“Connor!”
“You like it. Now, strip and lie down,” I tell her, one brow raised, daring her to disagree or argue.
But she’s more than agreeable, instantly shuffling around to send her clothes flying all over the room carelessly. Her pants go one way, her shirt another, and her panties end up hanging off the ceiling fan. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. I drop my jeans and underwear too, climbing onto the bed to loom over her.
From my propped-up position, I watch as she wiggles happily, ready for more. I force my own smile to fade, giving her straight-faced look. “I was here for a few days, you know,” I tell her. “I missed you . . . a lot.”
Her brow wrinkles in sadness, and she reaches for me, her hands going to my waist. “I missed you too.” She tries to pull me down onto her, wanting the skin-on-skin contact, but I’m not guilting her.
“You called me your muse, but I found some inspiration being here in your space.” Sex drips from the words, and her eyes glow with fire.
“Did you jack off in my bed?” she guesses.
I shake my head. It hadn’t felt right to invade her space that much, though I did steal her pillow to sleep with on the couch. “No, but I did do a little . . . recon work. Target—Poppy Woodstock. Mission—learn everything I could about her so I would have half a snowball’s chance in hell of making her mine.”
She interrupts to say, “I am yours.”
“I know. But I found some rather interesting things out about you, Poppy.” I reach for her nightstand, and she squeals, pushing me away from it.
“Oh, my God! You did not go through my drawers! Did you?” A pretty pink blush has risen on her cheeks, but she’s grinning.
“Of course, I did. And I read Love in Great Falls to find out more about those fairy tale prince types you claim to love. It was all very informative.” It should be a simple declaration, but it’s not. It’s a threat, and she knows it because she knows exactly what’s in her nightstand. And I did learn a little about grand romantic gestures, hence the drop-in to her writer’s group.
I go for the drawer again, and this time, she doesn’t stop me. If I’m not mistaken, she’s breathing a little faster, actually. Inside, I pull out one of the toys I discovered. At first, it’d scared the shit out of me because I thought it was a dildo. A really huge one. But a little research told me it’s called a ‘magic wand’.
“What’re you gonna do with that?” Poppy asks breathlessly.
“You’ll see.” I run the still silent head along her thigh and over her mound, enjoying the way her hips lift, trying to get the toy to touch where she wants. Her lips are slick with juices, perfuming the room with her desire, and I dip the head over her pussy to gather the wetness.
She moans, “Please, Connor. Turn it on.”
With an evil grin, I do. And though she asked me to, she jumps in surprise before moaning in disappointment when I lay the buzzing device against her thigh again and not her clit.
Slowly, I drift up her leg, over her hip, and across her mound, getting closer and closer. When I finally let the vibrations hit her clit, she cries out in relief. “Yes, right there.”
I hold the vibrator against her, watching her core pulse as I trace my nose along her inner thigh for an up-close view of her heaven. “So fucking sexy, Poppy. I could look at your pretty pussy all day, drink you down until you soak me, and then do it all over again.” I punctuate the words with soft nibbles and kisses along her skin, dipping down to lick and trace her lips.
Suddenly, her whole body goes tight, the orgasm taking her faster than I expected. Her hands fly to the wand, holding it tight, and together, we ride out her pleasure, her fucking the toy and me pumping against the bed mindlessly. But when she releases her grip, I don’t move it. I keep it right where it is and slide two fingers inside her.
She’s drenched with her own cum, slippery with it, and I use it to fuck her with my fingers. In and out, slowly at first, letting her get used to the added sensation.
“Again,” I demand.
She whimpers, her head thrashing against the pillows and her hands clawing at the sheets. “More . . . more . . .” she begs.
I stroke my fingers in faster, harder, deeper, bending them to hit that spot on her front wall that makes her fight me. Not to make me stop, but so that I won’t stop.
She’s close. I can feel her walls clenching down on my fingers tightly, and her whole body is frozen on the edge of release. And then an animalistic sound comes out of her throat, and she spasms wildly. Fresh juices soak my hand, and I keep fucking her with my fingers through the orgasm, but I have to set the wand down, needing to taste her as she comes.