“Tell me what you want, Pops,” I murmur against her lips. “What do you need?”
“I need… more.” She whimpers. “You.”
I pull back, arching a brow when she looks up at me. “You want me?”
She nods, and I close my eyes, releasing a shuddering breath, trying not to overanalyze the way her words affect me. Is she talking about me or my cock? And which one do I want her to be talking about? I mean, obviously my cock, but maybe me too? Fuck, I don’t know.
Moving my hands from her cheeks down to her hips, I lift her up off the counter, her thick thighs instinctively wrapping around me, and kissing her slow and hard, I carry her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
I climb onto the bed, breaking our kiss only to let Poppy down. She kneels in front of me, and then, with my eyes on hers, I inch the hem of her t-shirt slightly higher, knowing she’s completely bare underneath.
“Is this okay?”
She nods quickly, but I see the way her throat works with a thick swallow.
Pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek, I lift her t-shirt up all the way and she raises her arms over head, allowing me to take it off. Tossing the t-shirt off to the side of the room, I sit back on my haunches, rubbing my chin as I admire her. And while I try not to ogle like a creep, it’s proving hard. She’s magnificent—like a Botticelli come to life—all perfectly soft skin and curves.
“Fuck, you’re—” I press my lips together, stopping myself. Pretty. Beautiful. Perfect. All three. Neither word seems sufficient right now. She’s everything and then some.
Poppy smiles shyly, and it causes my heart to hitch. But then, her smile turns devious as her hands find my towel, tugging hard enough for it to unravel. I toss it off and then I’m on her, flanking her until she’s forced back onto the bed, her handsgripping my shoulders as I make a home for my hips between her thighs.
Claiming her lips, I thrust my tongue into her mouth, reveling in her moans, my hand moving down her side, stopping at her breast. Finding her nipple, my thumb and forefinger tease the stiff bud, circling it and pinching hard enough to cause her to arch her back with a sexy, throaty groan.
I break our kiss, peppering my lips down her jaw, her throat, her chest, needing her nipple in my mouth more than I need air in my lungs, and watching her, I lay my tongue flat, licking the perfect peak before wrapping my lips around it and sucking. I play with her other nipple, noticing the way she moves, picking up on the sounds she makes, and I fucking love that she loves it. Grazing one nipple with my teeth and then moving to the other I do the same, dragging my tongue between the both of them, pushing them together and burying my face between.
“I’m going to fuck these tits one day,” I growl against her soft skin. Meeting her eyes, I lift one brow. “And then I’m gonna come all over them.”
Poppy sucks in a gasp, her eyes flaring with unabashed lust.
“But right now,” I continue, kissing my way back up her body. “I need to be inside you.” Shifting my hips, I grind my length against her dripping pussy. “This prettycunthas been taunting me all damn day.”
Breathing hard, Poppy closes her eyes, fingers tangling through the damp lengths of my hair as my lips graze the shell of her ear. “I was tested when I went into rehab, and I haven’t been with anyone since.”
When she doesn’t respond or acknowledge me in any way, I pull back enough to gauge her, but confusingly, she won’t open her eyes, and it’s only then that I notice the small crease pinched between her eyebrows, notice that her trembling breaths become increasingly tight and shallow, like she’s fighting to breathe.
“Pops?”
Her eyes flutter open, but gone is the lust I witnessed flash in her gaze seconds ago. Now her eyes are full of what could only be described as fear, dazed and gleaming with unshed tears, and suddenly my heart feels as if it’s trapped in the back of my throat.
“Hey?” I cup her cheek, searching her eyes. “Come back to me.”
“Can you… can please get off me?” she asks, her shuddering voice so quiet, so hesitant like I might say no. And the raw fragility nearly cuts me in two.
I scramble to move off her as fast as I can, sitting up on my knees and looking down at her as she covers her face with shaky hands, curling in on herself.
“Poppy?” I ask, carefully placing my hand on her shoulder, shocked when I feel just how fast she’s breathing, like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Pops? Breathe, baby.”
At a loss, I search the space around us, for what I don’t know. Then, reaching down, I yank at the blanket on the end of the bed and pull it up and over her naked body.
She sniffles, and the sound is like a roundhouse kick straight to my sternum.
“Poppy, please look at me because I’m really starting to freak the fuck out,” I beg, my gaze raking up and down her body. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”
Instead of looking at me, Poppy rolls over onto her side and pulls her knees up to her chest so she’s in that same position she’s always sleeping. And suddenly, it dawns on me that when she’s asleep—like she was that night when I woke her up from her nightmare in Tulsa—her body is curled in a ball like she’s in some sort of subconscious mode of defense.
Realizing I’m still buck-ass naked and that my cock hasn’t yet gotten the memo, I jump off the bed and move to my suitcase, grabbing a pair of boxer briefs and quickly pulling them on. Then, glancing at Poppy, I race out of the bedroom and grab a bottle of water from the bar, hurrying back.
“I’m here, Pops,” I say, climbing back onto the bed and sliding in behind her.
