With that goal in mind, she slipped a hand between his thighs, brushed her fingers over his testicles and then moved back, behind them, to rub softly at his taint. Wyatt stiffened, his fists going lax, and she pulled off of him slowly. She spent a minute sucking at just the tip of his cock, her tongue sliding over and around the slit as his breathing grew labored. Then she turned her head and rested her cheek against his hip as she pressed soft, sweet kisses to his abdomen. His navel. His V-line.
Wyatt relaxed slowly under her ministrations, his legs opening just a little bit wider in order to give her better access. As he did, his cock brushed against her cheek and she rewarded his gradual surrender by licking her way from tip to base and then back again.
Her name shattered on his lips, the pieces of it hanging in the air around them like stars as she began a slow, steady stroking of his taint that had sweat rolling down his abdomen and broken curses falling from his lips.
It was a really good sound, nearly musical in its depth and intensity, and it had heat shimmering through her all over again, had her sex clenching emptily.
“Poppy, sweetheart, please—”
The way he called her name, all needy and desperate, did it for her like few things ever had. As a reward—and because, suddenly, she felt as anxious as he obviously was—she swallowed him down, sucking so hard that her cheeks hollowed out and her throat ached.
Again and again she took him, relishing the broken sounds he made with each pull of her mouth. Relishing the urgent grip of his hands in her hair and the desperate way his hips moved against her. He’d lost his rhythm now, lost the smooth, sexual confidence that had been such a part of him last night. Now he was all about sensation, all about pleasure, all about the drive for release.
As was she. She could feel the sting of his nails scraping against her scalp, the ache of the hard ground beneath her knees, the burn of his cock stretching out her throat. She’d never had any desire to mix pain with pleasure, but this moment—on her knees in front of Wyatt as he used her, as he thrust into her mouth again and again and again and took what he wanted—was, by far, the most erotic experience of her life.
And she wasn’t ready for it to end, even though she was nearly as strung out on sexual pleasure as he was.
Slipping one hand under his swollen balls, she cupped him, rubbing and squeezing and stroking until he was panting like an animal. Until his fingers were twisting hard in her hair and he was calling out her name with each thrust of his cock into her mouth.
Tears leaked from her eyes, ran down her cheeks—a by-product of having him so deep for so long—and still she didn’t let up.
Her jaw ached, her lips and mouth and tongue threatening to go numb under the fast, brutal pace of his hips jacking against them, and still she didn’t finish him. If this was all he was ever willing to give her—all he would ever be willing to take from her—she was going to make it last, going to relish every second of it.
But then he was reaching between them, cupping her breast in his hand. Stroking and pinching and pulling at first one nipple and then the other through her blouse and bra. It was too much stimulation, too much pleasure, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” Wyatt grated out as he pinched her nipple between two fingers and then flicked his thumbnail across the very tip of it. “I’ll get you there, too.”
She was already there, and would have told him so if her mouth weren’t still stuffed with his cock. Her clit burned, her * throbbed, and her whole body felt like it was on the verge of shattering into a million jagged pieces.
Desperate to stop the ache, desperate to hold herself together, she slipped a hand between her thighs. Pressed her palm flat against her clit.
But that only made it worse, as did the deep rumble of Wyatt’s voice urging her on. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it. Spread your thighs for me. Let me see you touch yourself.”
Any other time she would have been embarrassed, but right now she was too needy, too frantic, to do anything but follow his instructions. “Fuck yeah, baby. Let me see you. You’re so pretty,” he crooned even as he started thrusting harder, faster, into her mouth. “So. Fucking. Pretty.” Each word punctuated another thrust into her mouth, another squeeze of her nipple, another step up the precarious ladder of her own pleasure.
“You’re so good, baby,” he told her as he clamped down on her left nipple hard enough to have her gasping around his cock as a quick shock of pain shot through her. It was immediately followed by a very pleasurable heat, though, so she went with it, arching against him, into him, as shocked and needy tears slid down her cheeks.
“So good,” he repeated. “You take it so well.” His hand slipped from her hair, and then he was cupping her cheek. Tilting her head up so that she was looking directly into his eyes.