Poppy pulls back from me when we hear a squeakyshopping cart round the corner into our aisle, and the lady from earlier walks towards us. Poppy smacks a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, but the woman has already caught us making out in the candy aisle.
“It’s nice to see two young people in love.” She winks at us as she passes. “You two look like the picture of happiness.”
A warm feeling spreads through me as Poppy and I glance at each other. Iamhappy with her. The happiest I’ve been in a very long time.
I lean down and kiss Poppy one more time, a quick one, before picking up the basket across the aisle and holding my hand out for hers.
I just want to stay in our bubble a little while longer.
“I don’t knowhow you’re going to put together something edible with what I gave you, but I’m looking forward to watching you try,” Poppy says. She takes off her coat and hangs it by the door while I unload the groceries onto the counter.
“Haven’t you learned not to underestimate me by now?” I flash her a smile and get to work. Thankfully, Poppy selected chicken as the protein, and even though the produce is a bit random, I think I can make something half decent.
Poppy hops up onto the counter to sit and watch me as I cook, and her presence here feels comfortable. Everything about spending time with Poppy feels comfortable.
I always thought that being in a relationship would meanhaving to share space with someone and always feeling penned in, but with Poppy, it’s when she’s not around that I’m the most off.
I start by slicing the chicken into bite sized pieces and throwing them into the honey mustard sauce to let it marinate while I chop up everything else. Poppy is still watching me with assessing eyes, and the feeling of them on me sends a warmth cascading down my spine.
Once I’m done chopping the veggies—an interesting mix of cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, and bok choy—I throw the chicken in the pan to start it cooking, and then I wander over to where Poppy is seated on the counter, inserting myself between her legs.
“You never ended up selecting a dessert,” I say.
She wraps her hands around the back of my head, twining her fingers through my hair and tugging. The sensation makes me take a sharp inhale, and if I didn’t have food on the stove, I’d be undressing Poppy right here.
“I already know what I want,” she purrs, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?” I ask the question in a way that tells her I already know the answer. But I want to hear it from her.
She leans down to whisper in my ear, the warm puff of air sending a delicious shiver through me. She says something about sucking my cock and swallowing, but I almost miss most of it because an involuntary groan makes its way out my throat.
I lean my forehead on her shoulder and try to regain control of my body. Because I know by now what Poppy can do to me with just a look, a word, a fucking sound.
When I pull back and look at her, she has that cheeky grin on her face, like she knows what she does to me, and she fucking enjoys it.
“You’re getting the hang of the whole dirty talk thing.” I can’t help but notice how her eyes dart down to my crotch, at the bulge straining against my jeans.
“And you’re getting the hang of not coming in your pants every time I look at you,” she teases.
I flash her aha halook, before my attention is suddenly turned back toward the oven where a plume of smoke is rising out of the pan.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I pull myself away from Poppy and go to assess the damage. It’s pretty burnt, and I use the spatula to try and scrape a few pieces that have gotten stuck to the bottom of the pan.
“Is everything okay?” Poppy asks me, craning her neck to see how bad I’ve fucked up the dinner.
“It’s pretty burnt,” I admit. “Someonedistracted me.”
Poppy clicks her tongue.
“I guess you lose the challenge then,” she says.
I shut the stove off and walk back to her.
“Worth it,” I say, before tugging her towards me and consuming her in a kiss.
She’s the first to pull away.
“If we ordered in do you think we’d have time to..?”
