Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

“Fuck,” I growl out the word, pumping myself into her hand. She runs her palm over my length and traces over the inches of my exposed cock that have peeked through the waistband of my boxer briefs, swirling her finger over my tip.

“Poppy, I’m going to fuck you if you keep doing that,” I warn her.

She grins and tightens her grip on my cock, a challenge. I drop my head back, finger fucking her while she lowers my boxer briefs to release my full length. It feels so fucking good, and she’s so wet that I can hear it as my fingers find the rhythm and pace that makes her thighs start to quiver and her focus on my cock to become less consistent, her grasp faltering as her breaths become pants. I dip my mouth and pull her clit between my lips, my fingers pumping a slow and steady rhythm.

I gently lick over her seam and opening as her breaths slow, her hips jumping when I hit a sensitive spot. “Do you have a condom?” she asks.

I lick her one final time, my tongue hard and flat and teasing against her, making her mouth gape again. I roll to the side of the bed, my underwear bunched under my length. I readjust myself, feeling her eyes on me, dancing over my chest and cock, her eyes wide with what looked too similar to fear. She swallows, her eyes finally lifting to mine. “You’re bigger than…” She swallows again. “…wow.”

I smirk, fisting myself like a cocky son of a bitch. I run my hand over my length pumping over my hardened shaft that I want to drive into her, and bury memories and thoughts of every other guy and replace them with me—only me.

Poppy’s hips flex, responding to my movements, and then she licks her lips, reaches behind her, and unlatches her bra, tossing it to the floor. I release another train of curses because she doesn’t even know that she’s torturing me with her shocked expression and unfettered gaze.

I grab a condom from my bag and tear it open, rolling it over my length before moving back to the bed, dropping a knee so I can crawl over the top of her.

Her green eyes are wider, moving across my face in a quick pattern.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods, licking her lips again as she raises her hands and places them on either side of my waist.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

“I’m memorizing you,” she tells me. “The way you smell like pine and cedar and something that is solely you. And how your gaze turns between possessive and thoughtful and lustful with each move. I want to remember this.” She smiles weakly. “And I’m a little nervous.” Her gaze drops between us. “You’re huge.” Her gaze returns to mine, amusement and honesty making her eyes round and bright. “I want to remember wanting you like this—so consuming I feel like I’m going to combust if you don’t touch me.”

I drag my lips over her cheek, breathing her in, and then I kiss her slowly, languidly, allowing her nerves to settle as I remind her of the pleasure I can bring her. I trace my fingers over her nipple, and she sucks in a breath and wraps her arms around me. I lower myself, my tip pressing against her entrance. I lean on my elbow to watch her expression as I slowly press inside her. Her jaw falls open, and she releases a nearly silent gasp that has me pausing, allowing her body to adjust to mine. “You’re so tight,” I tell her, realizing this is often said as a sexual approval, but it’s a realization, knowing this is likely uncomfortable for her as she tenses below me. “We can stop,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “Don’t you dare.”

“Try and relax,” I tell her. I kiss her, full and gentle, slowly, working to ease her nerves. I move one hand to her nipple, where I trace over the hardened peak, gently rubbing the bud between my thumb and forefinger as I dip my tongue into her mouth. She releases a quiet moan in response, and I feel her entire body relaxing.

“That’s it, baby,” I tell her, kissing her again. My fingers press harder, kneading, tugging, and pulling while my tongue languidly laps at hers, and I slide in deeper, trying to find the right balance of pleasure.

I still again when she sucks in a breath, but she shakes her head. “Don’t stop,” she says, holding me in place. “I want to feel you.” Her eyes hold mine, watching me as I lower myself fully inside her. It feels like a fucking dream—so good—so right. I breathe through my nose, recalling those moments over the years of football practices and games where I was dead tired and defeated and I didn’t think I could go any farther and somehow managed to—that’s how it feels now, buried inside of Poppy. I want to come like I’m twelve and just saw my first set of bare breasts and can’t hold on for another second. Football trained me for endurance, but it didn’t prepare me for this—for Poppy. I close my eyes, breaking the intense connection that seems somehow more personal than being inside her.

“You feel so good,” I tell her.

She shifts below me, and my body seems to reply without a conscious thought, sliding out and then in, slowing and increasing based on the speed of her breaths. I slide my hands under her waist, tip her pelvis up, and thrust into her, moving faster and harder, watching as her breasts bounce with each drive into her. She tilts her head back, her legs spreading farther as she cries out my name, and it’s the last thing I hear before I chase her release with my own, losing all sense and feeling as pleasure erupts, flowing through me like shockwaves.

26

Poppy

I lie beside Paxton, our legs tangled beneath