watching me like she’s starving.

“Thomas,” she whispers, legs parting just enough. “Touch me.”

God, I’m already halfway gone.

I stroke my fingers through her pussy lips, feeling how wet she is, how ready. She gasps and hips jerk when I slide a finger inside her. I add another, curling just right, and she moans like I’ve short-circuited her entire nervous system.

Her hand goes back to my jeans, unzipping, tugging them down until I kick them off. When she wraps her hand around my cock again, skin to skin, we both freeze for a second—because it’s too much and not enough.

I kiss her again—hungry and raw—and then pull back slightly, looking down at her. “I need you in my bed.”

I scoop her into my arms, and she laughs through a breathless moan as I carry her down the hall. “You always like making an entrance?”

“Only when you’re involved.”

The second we’re in my room, I lay her down gently on the bed, grab a condom from the drawer, and roll it on. Then I settle between her thighs, tip of my cock brushing against her slick entrance.

“You good?” I murmur, brushing my nose against hers.

She nods, eyes dark and blazing. “Please.”

I push in slowly. Inch by inch. Letting her feel every part of it. Her breath hitches, hands clinging to my back like she’s holding on for dear life.

“God, you’re tight,” I grit out, jaw clenched. “You feel so damn good.”

When I’m fully seated inside her, we just stay there for a moment, foreheads touching, breath mingling. Then I start to move, slow at first, grinding deep with each thrust. Her nails diginto my shoulders. She moans my name like it’s the only word she knows.

I fuck her slow, steady, like I’ve got all the time in the world to learn her sounds, her reactions, the way she pulses around me when I hit that perfect spot.

“Thomas,” she whimpers, head falling back. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

“Never,” I swear, gripping her thigh and thrusting deeper, faster now.

The bed creaks beneath us. In the background, Bear is snoring in his usual spot, completely unfazed. And I lose myself in the feel of her—hot and tight and perfect.

Her body tenses, breath hitching again. “I’m, oh my god—”

I slam into her one more time and she shatters, coming hard around me with a cry that has me right behind her, groaning into her mouth as I spill into the condom, every muscle tensing like a live wire.

We stay like that for a minute, sweaty, tangled, hearts racing. She’s still breathing hard, her fingers dragging lightly up and down my spine.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I press a kiss to her jaw. “Yeah.”

She turns her head to look at me. “That was… intense.”

I smile, soft and stupid. “You have no idea what you do to me, Poppy.”

She grins, hair fanned across my pillow. “Maybe I do now.”

Chapter Eleven

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