Chapter 12
My back slamsinto the front door. Garrison drags his mouth across my cheek and over my ear to stare at the doorknob behind me while he works to unlock it. His arm presses against my side, the sound of the key in the lock heightening my excitement.
Our breaths are ragged, mouths hungry in the dark. He grips my hip to keep me upright before he’s pushing the door open and we’re moving again. Backward, sideways, I don’t know. I’m floating, tipsy from the apple pie shots but drunk off the taste of the man pressed against me, his lips and tongue finding mine again.
I should tell him where to go to get to my room, but the thought of separating, even just for a second, has my mind thrashing in refusal. Our shoes scuff the floor as Garrison leads us through the house, slamming a hand to the walls as if searching for a light switch to illuminate the darkness.
Frantically, I fumble for the buttons on his shirt and pull at them the moment I feel their smoothness beneath my fingertips. Too long. It will take too long to undo them one by one.
It takes two strong tugs on the silk fabric for the buttons to tear free, pinging off the walls and onto the floor. I drop my head, pressing my forehead to Garrison’s hot mouth as my hands dive between the silk and straight to his bare chest.
“I liked that shirt,” he says gruffly, moving us through a doorway.
I splay my fingers and push them outward, across the soft skin beneath them. His nipples are hard against my palms, and I dig my teeth into his bottom lip, tugging at it, either playfully or in an attempt to rile him up, I’m not sure.
“I’m sure Mr. Black Card can go buy a hundred more if he wants to,” I reply, my voice almost unrecognizable through the raging need within it.
A gasp explodes from my lips when he takes two powerful steps forward and sends me tumbling back. A mattress catches my fall. My mattress. I spread my arms, burying my hands beneath my pillows as I stare at him in the dark, only a faint outline of his body appearing. I’m so fucking riled, the pulse between my legs a living thing driving me to insanity.
“Do you really want this, Poppy?” he asks, the question a dark rumble scattering over my flesh.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I make out more of him. The broad width of his shoulders and inward curve of his waist. Even the firm line of his puffy lips as he focuses the full weight of his eyes on my splayed form.
I nod my head, not a single fragment of hesitation in my mind.
“Say it out loud,” he demands, shrugging his torn shirt down his arms.
“I want this.”
Strong hands grip above my calves and tug. I slide down the bed, my knees hanging off the edge, boots clacking at the heels. My heart races, sweat beading on my brow as he nudges my legs open and steps between them.
He reaches for his belt, unbuckling it before working on the zipper of his slacks. Leaving them open and hanging on his hips, he grips my knees, thumb stroking the bottom ridges of them once.
“It’s going to be hard and fast. You have me in fucking knots,” he warns through his teeth, jaw hard, tense.
“Likewise.” It’s a brutal understatement.
Garrison leans over me, hands climbing up my legs, over my thighs. Our eyes don’t stray from one another as I pull my hands from beneath my pillows and raise them to his biceps, exploring them as I move up to his shoulders, holding him tight.
We’ve been playing with each other since the moment we met, and now that we’re here, I don’t know where to begin. There are endless possibilities of what I want to do to him. With him. For him. I’m desperate, and I know he recognizes that in me just as well as I recognize the same thing in him.
“Do it, Garrison. Just fucking do it,” I mutter, half begging and half demanding.
His eyes burn beneath furrowed brows, two flaming balls of need. It’s all I can do not to cry out in bliss when he grips the hem of my shirt in a tight fist and shoves it up my body. The room is still dark, and Poppy from ten years ago would have liked that. Asked for it, even. But the woman I am now wants this man to see me. All of me. There’s no reason to continue if he doesn’t want me the same naked in the light as he does with my clothes on.
“Turn the lamp on,” I tell him.
He’s quick to do it, reaching for where it sits on my nightstand. It fills the room with a low light, not enough to blind, but enough to ensure we can see each other the way I need us to.
“That’s the last order you give me tonight.”
“We’ll see about that.”
A dirty curl of his mouth, and then my shirt is bunched beneath my chin, the swell of my breasts exposed behind the purple lace of my bra. Before I can suck in another breath, that’s gone too.
Garrison stares at my bare chest. At the two silver hoops through both nipples. He swallows so hard his throat bobs in a way that looks painful. I stay silent, waiting for his words, the praise I ache to hear from his tongue.
“Gorgeous,” he rasps.
Pleasure shocks between my legs, making me tighten around nothing. Around an emptiness that has me snapping out my hand to grip his wrist, desperate. His pupils flare as I bring his hand to my breast and moan at the heat and friction on my achingly hard nipple.
“Fuck,” he spits, squeezing his fingers over my flesh as I jerk my hips to meet nothing but the empty air between us.
“Hard and fast. Please.”
Slowly, his head moves side to side in refusal. “Careful, or I’ll make you wait for it.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.”
Garrison abandons my breast, and before I realize what he’s doing, he has his fingers curled around the waistband of my jeans and is tugging them down my legs. I help him get them off and then kick my boots across the room and rip my shirt over my head before he’s on me again.
I spread my legs wide, and he wastes no time in settling between them, his mouth dropping to my chest to suck a nipple deep between his lips. Bliss ignites in my chest, melting my bones as I jerk and arch off the mattress toward the hard, hot body above me.
“Yes,” I coo, gripping his neck.
Deep, dark eyes watch me beneath heavy, fluttering lashes as he flicks that cruel tongue over my nipple and around the metal looped through it. Teeth brush my skin before they bite down on the ring and tug softly.
I shudder, my lips parting. “Do it again.”
“Manners, Poppy,” he warns, releasing the ring and swapping nipples.
The air is cold on my wet breast, increasing the torment rushing through me. It’s not a hit to my pride to give him what he wants. Not right now. “Please do that again.”
He gives me what I want. I curl my toes to the point of pain when he tugs at the silver and watches my reaction carefully, memorizing it.
“Good girl. Say it again.”
“Please!”
Harder than the previous time, he pulls at my piercing. Again and again, he swaps between my breasts, giving my nipples more attention than they’ve had in years. But it’s not enough. It’s so fucking far from enough.
My panties are wet, sticking to my pussy like Velcro. Garrison doesn’t delve a hand between my legs to learn this for himself, and that is so not acceptable. Not when I’m about ready to shove his pants down and bury his cock in my throat.
It’s an effort not to scream when finally, as if sensing where my thoughts have gone, he begins to drift those long fingers down my stomach. I grip the comforter, not trusting myself not to shove his hand where I ache for it before he’s ready.
He shifts himself down my body, following the slide of his hand until he’s dropping off the bed, his knees finding the floor. My tongue goes numb when he pinches the thin band of my purple panties and pulls it so hard it snaps. The burn from the tug against my skin doesn’t matter the moment he tosses the scrap of fabric aside and touches me.
Dragging a knuckle over my slit, he growls, “You’re drenched. Fucking soaking my finger.”
“Most men consider that a good thing.”
He parts me with two fingers and leans in, rubbing his nose over my clit. “Don’t speak of other men when I’m seconds away from burying my tongue inside your pussy, or I’ll leave you like this. Unsatisfied and begging for it.”
His dirty words have me burning, a living fucking flame before him. I like them. Love them. I’ve always enjoyed dirty talk. Praise sends me spiralling. I know my body better than anyone ever will. There’s power in knowing what you like and not being afraid to vocalize it. But with Garrison, I don’t seem to need to speak the words aloud. He’s too observant for that.
“Maybe you’d like that. To have to beg me for pleasure. Is that what you want?”
“I want you to make me scream, Garrison. Use your mouth or your hands or, better yet, your cock. Just please, make me come. I feel?—”
“I know what you feel.”
A finger slips through my slit, gathering the wetness there before driving inside of me, hard and confident. The breach is almost too much for a moment, but then not nearly enough. My lungs threaten to collapse when he brings his mouth to my pussy and drags a hot line with his tongue from his finger to my clit, lingering there as he flicks it once.
Yes. Hell yes.
Garrison feeds off the way I go tight around his finger and bare my neck as I stare at the ceiling. A second finger joins the first, and I tell him just how much I like that stretch before snapping my thighs to his cheeks and holding him in place.
Minutes pass, each one bringing with it a new wave of ecstasy. I made the right decision agreeing to this. Whatever this is. I’m far from done with him.
It’s quite the opposite.
I’m just getting started.
As desperately as I want to come like this, I’m too far gone to wait another moment without having him inside of me. Threading my fingers through all of his smooth, slicked-back hair, I scrape my nails along his scalp to capture his attention.
“I need more,” I breathe.
“More what?” he asks slowly, deeply.
“You. Inside of me. Right now.”
He arches a brow in that typical expectant way. “Is that right?”
I release my thighs from his cheeks and push myself up the bed, away from his wet mouth and fingers to match. He lets me go, but the way he watches me . . . I shiver, the promise of what’s to come sinking deep.
“Face the headboard and get on your hands and knees.”
I move quickly, doing exactly as I’m told. This is what I want, what I’ve been craving. Something real, pleasure for just one night that doesn’t come from my hand or one of my toys. A release of steam that’s been building and building to the point of insanity.
I glance over my shoulder and watch Garrison drop his pants, the full expanse of his naked body making me gush between my legs. Swallowing a moan at the view, I trail my fingers down my stomach and over my swollen, slick pussy. My thighs quiver as I dip a finger inside myself and then rub my clit, just slow, soft circles to prepare myself.
The lean, all-male body behind me is beyond my expectations. I instantly want to touch him from top to bottom just to learn the things that could drive him as crazy as the few things he’s already learned about me. I’m at a disadvantage at this very moment, but for once, I don’t hate it.
“Remove your hand,” he grits out, fingers wrapping around the shaft of his cock, stroking at a casual pace.
“You first.”
His fist moves that much quicker now, with a strength to each stroke that is more about teasing me of what’s to come than his pleasure.
I laugh, the sound clear and bright. “I never took you for a tease.”
He steps up to the bed and pushes my hand from between my legs before palming my ass, testing the feel of it. I chew on the inside of my lip and press back into his hand, swaying from side to side. His laugh hits the air a second before he lifts his hand and brings it right back, swatting at my backside. The bite of pain is minor, most likely on purpose.
“Harder,” I mumble, dropping forward to my elbows. “Please.”
Garrison grabs me with two hands now, kneading my ass before dipping a finger into my pussy and pressing it deep inside. “You’re learning already.”
My eyes close as I rest my forehead to my hands, the promise of release so close I can almost taste it.
He spanks me again, the mix of pain from his hit and the pleasure from the finger curling inside of me a beautiful song in my mind. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and my next words tumble free of their own accord.
“Please fuck me, Garrison. Fuck me hard.”
“Do you have condoms?”
I nod frantically, lifting a weak arm to point at the nightstand. “In there.”
The slide of the drawer and crunch of a condom wrapper are loud in the otherwise silent room. My anticipation builds as I keep my eyes shut, only listening. His presence shifts behind me, and I push back further, my toes curling once again in preparation.
“How often do you use your toys?” he murmurs, intrigue obvious in the tone.
I don’t shy away from the question. My collection is extensive and takes up most of the space in the very drawer I just sent him rooting through.
“Depends. Usually every couple of days. But recently, every day.”
“And why is that?”
“You know why.”
A familiar buzz comes to life behind me, and I smirk, my pulse ramping up. The first touch of the vibrator to my pussy makes me jerk forward, my fingers curling deep in the blankets as I shudder hard. I gasp, burying my face in the mattress.
“I want a real answer. Tell me why you’ve felt the need to fuck yourself every night and I’ll give you what you want.”
“I’m not the only one who wants this. And if you want more from me, then you need to give me something in return.”
He drags the vibrator back and forth over me, increasing the vibration speed when it hovers back over my clit. I grind my teeth to keep from crying out and will my knees to stop shaking.
“Fine.”
“How many times have you jerked off to the thought of me?” I ask, somehow willing my tongue to move properly.
He doesn’t reply for long enough that I worry I’ve asked a question that’s going to send me into a momentary depression. But just as I gather the strength to think past the buzz against my clit and turn to look at him, I feel him move.
The mattress shifts behind me, and then he’s there, his hips brushing against my ass, and his cock?—
“I’ve stroked myself every fucking night since I saw you,” he spits and then buries himself halfway inside of me.
My eyes fly open, and a raw, primal noise escapes me as I push myself back, needing more. Needing all of him. Right. Now.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I claw at the bedding, pushing myself onto my hands again and rocking back with his every thrust. The vibrator is forgotten, discarded on the bed. It’s not needed.
Garrison doesn’t take it easy on me, reading that that’s the last thing I need right now. Maybe after this, there will be time to go slower and savour this insane shock of pleasure. But for now, I can’t wait. I’m half out of my mind, my every thought revolving around how to reach the top of this insane swell of bliss.
“That’s it, Poppy. Make this pussy suck my cock in deep. Just like that.”
My eyes roll back. “Give it to me!”
He answers my demand with fast, furious thrusts that rock me so hard I can barely keep myself upright. His fingers dig deep in my hair and pull hard, forcing my head back.
“Just as good as I thought it would be. This cunt is priceless,” he hisses, smacking my ass with his other hand over and over until the sting rises above the ecstasy.
“Worth the wrath you could face from my friends?” I tease, half-delusional.
“Yes.” The word is ripped from his throat.
The confirmation is what sends me over the edge. It’s something I don’t have the energy or want to dissect right now. Not when my vision goes black around the edges and I collapse onto my elbows, every inch of me weak yet alive, throbbing in the aftermath of an all-consuming orgasm.
“Fuck. I’m gonna come,” Garrison groans, his hands finding purchase on my hips as he pounds into me from behind, riding through my release.
I moan, turning my head and pressing my cheek to the bed to watch him. His nostrils flare, the muscles in his chest and arms bulging. After a few more thrusts, he pulls free of my body and yanks the condom off his cock. Aiming at my ass, he strokes himself frantically and spurts thick ropes of cum over my skin. I watch with parted lips and wide eyes, throbbing delicately at the show, suddenly wishing it was easier to reach back and?—
“Jesus,” he breathes, giving himself one final stroke before dropping his hand. His eyes never leave my ass and back.
“I think that’s a fair reaction,” I reply.
He winces, finally tearing his eyes from the mess he made of me and toward my face, meeting my waiting stare. “Do you want me to just . . . get a towel or something?”
I snort. “Yes, please.”
He hops off the bed and strolls out of the bedroom. I haven’t told him where the bathroom is, but when light fills my room from across the hall, I know he’s found it.
When he walks back in, I’m still in the same position. There’s something about the way he moves now that has me a bit on edge. The minutes after a hookup are always awkward, and this is no different.
Having Garrison Beckett use a hot pink bath towel to wipe his cum off my ass after a rough fuck was not on my bingo card, but I’m not the least bit upset about it.
I save him the task of having to deliver the typical “I should go” speech. Waiting until I’m cleaned up, I sit up and grab a shirt from my dresser drawer. The pain between my legs is a welcome one, even if it does have me wincing a bit.
“I assume you’re not staying here, right?”
Garrison shakes his head and steps into his slacks, then his shoes. “No.”
“Want a different shirt? I have a few of my brother’s around here,” I offer.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Great.”
My steps are quick as I leave him there and return with a grey tee that has seen way better days. It’s better than a buttonless dress shirt, though.
I hand it to him and ask as he slides the shirt on, “How are you getting back to the ranch?”
“I was going to walk.”
“You can stay, if you want,” I offer, knowing he’ll turn me down before the words even make it out. I’d do the same thing.
“I could use a walk. Some fresh air, you know?”
I don’t bother telling him that it’s at least a half-hour walk to the ranch. It most likely doesn’t matter to him. “Sure. I’ll see you later, then.”
He tucks a hand into his pants and stares at me for a beat longer, his stare focused on my mouth. The tension is back, a force that doesn’t seem to get the meaning of cool-down time.
“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” he mutters.
I swallow and force my legs to carry me out of the bedroom and toward the front door. Garrison doesn’t say anything as we travel through the hall, the light from the bathroom lighting the place enough that he can surely see how unimpressive everything is. I try not to let that bother me and focus on letting him out.
“Thank you,” I tell him with a grimace once we reach the door.
“Don’t thank me for that, Poppy.”
“I don’t really know what else to say.”
“Good night,” he says bluntly. “That’s it.”
I laugh softly, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Good night, then, Garrison Beckett.”
“You keep using my last name, but I don’t know yours.”
“It’s Huntsly.”
His nod is nothing more than a dip of his chin before he opens the door and murmurs, “Good night, Poppy Huntsly.”