Page 148 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
“Let me,” I mutter, voice hoarse, pushing her hands away to fumble with the button myself. My fingers are clumsy—desperate. When I finally get it undone and drag the zipper down, her hand slips right back in like it belongs there.
Andfuck.
Her fingers wrap around me, hot and sure, stroking once, just enough to make me stagger forward and catch myself with a hand on the mirror behind her.
“You’re going to kill me, Poppy,” I grit out, every muscle tight, hips jerking against her grip.
She grins, mouth swollen, cheeks flushed and shifts her hips against me—lining up that slick, bare heat perfectly.
We both freeze.
The air between us snaps, thick and electric.
And then I move.
I grip her hips, lift her in one smooth motion, and press her back to the mirror with enough force to knock the breath from both our lungs. She wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation, like her body’s been waiting—remembering—aching.
Because it has.
Because mine has too.
I drag the head of my cock through her slick heat, just once, just enough to tease us both, and her nails bite into my shoulders.
“Now,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please—now.”
I don’t hesitate.
I sink into her in one hard, perfect thrust, and we both cry out—low, guttural, breathless. Her walls clench around me, hot and tight and so fucking wet, and my brain short-circuits. My knees buckle. My forehead drops to hers.
“You feel—fuck,” I pant. “I missed this. Missed you.”
I fuck her against the wall of the elevator, lifting my gaze to stare at us in the reflective walls, two bodies tangled in frenzied desperation, every thrust rocking her higher on the wall.
Her head tips back, mouth parted, eyes glassy and wild.
It’sfucking beautiful.
My hand slides up her thigh, fingers digging into the curve of her ass as I drive into her again—harder now, deeper. She gasps, claws at my shirt, teeth grazing my jaw like she doesn’t know whether to kiss me or bite me.
Maybe both.
I catch our reflection again—her legs wrapped around me, the way her dress is bunched at her hips, the way she moves against me like we’re trying to erase time.
“Look at us,” I growl against her ear.
She turns her head, eyes locking with mine in the mirror, and moans—loud, wrecked, ruined.
At the sight of us fucking…
I thrust harder.
Watch her bounce in my arms, watch the way her tits move beneath the thin fabric, how her mouth drops open with every deep, punishing drive.
Her gaze flicks to the walls.
This time, lower. Poppy watches where we’re joined, the slickness of it, the raw, hot rhythm of my cock sliding in and out of her.
Her breath catches. “God, Turner… it’s so fucking hot…”
