lap to straddle me, her hands on my cheeks so I can’t get away from her direct gaze—the one staring into my soul, “if you don’t fuck me on this couch right now, I’m going to get myself off. Watch if you want, or don’t, but your being all . . .” —she waves her hands through the air, encompassing what I’m guessing is supposed to be me— “is really sexy, and I’m a stroke away from coming already.”
I place my hands on her hips and pull her against my raging cock, letting her feel what she does to me. She moans, so I do it again, and again, finding a rhythm that elicits sexy sounds from Poppy’s throat. “Are you going to come already?”
Her head falls back, her hair hanging down her back to tickle my hands. I gather a bit of it in my hand and pull gently, testing her waters. She hisses out, “Yes.”
I can feel her heat through our jeans. Remembering last night, I bury my face into the soft T-shirt covered mounds of her breasts, sucking and biting through the cotton. She cries out, her hips bucking against me as she braces herself on my shoulders, her fingernails digging in.
“Shirt,” I growl against her skin, and she nods, letting go to pull her shirt off. The soft, creamy mounds of her breasts almost spill into my face as she leans forward, finding the catch on her bra and shrugging it off to drop, unneeded, between us.
Perfection. Her breasts are perfect lush teardrops on her chest that are capped with pale pink nipples that are already pebbled up and ready for my eager teeth and tongue. I latch onto one immediately, sucking and licking as she thrashes in my lap.
“Connor . . . Connor,” she cries out when I find what she likes. I’m not surprised she enjoys a rougher touch, her hips jerking when I stop sucking and bite her nipples softly, tugging and letting my teeth rasp against her silky skin. Her thighs tremble, tightening around my hips, and suddenly, she stiffens when I nip a little harder. “Fuck!”
Feeling this woman fall apart for me is heaven in itself, and I hold her secure in my grip as a climax jolts through her, watching her hungrily as she moans. She sags, and I hold her, only releasing her when I hear a twin pair of worried yappings around our feet.
“Guys, hush!” Poppy growls as Nut and Juice dance around, probably worried about their mama. “I’m fine!”
“Protective little monsters,” I point out, and she lets out a beleaguered sigh. “I like it.”
Poppy smiles then, getting up and tugging on my hand. I nod, dumbstruck, as she pulls me by a willing hand to her bedroom. When we get there, she shoos the whining Pomeranians out, closing her door to give us privacy. They must not be too upset because an instant later, I hear their nails clicking as they walk back down the hall to the living room, probably to go lie in their shared dog bed.
“With my luck, I’ve got twenty minutes tops until they come looking for me again, or need to go out, or want a treat, so get naked.” Poppy goes for the button of her jeans, hastily undoing it and shoving the denim down her thighs to reveal an adorable set of red-striped granny panties with an elf on the right hip.
“It’s not Christmas,” I murmur as I watch her quick striptease.
“What?” Poppy says, kicking off her shoes and trying to get out of her jeans without falling over. “So help me, if you only have sex once a year on Christmas or some shit like that, I will put twinkle lights on the tree over there or buy some eggnog later, but right now, get naked.”
“No, your . . .” I am not going to say panties. Or undies. That word on a man’s tongue is just . . . not happening. As I pull my shirt over my head, I settle for, “Elf.”
Poppy looks down, realization dawning. “Haven’t done laundry, but you can totally stuff my stocking.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh, my God, that was so bad. Pretend that didn’t happen. Pretend I’m not a writer who gets paid to write sexy dirty talk.” She shakes her head, and under her breath, I swear I hear her say, “At least I didn’t talk about breeding this time.”
“What?” My fingers freeze on the button of my jeans.
“Oh, nothing.