One Day Fiance

“Is this what you usually write?” I ask when her fingers slow a bit.

“Shh, wait one second,” she responds, holding up one finger in the universal ‘wait’ sign.

She taps the keyboard without typing and then reads what she’s written aloud. Listening to Poppy’s breathy, sexy voice read what she’s written transforms the words from being ‘lady porn’ to a shot of Viagra-laced Redbull straight to my dick. My buddy’s rock hard, got wings, and is ready for round two. And maybe three and four.

“Does that sound okay?” she asks when she’s done. “It’s a first draft, so it’s okay if it doesn’t.”

I roll to my back, taking my cock in my fist and showing her the effects she’s had on me. “It sounds hot as fuck when you read it. And it’s sexy that you have those filthy thoughts in your head.”

She watches me, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. “Sweet Lord.”

“Read it again.”

She does, her voice slow and deep, seducing me with her mouth in a way that I’ve never imagined. Sure, her being sexy and still nude, the smell of sex in the air, and memories of what we just did helps . . . but it’s her words that have me hard once more.

“What’s next?” I rasp when she reaches the end of the passage. She begins typing again, saying the words out loud as they spill from her mind through her fingers to the page.

She smiles as she types and talks at the same time, eyes flicking to my hand stroking my cock and then back to the screen. “His thick cock grew rigid, his balls pulled up tight to his body. Veins stood out on the marbled shaft as he squeezed the base tight, milking out thick drops of precum to glisten on the tip. Stroking himself to right on the edge of exploding, he grunted and pumped harder and faster, knowing that ecstasy was right there for the taking.”

I follow her commands, my hand moving up and down in a blur and squeezing tight.

“Come on me,” she says. I’m not sure if that’s her saying it or her character saying it in the book, but I angle myself her way. “Let go, cover my pussy with your cream, and then use your cum to get me off.”

“Fuck,” I groan, barely rolling fully to my side before I spasm. My back curls in as my cum spurts, the first shot so hard it reaches Poppy’s bellybutton. She must’ve known it was about to happen because she’s already shoved the laptop out of the way protectively.

I keep stroking, aiming myself as I want every last drop to coat her pussy. I give myself one last swirling stroke to gather the remaining cum on my crown and spread it over her clit and lips.

“Want me to rub my cum into you? Mark you all up with it, claim you with it?” I don’t know what I’m saying. The words are pouring out of my mouth the way they poured out of Poppy’s fingers.

“Yes, yes,” Poppy cries out, her eyes tight with fresh want and need.

I rub the slippery mess on her skin, focusing on her clit after a moment and giving her no mercy. “Come for me. Cover me in your cum too, Poppy. Mark me all up as yours.”

There’s no doubt that we will both wear the proof of this moment tomorrow. I can feel the marks on my back, can see the hickey I gave her, but this is different. This isn’t just about relieving a physical need. It’s about something else, something just as primal and raw but very different.

When she explodes, I slip my fingers inside her, wanting to bring forth as much of her cream as I can. I want it all. I want it everywhere.

Poppy bucks into my hand, our combined juices covering us and dripping down, soaking everything. But the release is more than worth it as we drop bonelessly to the bed, breathing hard.

“Holy fuckballs. Not yours, but just” —Poppy waves her hand lazily through the air— “you know . . . whoa.”

“Me too,” I agree.

At least I know I did something right. I hope it’s enough for later, when she’s wishing she’d never met me. I push that thought away, trying to stay in this moment, with and for Poppy.

Later will come soon enough, there’s no stopping it, but for now, I can pretend that this is all real and everything will be okay.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s pretending and lying.

Even to myself.

“I’ve got pizza rolls,” she says out of nowhere, “unless you want to call for delivery?”

I laugh at the unexpected question. “We greet the pizza delivery driver like this, and we’ll have a whole different type of story on our hands. Like ‘Delivery Driver Found Dead in Quiet Suburb.’”