Page 109 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
I bite back a curse, glancing toward Poppy, who’s perched on the edge of the pool, her towel clutched tight around her like a shield. Her eyes dart toward me, then quickly away, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip, gnawing it like she’s trying to ground herself.
Cash nudges me, his grin widening. “C’mon, man. Pick your poison.”
My jaw clenches, my fists tightening at my sides. The last thing I want to do is play pool volleyball right now. The only thing I want to do is drag Poppy inside, press her up against the first flat surface I can find, and finish what we started.
But everyone’s watching.
I take a slow, deep breath, my eyes still locked on Poppy. “Fine,” I say, forcing a smirk that probably looks more like a snarl. “I choose Poppy.”
Obviously.
Cash’s brows shoot up, and Paul’s jaw tightens, but Poppy’s eyes snap up to meet mine, her cheeks darkening.
“You playin’?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, like I didn’t have my fingers inside her three minutes ago. “Or are you too tired?”
“Actually, no. I think…” She levels me with a stare. “I’m going to take a hot shower.”
And just like that, my dick is hard again…
poppy
. . .
He’s going to follow me—I know he is.
How do you know, you might be asking?
Because Turner is a man, and men are predictable.
I push through the sliding glass door, the wet glass cool against my fingertips, and the second it clicks shut behind me, a wicked grin spreads across my lips.
He’s going to follow me.
I saunter through the living room, dripping water on the hardwood, feeling the damp, slick fabric of my bikini cling to every curve. My pulse continues a steady throb between my legs, skin still buzzing from Turner’s hands on me, his mouth against my ear, his fingers deep inside me beneath the water.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror as I pass—a girl with flushed cheeks, pulling at her wet hair elastic, removing it from her hair and giving it a shake.
I want more.
I make my way to the bathroom, stepping inside and leaving the door ajar. My heart is pounding, eagerness zipping through my veins, making my skin hum, nipples pebbled against the wet fabric of my bikini.
I untie it.
Let it fall.
Push my bottoms down, party noises muffled and distant. Yelling. Whooping. Drunken fun outside.
Me inside.
Me and my anticipation.
I’m buzzing with it.
I step out of the bathroom, completely bare, go into my bedroom and climb onto my unmade bed, the cool sheets a shocking contrast to my overheated skin, and settle in the middle, my legs spread, wet hair falling against the pillow.
My heart pounds as I reach up, trailing my fingers over my breasts, circling my nipples, tugging gently, a soft whimper escaping my lips. My other hand drifts lower, over my belly, down to the place that aches the most, the place that’s still pulsing from the way he touched me beneath the water.
I arch my back, pressing my head deeper into the pillow, my thighs falling open wider.
