That was hard to say, but I’m glad it’s out there now because the truth is . . . “But I’m not anymore. Empty, I mean. Because of you.”
Poppy considers my words for a moment, then says, “But I am.”
I freeze.
She’s empty?
Am I not enough? Even after all this? Giving up everything I’ve worked for to be with her?
Even when I love her with all my heart?
And then she smiles softly and leans in to whisper seductively in my ear, “But we can fix that.”
When she grinds against me, I can’t help it, I groan, but before I can say anything, she fixes me with a serious gaze. “That was hard for you to say. I know that. I want you to know that I see you and what you’re doing. I appreciate the courage it takes to be that honest, and I love you for it.”
As she speaks, she lifts and lowers her hips, rubbing her pussy against my thickening cock in delicious torture.
I growl, thankful for the change in direction. I want her again, need to claim her, and don’t want to talk about this shit anymore. I’m a man of action, and I can show her everything she needs to know by worshipping her, fucking her hard until she comes all over me again and again.
I push her back to the couch, laying her down and climbing over her. She feels good writhing beneath me, her nails tracing over my chest through my shirt. “Connor.”
“Poppy.” I look her in the eye, pinning her bucking hips with a firm grip. “I’ll answer any questions you have for the rest of our lives. But right now, what I need is something beyond words.”
“Good . . . I need more than words too,” she agrees, pulling me down. We kiss, tenderly at first as we let the rift of the past few days dissolve, then warmth and heat and desire flow through our every touch.
I press into her, letting her feel what she’s done to me, maddeningly close to what we both want considering the layers of fabric between us. “You know,” I tell her as I reach down, pulling her thigh up to cup her ass, “you look great in jeans.”
Poppy wraps her leg around my back, digging her heel into the globe of my ass. “So do you. But you know what makes you look even better?”
“When you’re out of them!” we finish together, giggling. I stop, stunned. Me, giggle?
I can’t even remember the last time I legitimately giggled at anything.
Poppy recognizes it too, and she traces my lower lip with her thumb before pulling me into another long, lingering kiss. I push the hem of her shirt up, ready to feast on her tits when she suddenly stiffens, swatting my chest. “Wait! That’s it!”
“Already?” I ask. But then logic returns, and I lift up in confusion, barely having time to get off her before she sits up, jumping off the couch and running to her laptop bag. Yanking it out, she sits at the dining table and begins typing at a furious pace, her fingers almost a blur as she hammers at the keys.
My cock aches, but I understand what’s gripping her, and watch in awe as she writes. Within moments, her lip disappears behind her teeth as she focuses on the screen. It’s so fucking sexy to see her brilliance in action.
“I’ve been struggling to get the ending right,” she explains. “But this just inspired me. It's perfect.”
I make my way to her side to read over her shoulder, adjusting myself in my jeans.
“Take your cock out,” Poppy says, her eyes not leaving her screen.
My heart stutters, and my dick goes as hard as steel. Normally, she wouldn’t have to tell me twice, but she seems pretty involved in her book for her order to make sense. “What?”
“You heard me. Do it.”
Her fingers keep typing. Mine go to my shirt, pulling it over my head to drop to the floor, and then to my jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Once I have room, I shove my underwear down and fist my cock, giving the shaft a long stroke.
Poppy tears her eyes from her work and licks her lips as she watches me, so I do it again.
“Feeling inspired?” I growl, my voice getting rougher with need.
“Fuck my mouth,” she tells me. “While I write this scene, I want it to be ours. Their happily ever after and ours, at