The Dare Collection January 2019. JC Harroway

to give something to you.’

      ‘Poppy,’ I began.

      But her finger fell away and her hand curled around my neck, and she tugged me down so that my lips were on hers, giving me a kiss that was so achingly soft and sweet, my breath caught.

      Then she pushed me over onto my back, leaning on top of me, her silky bare skin sliding over mine, her hands stroking my chest.

      ‘Poppy,’ I said again. ‘You don’t have to—’

      She stole the words out of my mouth with another of those soft, sweet kisses. ‘I know I don’t have to,’ she whispered against my lips. ‘But I want to.’

      She reached to undo my trousers, sliding her fingers down inside the fabric to curl around my cock, making the breath catch hard in my throat.

      She kissed me, exploring my mouth the way I’d explored hers, tasting of sweetness and the spicy flavour that was all her, stroking my dick at the same time, making me pant. Making me ache.

      Stopping only to grab a condom from the coffee table, she then rolled the latex down on me, her fingers a gentle torture. Then she straddled me, holding my cock in her hand to position me. She lifted herself up and then slid down slowly onto me. So fucking slowly.

      I couldn’t stop the groan that escaped, my hands reaching for her hips and holding on tight as her sweet, slippery heat enveloped me, clenched around me.

      Jesus Christ. She was a goddess. A cloud of black hair and golden-bronze skin. Molten metal eyes. Watching me as her hips flexed and she moved. Graceful and fluid, like a flame.

      Pleasure licked up inside me and curled around me, stealing my breath, stealing all thought.

      Her hands spread on my chest as she balanced herself, the slick glide of my cock in her wet pussy driving me out of my mind.

      My fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her hips, trying to urge her to go faster, but she didn’t. She moved, lazily and sensually, turning everything into a gradually building heat, like a pot of water on a stove only slowly coming to a boil.

      I groaned out her name because she was killing me, fucking killing me, and I was loving every second of it.

      Releasing her hips, I slid my palms down her thighs, feeling the fine sheen of perspiration on her skin, then back up again, curving my fingers around to cup her beautiful ass.

      She arched, gasping, shoulders back, breasts swaying in time with her movements.

      ‘Fuck,’ I ground out, my voice ragged and harsh. ‘Fuck... Poppy.’

      Her gaze came to mine once more and then her hands were splayed on my chest, and she was riding me with all the beauty and grace of an Olympic equestrian.

      Harder. Deeper. And then, finally—fucking finally—faster.

      Our gazes met, held, the connection between us winding tight around my soul.

      I couldn’t fight this. I didn’t want to.

      She and I...perhaps that was all the anger and enmity had been—us fighting what couldn’t be resisted. This intense, incredible connection that went deeper than sex. That felt like a joining on a whole other level.

      I didn’t know what it was; I’d never felt anything like it before. But what I did know was that I’d made her mine and right here, right now, she was making me hers.

      And I was done fighting it.

      I reached up, hooked one hand around the back of her neck, bringing her mouth down on mine.

      And let the orgasm drag me under.