want to be with if I want company or if I want to share something that happened or a thought. You’re the first and only man I think of when I’m alone.” Raising her chin, she lost herself in him. “You’re my First, Turner Maddox. And if I had my way, you’d be my last too.”
Reaching behind himself, he shifted her pillow to stuff it under his head. Once he was comfortable, he used his grip on her hair to raise her head up. Somehow he managed to be gentle in repositioning it on the inside of his elbow, easing her even closer.
“You know you’re high right now,” he said, their eyes parallel. “I shouldn’t really trust anything you say.”
Intoxicated by him, Poppy exhaled. “Thank you.”
“For?” he asked, opening his fingers in her hair, the digits pulling and snagging on her locks as he combed them through.
“Giving me all the excuse I need.”
Trailing her hand down past his waist, she joined it with the other that was sliding his belt free of its bounds.
“Baby,” he said, plenty of mischief in his snicker. “You’re high.”
Undoing one button of his jeans, she moved onto the next. “Maybe… I’ve never unfastened a guy’s jeans… another first.”
“See if you just give it a pull—” She did and the rest popped open. Her mouth opened in delight; Turner bowed to kiss her hairline. “What a quick study.”
There was something curious about the glint in his eye, Poppy was still trying to figure out what it was when she slipped a hand into his jeans and…
Again, surprise opened her mouth and she did a double take. “You’re not wearing underwear.”
“Never do, babe.”
Practicing her own groan, Poppy was only tormented further knowing there was one less barrier between them than she’d thought. “Oh, I love that about you.”
Curling her fingers around him, she expected him to retreat any second, to back off or scold her. Instead, he just lay there, growing thicker and harder in her hand with every stroke.
“This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you I respect you too much to take advantage of you,” he said.
Except as he said the words, his hips pushed closer.
“I’m scared I’ll scare you,” she whispered, easing closer to kiss his throat.
Tightening her hold, Poppy pushed his jeans out of her way to fully liberate him.
“Baby,” he groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair.
In contrast to her slow words, her hands moved fast. “This is what I want,” she murmured, her lips on his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in a hard swallow. “I want you… With me… I want to touch you… to pleasure you… to be yours, First.”
Opening her mouth, she dragged her teeth through his stubble. The arm that had been under her head shifted, so he could skim a hand down her back. It lingered long enough to unhook her bra, then descended into her dress. He took a handful of her ass and squeezed hard, pulling her body even closer.
Squeezing him in return wrung another groan from his throat. The feral growl joined the thrust of his hips as he propelled himself into her quickening hand. If Poppy was certain it wouldn’t bring him to his senses, she’d use her mouth on him, use her breasts, give him anything he wanted… including what lay beneath her voluminous skirts.
She was supposed to care about his rules. She’d cared about them enough to stop the last time. Maybe it was the solvents, maybe he was right, but she couldn’t stop.
The rise and fall of his chest against her, the short puffs of his panting breath in her hair, the grip he had on her ass… he wanted her, he was hers. Right then, in those seconds, what she was doing to him was all he wanted in the world. He wanted her. Turner. Her Turner.
One of his legs drove itself between hers. Just as he tried to raise it up, probably to put her on her back and himself between them, Poppy pushed back.
“No,” she said.
Her instinct took that chance and she surged down his body to suck him into her mouth before he could register her plan.
“Baby—”
But that was all he got a chance to say before the sweet, silk milk exploded against the back of her tongue. The cramp of ecstasy in her belly overwhelmed her with pleasure of her own. Poppy had dreamed about being intimate with him, about being his outlet for passion. Becoming that, even just once, was more