Page 98 of Don't Go Breaking My Heart
“Turn me over,” she gasps, voice catching on a sob. “Please, Turner. I want to see you.”
Please, Turner…
I pull back, chin glistening, eyes dark as I watch her collapse forward onto the mattress. Her back arches as she rolls over, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving as she sprawls out before me.
She’s a goddamn vision.
My hands find her ankles, sliding up the insides of her legs, pushing them apart as I climb onto the bed, caging her in. Her thighs fall open, and I settle between them, pressing down so she can feel every inch of me.
Hard.
Ready.
poppy
. . .
He is everywhere I want him to be.
Before I can catch my breath, Turner’s over me, knees bracketing my hips, forearms caging me in. His chest hovers inches above mine, his breath hot against my cheek, his hair a wild, damp mess falling over his forehead.
He looks at me like he’s still hungry, and we’re only getting started…
I’ve wanted this since the second he saw me in the kitchen, wearing nothing but underwear and caught off guard, his expression burned in my brain—the way his tongue is now seared onto my skin.
My pussy is throbbing.
His eyes are locked on mine, dark and intense, the air between us so heavy it’s hard to breathe. Then he says it, voice low and rough, dripping with filthy intent.
“I want to ruin your pussy.”
The words slam into me, knocking the air from my lungs.
They’re so blunt, so dirty, so unlike what I know about him so far that my brain short-circuits for a split second, blinking at this version of him—the one staring down at me like he wants to devour me whole.
A tremor rolls through my body, my thighs squeezing around his hips as the ache between my legs intensifies.
“What?” I breathe, barely a whisper.
He dips his head, nose skimming along the curve of my jaw, his breath hot against my ear.
“You heard me,” he murmurs into my ear, causing me to shiver. “I want to wreck you. I want to make you come so hard and fuck you so deep, you feel me for days.”
I want that, too.
He grinds against me, the thick length of him pressing right where I need him most, and I moan, lifting my hips to meet him, needing more, needing everything.
I want him naked.
I grip the waistband of his shorts, my fingers are barely functional and push them down his hips. The fabric drags over his skin, revealing inch after inch of golden muscle, the ridges of his abs, the sharp cut of his hips.
And then his cock springs free, thick and heavy and already leaking, so hard it almost brushes my belly as it springs up. My breath catches in my throat, a soft, needy whimper slipping out before I can stop it.
I am so needy.
So desperate.
So excited…
