I’ve done this so many times before, but it has never felt likethis.
I grind my hips into her and hoist her up so I can use one hand to find the lace gusset of her lingerie. Her hips buck as I find her slit through the thin fabric, and she throws her head back against the wall as I run my thumb along her seam.
Her pleasure is intoxicating, and my length is painfully hard in my dress pants. I could come just watching how her body responds to me, and God I think I’m going to.
Poppy moans again andoh fuck… No, no, no?—
I’m coming undone, my release pumping hot and fast into my pants.
My name slips from Poppy’s throat. It comes so naturally that for a moment I almost forgot that this is Poppy’s firsttime doing anything like this—a sobering reality that brings me careening back down to earth.
We’re just in the heat of the moment,I remind myself again.
Given the chance, I’m sure Poppy would prefer her first time to be under different circumstances.
I let her body slide down the wall as I gently place her on the floor, and stagger back a step into the hall. I take a sharp inhale of breath and pull away from her, praying that in the dark, she can’t see the wet spot blooming on the black fabric of my pants.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I grit out, my voice hoarse, my breathing heavy and ragged. The sliver of moonlight from the window lights up the whites of her eyes, shocked and confused as they search my face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” There’s no hint of hesitancy in her voice. “Are you good?”
I nod, scrubbing a hand down my face.
And then without saying another word, I retreat back down the hall in the direction of my room, keeping myself angled away from her so she doesn’t see the mess I’ve made of myself.
But as my hand lands on my doorknob, I look back at her over my shoulder.
“Goodnight, wife.”
CHAPTER 23
POPPY
My eyes open,although I don’t remember them closing, sometime in the morning as bright rays of sun shimmer through the snow-covered trees outside.
It takes me a couple seconds to remember where I am, but the thick, pillowy soft duvet reminds me that I’m in Jett’s guest room, and everything that’s happened over the last few days comes back to me in one fell swoop once the haze of sleep clears.
Our wedding day replays in my mind. And although I know it was all for show, I’m still caught up in the magic of the day, the post-wedding bliss. Then, images from last night come crashing back.
It was more than anything Jett and I have ever shared. Underneath the physical sensations of kissing him, of him pinning me against the wall just outside of this room, there was a passion there, a desperation to have each other, to claim each other.
There wasn’t anything pretend about it, and thinkingabout it sends threads of electricity unfurling into each of my limbs.
Before I can spend too long thinking about this new turn of events, the smell of something syrupy and sweet drifts under the door and my mouth waters.
I throw the covers off, and dig around in my overnight bag to find something half decent to wear to greet Jett this morning. The best I’ve got is a clean pair of leggings and another hand-knit sweater, and I decide it’ll have to do.
It’s not like I had much notice to go and revamp my wardrobe before agreeing to marry a professional athlete.
I clearly didn’t think this marriage scheme through from all angles before accepting Jett’s “proposal.” And now the whole thing has taken on a life of its own, it’s a runaway train. I’ve never even had a boyfriend before and the man in the kitchen cooking me breakfast is myhusband.
I pull my sweater on over my head and wander into the ensuite to run a brush through my hair, unsuccessfully trying to smooth down the cowlick sticking up on my crown. If there’s nothing more I can do for my appearance, I can at least head out there with tolerable breath, so I quickly brush my teeth and put some deodorant on.
Good enough.
I gingerly open my bedroom door and wander down the hall in the direction of the mouth-watering smell. I still haven’t gotten over the sheer size of this house, though I should try to get used to it. From the day we sign the marriage certificate to the day we file for our inevitable divorce; all of this is half mine.
As I round the corner into the expansive kitchen, I learn the source of the smell.
