Page 67 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
I scoot, pulling me in so we’re spooning, her sweet little ass nestled into my front.
My jaw clenches as a slow, hot pulse works its way down my spine, pooling low and heavy. I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through it. Trying not to grind into her like some horny teenage boy.
Fuck!
It’s impossible with her right here, so damn close, her hair tickling my chin.
My hand flexes against her stomach, fingers twitching with the need to move. To slide lower.To see how much she’d let me get away with…
But I can’t.
Won’t.
That would make me an asshole and a complete fucking creep.
So instead, I bury my face in her hair, inhaling deep, letting my nose drag along the curve of her neck. Squeeze my eyes shut, forehead dropping to her shoulder.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The problem: every inhale is more of her. More of the baby powder scent, more shampoo, more soft skin. Every exhale comes out ragged and heavy, heat coiling low and tight in my lower belly until it’s unbearable.
My hand twitches.
I could glide it down. Just a little. Just enough to feel the dip of her waist. The curve of her hip.
God, I fucking want to.
Want to so fucking bad it hurts.
My jaw tics as I force myself to keep still. To not rock against her the way my body is screaming to. To not move my hand a single centimeter, fingers itching to map every inch of her skin.
But then.
Poppy’s hand slides over mine, slowly… deliberately...
My pulse spikes, pounding so hard it’s all I can hear. She doesn’t say anything; slips her fingers over mine and gently guides my hand to the hemline of her tank top so the fabric skims my knuckles.
My hand flexes, fingers splaying wide. Spreading across her stomach, feeling every shiver and hitch of her breath.
Poppy drags my hand along with hers, sliding it over her skin, over the gentle slope of her ribs, until I’m cupping the underside of her breast.
My Adam’s apple bobs, mouth dry as sandpaper. My thumb moves without permission, grazing the delicate curve of her flesh, rolling over her hard nipple.
Cock goes hard, pressing into her ass cheeks. Desperate to bury itself somewhere. Inside.
My mouth presses against her neck, lips brushing the soft skin there as my thumb rolls over her nipple again, a slow, deliberate circle. Poppy shudders, a tremor that runs straight through her, and her hips push back against me, rubbing against the length of my dick like she’s testing how hard she’s made me.
I press against her, unable to stop myself, grinding until she gasps.
I’m burning up from the inside out, skin too tight, blood pumping heavy and thick in my veins. My hand cups her breast now, kneading it, loving the weight of it in my palm. Thumb flicks over her nipple and I want to lick it.
Suck it.
Watch it pucker.
Poppy arches into me, pressing her ass harder against my cock.
“Goddamn,” I rasp, mouth trailing down her neck, tongue tasting her skin—lemon sugar and heat and everything I can’t have but desperately want. My hips move again, rolling against her in a slow, helpless grind, and she whimpers, a soft, needy sound that shoots straight to my dick.
