Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone Mariah Dietz (best novels to read .txt) 📖

I grin and reach for her waist, feeling almost balanced because I understood her so clearly before she vocalized her thoughts. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, her skin cool against mine, and I pull her closer so that her torso is flush against me—she feels like perfection, like her body was made to fit mine. I skate my fingers across her back, memorizing each line of her body as I claim her mouth, imagining her naked in a dozen different positions.

As though she can read my thoughts, she reaches for my jeans, fumbling with the button, and I follow her lead, my fingers working at the button and zipper of her own jeans like it’s a race. I drop my upper body so my face is level with her breasts, still covered with her lacy bra. I bury my face in her cleavage and lift her in my arms, eliciting a giggle from Poppy that plays like a favorite song in my head. I hold her over my shoulder, and tug back the layers of blankets before dropping her on the sheet, her red hair splaying across the pillow and her laughter hitting the chorus. I grab the waist of her jeans and pull them down with one quick tug and toss them to the floor before discarding my own.

Her smile is uneven and wavering as I climb over her, the warmth of her body radiating through my already hot skin. I brush my lips over hers, gentle and coaxing, waiting to feel a final confirmation before we cross this bridge that has been built over so many years and shared experiences. Poppy places a hand against my face and wraps her other arm around my shoulders as I lower myself to lie next to her. She pulls her body closer to mine. “I need you to touch me,” she says and then kisses me again.

I run my hand along her bare side, intoxicated by the softness of her skin.

“That’s not what I meant,” she garbles as I kiss her.

I smile, moving to kiss along her jaw. “I plan to take my time.” I trace along her stomach, skimming over the waist of her underwear. They’re lavender as well, ribbed with a thin layer of lace that feels rough compared to her skin. Her breath hitches and my ego soars. Hearing and watching her react to me has me feeling like a god among mortals.

“Pax.” She says my name like a warning. And then like a swear. And a final time like a prayer.

I kiss her mouth, soft and gentle while running my hand up her chest, between her breasts, painting her with my desire. I trace over her collarbones and her breasts, marveling at every part of her.

She kisses me harder, her teeth catching my bottom lip this time. In return, my touches become lighter. She wants to race, and I want to take the scenic route. I kiss her again softly.

She growls quietly. “You’re killing me. I feel like my skin is on fire.”

“Write a new rule,” I tell her. “I’m going to need you more than once.” I graze my fingers over her breast, and she releases a shallow breath, her chin and chest both rising as her body arcs to meet my touch. I dip my fingers into the lace of her bra and drag the fabric down, releasing her nipple as I get to my knees. Poppy watches me through hooded eyes, her breaths shallow. I feel emboldened by her stare, and the thrill of her watching me has me meeting her gaze as I seal my mouth over her nipple, flicking my tongue over her hardened peak as I gently press my teeth into her breast. She buries her fingers into my hair, her breaths coming out in gulps. I release her nipple and blow at the pink flesh before tonguing it. She drops her chin back, her breaths heavier as she tugs at my hair.

I swirl my tongue around her nipple as I draw a line across her skin with my fingers, stopping at her underwear. I trace the fabric between her thighs along both of the seams. She lifts her hips and makes a frustrated growl as I retrace the same pattern.

“Pax.” My name is a plea on her lips, making my cock so damn hard I release my own growl as I claim her breast and tug her underwear to one side with my index finger. I trace over her seam with my middle finger. She’s soaked, her desire as great as my own. She gasps as my thumb brushes against her clit, finding that small bundle of nerves that stretches each of her breaths.

I release her breast and sit back on my heels, so I can watch her as I hold her underwear to one side with my free hand, allowing me better access to her most sensitive parts. Using my hand that’s holding her panties, I spread her. She sucks a breath through clenched teeth and closes her eyes.

I trace my fingers down her seam, one finger on each side of her clit, bringing her wetness back over her as I trace back over her, changing the pressure and speed until her breaths grow ragged and I can tell she’s about to hit her climax.

“Not yet,” I whisper, running over her again with barely any pressure.

Poppy groans in protest, lust filling her stare as her teeth catch her bottom lip, a look so fucking sexy that I pray her comment about memories being worthless is wrong. I want to remember this—every last detail—for the rest of my life. I dip my middle finger inside of her wet and warm entrance, and she groans with pleasure. My cock is so strained I have to close my eyes for a moment to regain my composure. Before I can find my focus, Poppy sits up on her elbows and places