Chapter 19 #3
She’d never been with anyone who took so much time, who seemed to relish her taste and her smell, and who seemed to know instinctively where to kiss, where to bite, where to press, and where to hold back.
He’d already given her an incredible orgasm with his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from continuing to ravish her, dragging his tongue in slow, savoring passes, occasionally dipping inside her.
Her body pulsed, her inner walls trying to pull him in deeper.
He pulled back just when her hips started to roll against his mouth, just when she was gasping and straining.
The anticipation was its own kind of madness, and she was practically incoherent by the time he stood, fingers flexing into the flesh of her ass as he stroked his shaft with the other hand, lining himself up.
He didn’t just slam into her, though she could feel the need to do so vibrating through in his hands, his hips, his entire body.
Instead he teased himself along her opening, rubbing his velvet head against her slit in firm strokes that left her panting and desperate for him to fill her.
Poppy had never believed there could be so much pleasure in waiting.
She was the definition of impatient. She wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now.
AJ was showing her that sometimes if you waited, there would be a bigger, better payoff.
But she was only human.
She arched her back, presenting herself, pleading with every atom of her body, but AJ withheld, drawing out the moment until she begged.
“Please, please, please,” she whimpered in desperation.
Finally, mercifully, he pressed forward, the thick mushroom tip parting her, stretching her, sliding in with the kind of pressure that was both too much and not enough, a perfect, sweet ache.
The first inch stretched her open, and then another, until the sting bordered on pain.
But she didn’t want less of him, she wanted more.
She wanted all of him, and that’s what the burn represented to her.
He didn’t rush. He never did. His controlled, deliberate strokes were measured and restrained.
At first his movements were forceful but gentle, with each measured thrust, he never let her forget who was in charge.
He leaned over her, his chest pressed to her back, and nipped a line up her neck with his teeth, licking and biting at her pulse while his hips rolled in a deliberate, devastating cadence.
Occasionally he dipped his head low and whispered filthy, beautiful things into her ear—how good she felt, how much he loved the wet heat and tight grip of her body around his cock, and how he wanted to see her come for him, only him, over and over.
She was gasping for air when she felt his forefinger and middle finger in her mouth.
“Suck,” he instructed roughly against her ear. ‘Suck them like you sucked my cock.”
She closed her lips around his digits and tasted herself on them, hungrily swirling her tongue around them, coating his fingers with saliva as she pulled them into the recesses of her mouth.
A groan ripped from his chest as he withdrew them and moved them to her breasts. His fingers traced her areolas, causing them to glisten before he pinched and twisted her nipples just hard enough to cause a lightning strike to shoot between her thighs.
The pressure of sensation built to a near-intolerable level, causing her body to begin to shake with need.
She was so close when she felt his hand move between her thighs.
The moment the pad of his finger brushed across her sensitized bud, she exploded with release.
She shattered, every muscle in her body seizing with pleasure, the orgasm rippling through her like a seismic event.
Her entire body trembled as her stomach convulsed, and she cried out his name, cursing it, cursing him.
She was still lost in the oblivion of bliss when she felt him pump faster and harder until he himself went up and over the edge in a catastrophic orgasm.
He shuddered inside of her, his whole body tensed, and then he let go.
His shaft swelled, his thighs tensed, both of them shaking and gasping, clutching for any anchor in the chaos.
When he collapsed against her, depleted and breathless, she was just floating back to reality. Before she was fully recovered, the couch dipped beneath her knees, and he pulled out of her and stood.
He gathered his clothes and began walking down the hall. “Are you going to take a shower?”
He froze, then turned towards her, his expression like a teen who got caught with weed in his backpack. “I am.”
She sat up. “Want some company?”
His entire body relaxed as the clothes he held dropped to the floor, he crossed back to her in two strides, picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and slapped her ass playfully as she giggled. “I would fucking love some company.”
As he carried her down the hall, her bouncing on his shoulder, Poppy wondered if this was what the secret to happiness was, finding someone who saw you, who got you, who didn’t love you despite your idiosyncrasies or insecurities, who loved you for them.
If it was, then she hoped she would be happy for a very long time.