Page 82 of Catching Sparks

“Enough,” he grits out.

I gasp when he leans back on his knees and loops an arm around my middle before forcing me over onto my stomach. He uses the same hold to tug me back until I’m on my knees, ass in his face, and then he’s driving his thick cock right into my gaping, dripping pussy.

“Fuck!” I scream, throwing my head back toward the ceiling as relief crashes into me.

My heart lags, my body glitching as I drown in pleasure. A hand presses down on my shoulder, and my cheek hits the mattress. I don’t fight against the position. Not when I’m so close to coming, all of the buildup leading to one blowout that’s going to render me limp.

“Jesus, you’re squeezing me tight. Come on this cock, Poppy. Soak my balls with it. Fucking give me everything,” he growls, and shit, I give him what he wants.

It’s unfair, but his demand is the last thing I need.

His sounds of pleasure follow me into the madness of my orgasm. I shake, my legs failing and growing too weak to keep my ass in the air as my belly hits the bed, and he somehow glides even deeper inside of me. Savage thrusts rock me forward, drawing my pleasure out for seconds longer, minutes, maybe.

He comes just as hard as I do, and warmth explodes inside of me a beat later. I moan at the sensation, so overstimulated that every jerk of his hips has my clit scraping along the bedding, the aftershocks leaving me boneless.

My eyelids are heavy, thoughts drifting as Garrison falls over me, his skin so hot it would be unbearable if I didn’t want the contact so badly. I release a shuddered sigh and rub my cheek on the blankets beneath me. He runs his fingers through my hair and scratches at my scalp, ruining me completely.

My mind starts to return when he freezes above me, fingers stalled, still buried in my hair. The rush of panic I feel is a jolt to my blissed-out system.

“I didn’t use a condom,” he whispers, as if he’s scared saying it any louder will make it worse.

My blood runs cold before warming again as I remember I’m always on time with my birth control. “Okay. Worried I’ll try to baby trap you?”

His silence isn’t entirely surprising, but it pisses me off regardless, chafing against my obvious feelings for him. Damn me.

I scoff, turning on my side and slapping at his chest in an effort to push him off me. He doesn’t hesitate to give me the space as he gets off the bed, but I don’t think that’s for my benefit as much as it is his.

“Alright, well, first off, I’m on birth control, and even if I wasn’t, I’m not interested in having children with a man who only wants me for my body, so don’t worry about it. And second, since you’re so concerned about safe sex, I haven’t slept with anyone in a long time before you. My tests came back negative after my last boyfriend,” I tell him rigidly, suddenly uncomfortable with my lack of clothing.

He’s right to be concerned about safe sex. We’ve always made use of condoms, but we were both so out of our heads that I’m not all that surprised we forgot. It was careless on both of our parts.

“I’m negative, as well. But that’s not my concern. We shouldn’t be having sex without double protection. It’s messy.”

At the first feel of his cum leaking from me, I grow even more upset. Messy, yeah, that’s one word for it. I hop off the bed and reach for a nightshirt from my dresser before dropping it over my body, grateful for the length of it as it reaches my knees.

He runs a hand over his messy hair and stares at the shirt with poison in his eyes. When I glance down, I find the cause of his anger.

I straighten my spine and point behind him to the door. “Get out. You do not get to be pissed at me for letting another man touch me or for wearing a guy’s shirt when you won’t even answer the simplest of questions regarding our relationship.”

With a huff, I collect his jeans and shirt from the floor and throw them at him. His jaw grinds as he catches the clothes and backs into the doorway.

“You only want me to tell you what you want to hear, Poppy,” he says.

My brows fly to my hairline. “No, I don’t. I want the truth. Something to keep my mind from running circles over you. It’s called knowing how to communicate like a grown adult. How are we supposed to know boundaries if we don’t talk about these things?”

“I know how to communicate,” he argues, beginning to pull his clothes on.

The sight upsets me. I don’t want him to leave. Or I didn’t before . . . all of this. I may be more frustrated than angry. Hurt, even. We’re adults—communication shouldn’t be an issue. Especially not when all I need is one second of honesty.

“No, you don’t. The only time you know how to communicate is when you’re giving me shit for something you should have no say over. If you want to have a say, Garrison, then ask for it. Be honest with me. But until then, you can go away,” I say, my tone steely, final.

“I don’t respond well to ultimatums, Poppy.”

“This isn’t an ultimatum. It’s me taking care of myself. I want one thing from you, and that’s honesty. I don’t care who you are. It doesn’t matter at all to me. I’ve never cared about any of that shit. Get jealous and possessive, I fucking like it! But you have to be able to be honest about why you’re being that way. If you only feel that way about me because we’re sleeping together, then say that. But don’t lie to me either.”

He flinches, his stupidly sexy throat working with a thick swallow. I ignore the nip of guilt and nudge my head to the door, waiting for him to either continue arguing with me or, if I’m lucky, to tell me the truth.

Instead, I get nothing.

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