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

She cries out her release, and I muffle it with my mouth, kissing her long and hard until her hips stop rocking against my hand.

I reach for my bag and grab a condom before ridding her of her pants and underwear with a quick tug that leaves her grinning, her muscles all loose, and her eyes bright. I tug her tank top and the cup of one side of her bra down and seal my lips over the hardened peak to get her ready again.

Poppy buries her fingers in my hair and releases another moan as her foot slides against my leg. I lap at her nipple, then tease it with my teeth before freeing her other breast and repeating the process. As her breathing becomes labored, I roll off the bed, dropping my underwear to the ground and rolling the condom on. I lower a knee on the bed and move her legs to one side. “I want to see your face,” I tell her as I rotate her hips so she lies on her side, legs curled. I align myself with her entrance and slowly edge my way inside of her, my stare flipping between her slackened jaw and how she gently bites her bottom lip and watching my cock ease inside of her. I pull out and then ease back in a slow rhythm that allows me to focus on her and each delicious groan.

She rocks her hips, encouraging me to go harder, and I oblige, thrusting faster and deeper, drawing out another moan. I slip my finger between her legs, knowing our time is short and I want to see her come again. The skin between her brows furrows, and her mouth drops open with pleasure, so I increase my movements drawing out the pleasure as I circle her clit with my thumb until she spirals. I thrust into her, my vision clouded with need. My muscles constrict, and my movements become faster and frantic. My release hits me like a wave, crashing against me, carrying out my pleasure, and stealing my strength. I remain still for a moment, my eyes closed as every cell in my body seems to vibrate with a sense of rightness.

I run my hands along her bare thigh and back and slip from her before lying behind her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “What do you think about going to my Mom’s tomorrow for dinner?” I ask. “My grandpa and Camilla will be there, maybe Rae and Lincoln.”

“I don’t think I’m in a position to make decisions right now,” she tells me.

I smile, kissing her shoulder again. “Ready to add another title to your resume?”

Her green eyes flash open, and I can read her concern before she voices it.

“My mom’s going to be thrilled,” I tell her. “She loves you.”

“This seems big.”

It does, and yet it feels so simple and right, and it’s not because Lincoln has his doubts or because he might be onto something about me self-sabotaging, but because everything about Poppy feels natural and easy and so damn right that I want my family to know and celebrate in this news. “Speaking of big…”

Poppy scoffs and then laughs, and it grows until tears form in her eyes. “That is a prime example why I can’t talk dirty. It all sounds so cheesy.”

“You like it,” I rasp, leaning close to her ear. She shivers in response. I kiss a trail down her shoulder and back and then stand, knowing I’m going to be cutting it close to practice. “What else do you have planned for the week?”

She straightens her shirt and stretches across the expanse of her bed. “I need to go Christmas shopping and do laundry.”

“You can come do laundry at my place and hang out. I’ll make you dinner. We can do it tonight or tomorrow morning since you don’t have classes until the afternoon, and I can make you brunch.” I use the tissue box on her desk to clean myself up so I can put pants on. Going commando around the apartment she shares with my sister would be guaranteed to leave some scars.

Poppy looks at me with a smile, light and warmth spread across her features.

“What’s that look?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t see my expression.”

I grin. “You just look … happy.”

Her smile broadens, reminding me of dozens of memories of board games, camping, afternoons at the beach—they play through my mind like tape, allowing me to recall this smile and realizing its maybe not the first time it’s been directed at me, it may not even be the first time I’ve paid attention. “I feel happy,” she says, rolling to her side and tucking both hands under her chin. That same rightness I’ve been feeling seeps into my chest and thoughts. With Poppy, I’ve never had to impress her with material items or football titles—it’s never been about any of that for her. It’s an addictive and consuming realization. “Let’s do a laundry date tomorrow. I need to do some grocery shopping, and I’ve got some homework I need to get done.”

“Deal. Laundry date, then dinner with my family.” I lean forward and kiss her again. “I have to get to practice. I’ll talk to you later.”

She nestles into the covers and makes a sleepy sound as I close her bedroom door.

Rae looks at me and tries to hide her amusement by looking at the TV, but her gaze continually shifts to me. Mom is sitting on the couch beside me, knitting needles in her hand. Grandpa and Camilla are on the opposite end of the couch, where Grandpa is flipping through TV channels.

Poppy is due to be here in the next ten minutes. I’ve been trying to find the best way to tell my mom about us before she arrives, but Lincoln and Rae showed up early, likely to witness their reactions to my dating update.

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