Chapter 12 #3
Fire explodes in his eyes. With strong, fierce strides, he eats up the floor in a second and I’m in his firm grasp in two.
His lips collide with mine as one arm wraps tightly around my waist, grappling for my arse.
The other slides along on my chest, stroking, rubbing, holding me in place while he drags his tongue down my neck, suckling a spot on my collarbone.
He twirls us, strong and fast into the nearby wall, pressing into me, his erection finding purchase between my thighs as I slide one leg up around his hip.
My shriek is loud when he bends to suck my nipple ring into his mouth.
He laps and laves the jewelry with his tongue, clanking the cold metal on his teeth.
The bud is like a pressure line straight between my legs, my knickers dampening with need.
When my moans become cries, he moves his lips up to my neck, his hand skating up my bare thigh in a tight, claiming grip.
When he pulls back to look into my eyes, his are blazing with lust. Then he steals my breath by fusing our mouths together again.
It’s a kiss that demands entry this time, not only connection.
His tongue parts my lips as he imprints his against mine, massaging the flesh together in delicious erotic indecency.
A surge of warmth blooms between my thighs when his fingers snake inside my knickers.
I pull away from his mouth and look down at his arm smashed between us.
Like a crazed animal, I mewl as he sinks a long finger inside of me and then another.
His exposed chest muscles contract and retract with each pump of his fingers.
Over and over. Long, languid motions increasing in speed with each one of my laboured cries.
“Booker! I need…” I pause and gasp for breath as my hips gyrate into his touch. “I’m going to come.”
“Good,” he growls, his voice an aphrodisiac. “Come like I did the other night.”
My hooded eyes can barely focus on him. “What?”
“Did you hear me, Poppy? Did you hear me call your name as I jerked myself off thinking of you?”
I swallow and can’t bring myself to admit it out loud because I’m so embarrassed. But sickly, the mortification only turns me on even more. My head nods.
He half smiles, a naughty glint in his eyes I never knew existed inside of him. “Did you like it?”
“Yes,” I pant, holding nothing back.
“Did you touch yourself?”
“No.”
He frowns, disappointed. “Why not? Didn’t you want to?”
My climax is building.
“Answer me, Poppy. Didn’t you want to touch yourself?”
“No!” I exclaim.
His eyes narrow with determination. “Why not?”
“Because I wanted you to do it!” I snap.
And my orgasm tips.
Booker bites his lower lip as I spasm around his fingers.
Roughly, he yanks out of my folds and pinches my clit so hard, all air is wrenched from my body.
I go completely silent. The pressure with the orgasm and the pressure on my clit rendering me unable to release even a gasp as pinpoints of light blast off behind my closed lids. Was that a double orgasm?
After shuddering for what feels like hours, he releases his grip on me and my legs buckle. He deftly sweeps me up into his arms and murmurs into my hair, “Fuck, Poppy. I’m so fucking hard right now.” His chest vibrates with a chuckle as my head lolls onto his shoulder.
The aftershocks of the climax are still sweeping through me as he walks me down the hall and lays me on his bed.
My eyelids flutter open and I see him lean down to flick the lamp on.
The yellow light casts warm shadows on his flexing pecs as he removes his shirt.
His triceps bunching as he unbuckles his belt.
His abs stacking on top of each other as he removes his jeans and boxers all in one shot.
My body squirms at the sight of him fully hard. So hard, I see pre-come seeping out the tip already. I thought I was spent. I thought that double orgasm or whatever it was might kill me on the spot. But seeing him there, naked, confident, and seeking entry inside of me… I’ve been awakened.
I want his cock to stretch the inside of me until I’m sore.
He taps my hips for me to lift them so he can shimmy my dress down the rest of the way. Now I’m laid before him wearing nothing but my sheer black knickers. Bending at the waist, he presses his face between my thighs, dragging his nose along my pubic bone as he inhales deeply.
“Oh my God,” I moan as he hooks his fingers on the band of my knickers and pulls them down my legs. “Did you just smell me?”
“You smell so fucking good here.” He kisses my belly and crawls up my body, holding himself off of me with his muscled arms. “And here.” He kisses the divot between my breasts.
“Here.” He kisses the space below my ear.
“Here.” He kisses my lips. “Everywhere. And I’m going to fucking taste you again because you are making me lose my bloody mind, Poppy. ”
I nod because, quite honestly, when he says my name with those sex eyes, I can’t think straight either.
He spreads my legs and wastes no time swiping his tongue along my slit, groaning as he flicks over my swollen bundle of nerves.
“I want to fuck you, Poppy. It’s all I’ve thought of every night since you came back. ”
I moan and squirm, squeezing my thighs around his head and combing my fingers through his hair. “Me, too.”
He chuckles against me and swipes a few more times before kissing his way up my belly, stopping at my breast to drop a soft, open-mouthed kiss around my nipple ring.
He positions his dick at my entrance and then pauses, looking down at me with a heady look in his eyes. “Should I…I mean, do you want me to get a condom?”
I shake my head because I don’t want any type of barrier between us.
I feel like we’ve been living with one for years and, for once, I want to feel him.
All of him. I want to be as close to him as possible.
And I trust Booker. I know he’s a footballer and has been with other girls, but I know he’d never risk anything with me.
“Make lo—” I pause, my face flaming red as I nearly repeat the same words I said our first night together.
The same words that scared him away from me like I was a hot torch.
“I want you to fuck me, Booker,” I croak.
The words feel crass and cheap, but I need this to happen so badly, I feel like I could split in two.
“Poppy, you have no idea.” He moulds his lips with mine as he positions his bare head at my entrance.
Forehead-to-forehead, he looks down as he thrusts into me.
My shoulders rise up off the bed as he fills me completely.
His hand grips my arse, fingers biting into me as he shifts in deeper.
He drags his lips along mine and murmurs, “God, you feel so good.”
My hands grip his back muscles, my legs squeezing around his hips. “Fuck me, Booker,” I husk because I can’t say anything else. I just need to disappear into an orgasm as quickly as possible.
He kicks it up a notch once I’ve adjusted to his size and fucks me like the professional athlete he is, tipping me to orgasm within the first five minutes. Lithely, he rolls us over so I’m on top. He plays with my clit as I grind my hips on him and a second orgasm slices through me.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” His words speak straight to my heart. I feel it expand in my chest like a warm memory.
In the distance, I’m pretty sure I hear a neighbour yelling at us to quiet down. But we don’t stop. We don’t even hesitate. We continue on this wild ride because neither of us have a fucking clue where it will end up. Probably nowhere good. So I’m at least enjoying it while it lasts.
I just fucked my best friend.
After coming inside of Poppy, I realise without a shadow of a doubt that I have fucked up monumentally.
And this time, it’s so much worse because I didn’t stop it when I knew we were going too far.
I let it happen. Hoped it would happen. Did everything I could to make it happen. This is all my bloody fault.
I wasn’t lying when I said Poppy makes me lose my senses.
Why can’t I get control of myself? All night around my family, I couldn’t stop feeling her in my mind.
Christ, that sounds stupid, but it’s fitting.
She encroached my headspace, and I couldn’t get past the yearning I had for her. I wanted inside of her. Badly.
But I need to find that control. I’m not some fucking horny teenager who can do as he pleases. I’m an adult, and I need to find power over this feeling or I could lose her again. Maybe forever this time.
I need to fix this.
My head jerks when I hear the creak of the floorboards as Poppy scampers from the loo to her bedroom.
Knowing I can’t let her go to bed like this, I stand and pull on a pair of shorts.
Her dress has a laugh at me from a heap on my floor, taunting me like the moron I am.
Gathering it up, I slip out to see Poppy in her room, bent over and stepping into a pair of shorts.
She quickly grabs a shirt up off the floor and yanks it over her head.
Her short blonde hair is sticking up all over the place as she looks down and tugs the shirt into place.
She turns when she hears my approach.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my gaze drifting down her body to see she’s in the Bethnal shirt she borrowed for the match. It’s huge on her, but my chest feels funny at the sight of her swimming in something of mine.
She eyes my bare stomach and self-consciously swipes her hands through her hair to try to tame the fly-aways. “I was looking for some pyjamas.”
I run my own hand through my hair, closing my eyes as I recall the feel of her fingers slicing through it as I tasted her. Fuuuck, that is not what I should be thinking about right now. Tugging on my earlobe, I ask, “Were you…erm…planning to come back into my room?”
Frowning like my question shocks her, she asks, “Did you want me to?”