21. Poppy
twenty-one
Poppy
I knew Dylan’s cock would be perfect. I’ve seen it on my phone screen, but nothing could have prepared me for the real thing. Thick. Tall. Veined and throbbing. Smooth. Hard—so hard—and growing harder with every flick of my tongue. Every twist of my fist.
For the rest of my life, I’ll never forget what it felt like to have my mouth on him or the way my body responded when the taste of him first hit my lips. My pulse thrumming in every inch of my body. Lust pulsating in my throat. My wrists. My stomach. My pussy.
Everything aches for him. It always has. It probably always will.
Dylan lays me down on the blankets, and I’m already dripping when he stretches out beside me, presses open my knees, and drags two fingers through my slick folds.
A low rumble sounds in his chest, and he licks his fingers before he goes back for more, his knuckles gliding over me with a touch that makes me arch my back.
“So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, parting my lips and stroking me with expert ease, winding me higher and higher.
“Uh-huh.” I lift my hips and hunt for the friction of his hand. My brain isn’t firing right because I confess something I’ve kept to myself for years. “I’m always…always wet for you.”
Dylan moans as his thumb presses against my clit, moving in languid circles while he slides two fingers inside me. I skate a hand up over my torso, pinching at one nipple at the same time Dylan crooks his fingers inside me, curling them at an angle that has me fluttering around his hand.
“Dylan! Oh, my God. Keep doing that. Keep— doing— that.”
He chuckles quietly, a sound of pure pleasure that I could hear every hour for the rest of my life and it still wouldn’t be often enough. My hips shift as he caresses the sensitive spot inside me, and I twine my fingers in his hair, yanking that smug mouth to mine so I can devour him with a hot, desperate kiss. My tongue lashes out with the pulses of my orgasm, my thighs trembling, my core contracting, and my hands twisting in his hair like he might try to escape from me.
He doesn’t. He kisses me in a way that makes me believe he might need me as much as I need him. Hard and feral and possessive.
The final waves of my orgasm ebb away, flooding my system with a sense of relief, and I open my eyes to find him stretched out above me, candlelight glancing off his damp skin, watching me as I come.
But I’m not satisfied. Not even close. I want more. I need more. I need this man inside me.
I grip the back of his neck, kissing him again because I can, and he shifts over me, settling his hips between my thighs, balancing over me on raised elbows, never breaking away from my mouth. His cock brushes my inner thigh, nudging closer to my pussy as his pelvis rocks, and he glances down between us to the place where my thighs are open and damp. Waiting.
“We don’t have to rush this,” Dylan says, his neck taut and sweat trailing down his temple as he rolls his cock ever closer to my entrance.
“We’re not rushing anything.” I slip a hand between us, gliding my fingertips over my pussy, then swirling the wetness over the crown of his cock.
“But—”
“Trust me, Dylan.” If only he knew how long I’ve waited for this moment. I fist his cock, coating the length of him in my arousal, sliding my hand underneath to cup his balls, and he drops his head with a tortured moan. “I’m ready.”
A strangled grunt catches in his chest. “Oh, I know you’re ready.” Again, he glances down my body to the place we’re almost joined, his dick thick and hard and glistening with my wetness. “You’re so fucking ready.”
Dylan pushes up, kneeling between my thighs, and reaches for his jeans to retrieve a condom from the pocket. He tears it open with his teeth, triggering a fresh wave of lust, and it’s wild to me how a man can look this sexy rolling on a condom. He’s studying his cock, dark brow furrowed, jaw feathering and forearms flexing as he applies the rubber, and I can’t take my eyes off him. The bare chest. The broad shoulders. The deft hands on his own dick. His very big, very beautiful dick.
When he’s done, he looks at me, and his forehead creases. “What?”
I’m suddenly self-conscious about my nakedness—both physically and emotionally—but I’ve imagined this moment so many times I don’t want it to pass by without Dylan knowing at least a little of what it means to me. “Has anyone ever told you how stunning you are?”
His mouth is serious, and his brows pull tighter together as he leans in to hover over me. “Poppy,” he says in a low voice against my ear as he slides his hand between us and lines himself up with my entrance. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. One day you’ll have to tell me what the fuck I did to deserve what you’re about to do to me.”
The first press of his cock makes me gasp—not with pain, not yet, but with the realization that this is really happening. Dylan pauses and waits for my nod, and then the first inch of him stretches me open. I inhale sharply, his impressive girth already making me squirm.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes.” I nod and close my eyes. “More. Please.”
Dylan’s chest expands against mine. He slides in another inch, and I open my eyes to the sight of his jaw feathering with the need for control.
“Breathe for me, baby,” he coaxes, and I exhale with a measured moan. “That’s right. Breathe. Breathe. That’s perfect.”
Dylan drops his mouth to my breast, tonguing my nipple bars and making me whimper as it triggers a pulse of wetness between my legs.
He smiles against my skin as he eases in another inch. “Good girl,” he murmurs, dusting my sternum with open-mouthed kisses, pressing himself in a little more, groaning as my core stretches to accommodate him. “Taking my dick like it was made for you. So wet. So tight. So ready to be filled up. Inch by fucking inch.”
His words are smooth, but his voice is rough, and I can tell he wants to lose control. He sinks in slowly, sheathing himself at a pace that begins to frustrate me too, so I grab onto his ass, yank him closer, and raise my hips to meet his.
“So fucking greedy,” he says, his voice strained and raspy as he disappears inside me.
I accept the final inch with a moan of release, enveloping him like I really was made for him, the two of us fitted together like it was always supposed to be this way. His mouth captures mine, his body is heavy and safe atop me, and for a moment, we kiss—just kiss—not a breath of distance between us, no movement to steal this moment from us. We’re as close as two people can ever be. Joined together. Committing to our memories the taste of each other. The feel of each other. The connection between our bodies. Finally.
Finally .
And then he starts to move.
It’s a slow thrust at first, starting with an easy drag out, a controlled rock of his hips as he brushes the hair from my forehead, kisses me once more, and then watches me with focused attention. He notes every expression on my face as he pulls almost all the way out, waiting for a sign that I want more. I can’t look away from his burning blue gaze, and I wonder if he’s reading all the things I can’t say.
I love you. I want you. Make me yours.
The tip of his cock grazes my entrance, and he reverses his thrust to slowly sink back inside me. My back arches off the floor, the exquisite feeling of fullness almost more than I can take as Dylan slides all the way in. He rolls his pubic bone against my clit before he curses under his breath and pulls back out. And when he’s there again, hovering temptingly at my entrance, my heart races harder because I know exactly how euphoric it is to have Dylan Davenport inside me.
In and out. In and out. Two bodies trying to know each other.
A moment I’ll remember forever.
But when the need to come builds and builds, and I can’t stand the pace anymore, I dig my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth to mine. I kiss him like this is a goodbye to what we used to be and then set my mouth to his ear.
“Fuck me, Dylan. Please.”
He drops his head and kisses me again, wild and possessive. And then he loses control.
I match the pace of his hips against mine, rocking against him as his thrusts go from deliberate to desperate. Dylan pistons in and out of me, fingers weaving into my hair as he kisses me deeply, our sweaty bodies sliding and bucking against each other as he loses that iron-hard grip. Every thrust is primal, more abandoned, until he’s fucking me like he owns me, and he does. He does. He just doesn’t know it.
“Fuck, Penelope,” he whispers against my mouth, pumping as I lift my knees to take him even deeper. “ Fuck . I wasn’t expecting you. Is that the craziest thing you ever heard? I wasn’t expecting to feel like this.”
My heart jumps, and I feel it even over the insistent thrum of my racing pulse, the orgasm gathering deep in my core. “Like what?”
Dylan ruts into me, kissing me again, squeezing my breast and making me arch up against his hand, and whatever answer he has for me, if he was ever going to give it, is lost as he grinds himself against my clit, closes his hot mouth over a nipple, and I topple over the edge of my climax. Heat explodes at the base of my spine, the muscles in my stomach ache, and I clamp my thighs around Dylan’s waist, silently begging him to stay there, to ride out my orgasm with me.
With a final thrust, Dylan tenses and stills, coming deep inside me as I clench and release around his cock, milking every drop of his climax.
I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him with the fear this might be the one and only time we’re joined like this. He lets me, kissing me deep enough to make me wonder if he feels the same way.
We come together, there on the floor, like we were made for each other, just like he said. Just like I want to believe.