“Marc…” She shudders and then cries out as she clenches around me. “Oh… fuck…” She clamps hard, and it’s too much for me—there’s no way I can hang on when she’s doing that.
I thrust harder, and in less than ten seconds, my climax hits me. Heat rushes up from my balls, and I expel jet after jet inside her. Ah, Jesus, that feels good… such exquisite pleasure… accompanied by a smug satisfaction at the thought that I made her come. Oh yeah, fuck yeah… Poppy King, you’re mine now, no other guy is ever going to touch you again.
Chapter Fourteen
Poppy
Marc is heavy on top of me, hard inside me. This moment is going to remain vivid in my memory forever, as if someone has opened the top of my skull and engraved a picture on my brain.
The rising sun fills the room with a warm orange glow. It’s warm, too, although that’s probably more to do with the amount of heat we’re generating. I’m covered in sweat, and Marc’s chest is sticking to my back.
I’m exhausted, physically and mentally. Last night, I’d wondered whether the sex we’d had was a one-off, born out of my naivety. It was a novelty, like nothing I’d experienced before, and I’d assumed subsequent times could never be as amazing.
Ohhh… silly, silly Poppy.
He’s still inside me, and he moves now, giving a couple of small thrusts as he kisses my neck, and an aftershock of pleasure runs through me.
I give a little groan, and he chuckles. “Not nice?”
“You’re squishing me,” I tell him.
“So?”
“Marc…”
He nibbles my earlobe, still moving inside me. “Good morning.”
I try not to laugh, and fail. “How come you’re still hard? Does it ever go down?”
“Not when you’re around.” He sighs, withdraws, and shifts onto the bed beside me. As I go to get up, though, he pulls me back into his arms.
“I’m hot,” I complain, “and I need to pee.”
“Not yet. Let your uterus marinate in my little fellas for a few minutes.”
I give in and lie back in his arms. He smells hot, of clean sheets, aftershave, and sex. It’s strange that he’s thinking about getting me pregnant while we make love. Odd that he knows so much about it. He’s so quiet and broody, I hadn’t expected him to be like this in bed. Confident and knowledgeable. Just thinking about his demand, Tell me you want me to come inside you, fills my face with heat.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He smirks. “Still think women can’t have an orgasm during sex?”
“Don’t be smug.”
“Absolutely I’m going to be smug. I intend to prove it at least twice a day this week.”
I blow out a breath. “The likelihood of getting pregnant doesn’t increase the more times you do it in a day, as long as you do it around ovulation.”
“So? I want you to get your money’s worth.”
Something in his voice makes me blink and frown. I thought I heard a touch of resentment in his words. But then I’m terrible at reading people, so maybe I’m hearing that wrong.
He leans forward and kisses me, so I guess he’s not angry. He slides his tongue into my mouth, his hand moving down my back to my butt, and I shiver and say, “Stop it.”
He laughs and rolls over, sitting up. “Come on then. We should have a shower and breakfast. Gotta keep your strength up.” He smirks at me again over his shoulder and goes into the bathroom.
I lie on my back, lift my arms above my head, and look up at the ceiling. I feel pleasantly mellow and achy. Well-used. The thought makes me giggle. He’s such a naughty boy. Telling me he’d only make a baby the old-fashioned way. I get you, Poppy. He wanted me, and I suppose he found a way to have me; he doesn’t care it’s only temporary. If I really liked a man, I wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex. But that’s guys for you.
I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. Am I using him, or is he using me? I suppose it’s both. And we’re both getting what we want out of it.
I don’t want to think of it like that. It sounds cold and clinical, and I don’t want it to be like that. This is fun, and at the end he’ll get his money, he’ll have satisfied his curiosity where I’m concerned, and I’ll hopefully be pregnant. Everyone will be happy.