Page 99 of Catching Sparks

He looks surprised before his features soften, eyes falling to half-mast as he takes the box from me and sets it on the bed. I wait in anticipation for his next move.

“You are incredible, Poppy. So far out of my league I can’t stop wondering how you’re here right now, in front of me, in my arms.”

He cups my cheeks and tips my head back before brushing his lips over mine, caressing them. I close my eyes and chase his mouth when he moves to pull back.

“I need you out of your clothes. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to touch you,” I murmur.

“Okay, honey.”

Stepping back, he starts unbuttoning his shirt before shrugging it down his shoulders and setting it on the side of the bed. His belt comes next and then his pants. In only his black briefs, he stands confidently in front of me. The long, rigid outline of his cock in the tight fabric makes my mouth water.

I’m leaning forward without realizing it as he drops the last piece of clothing and lets me continue my perusal. Jealousy sparks when he grips his cock and gives it a tight stroke from bottom to top. The tip shines, glossy with his arousal, and I reach out my hand.

He moves forward, thighs hitting the mattress. I take him in my hand and sigh, curling my fingers around the thick, hot shaft.

“Fuck,” he hisses, holding himself still.

“How many times did you stroke yourself over the past week, wishing it was me?”

His eyes flare, wildfire blazing within them. “I lost count.”

“Good.”

“I want your dress off,” he growls.

“So take it off.”

I stroke him again, continuing to work him at a slow, torturous pace. Only when he lurches forward to tear at the straps of my dress do I release him, albeit reluctantly. He shoves the thin straps down my arms and yanks the top of the dress down to expose my strapless bra. My nipples are hard inside the cups, brushing against the material over and over, working me up.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your body?” he asks, the question almost angry.

“No.”

“Another mistake.” Reaching behind me to grasp at the band of the bra, he unhooks it and watches as it falls to expose my heavy breasts. “You’re a work of art.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, believing him without a doubt.

“I’ve never held something so magnificent in my hands before,” he adds, so quietly I almost miss the words. “So custom-made for me.”

The first brush of his fingers over my nipples has me shaking, my head falling back. Sitting like this, I know my belly has more than one roll beneath my dress, and my thighs lie flat and full on the mattress, the cellulite obvious. I’m curvier than curvy, thicker than I wished I was at multiple times over my life. I’ve grown to love those things about me. Worked on my confidence over the years so I didn’t feel like I had to hide my beauty beneath baggy clothes that I bought knowing they’d hang off my body.

I don’t need a man to tell me I’m beautiful to believe it. Bur hearing the words from Garrison right now—the sincerity so clear in them—is something out of my fantasies. I believe him. And it’s enough to bring tears to my eyes.

The soft pad of his finger brushes the skin beneath my eye as he wipes away the single tear that’s escaped.

“Let me worship you, baby,” he says.

I tip my chin and hold his gaze, letting it stabilize me. He smiles softly and moves onto the bed. Dropping his head, he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth and moans around the sensitive peak. His tongue circles it as he sucks, and he pinches the other with his thumb and forefinger, rolling it slowly, the ring tugging with a soft pressure.

My breathing shallows, sparks zapping between my legs. He takes his time with my chest, driving me to insanity with every flick of his tongue and tug on my nipple. I’m writhing against the mattress, my hand on his thigh, fingers curled and nails digging into hard muscle.

Finally, he sits back and urges me onto my back. I scoot up the bed and let him work my dress up my body, lifting my arms when he pulls it over my head and then tosses it aside.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he says, stroking my inner thigh, working his way closer to my pussy.

I ache with anticipation, the thrum of arousal heavy in my veins. “I need something inside of me. I’m too empty.”

A long, warm finger slips between my legs before sliding deep. I stretch to accommodate him, but I immediately want more. Need more.

---