Painting her lips a pretty peach color, Poppy’s inky-blue eyes find mine in the reflection of the mirror, her brows knitting together a touch like she’s wondering what I’m doing just standing here staring at her. Can’t say I blame her.
I clear my throat. “How was the… uh… the spa?”
She smiles. “So good. I got the best lymphatic massage I’ve ever had.”
I gasp, clutching a hand to my chest, mock offended. “Better than mine?”
She giggles, and the sound is like music to my fucking ears, releasing the tension that’s been bunched in my shoulders for the last twenty-four hours.
“A close second,” she says with a wink, turning back to the mirror. “How was golf?”
“It was okay. Nice course.” I shrug a shoulder, leaning against the doorjam, arms folded across my chest as I watch, enamored, while she continues painting her perfect lips with the utmost precision; it’s almost hypnotizing. “But we only made it to the eighth hole before Calla shit herself.”
Poppy’s eyes go wide as she tries to stifle her laughter. “I’m sure Emily will love that.”
“You look pretty,” I say before I can stop myself.
A hint of pink tints her cheeks as she looks down, securing the lid of her peach gloss, and I see her smooth shoulders rise and fall with a breath.
Swallowing around the lump of trepidation that’s been wedged in my throat all day, I take a step closer to her, stopping just shy of touching her, yet feeling her everywhere. “I promised myself I wouldn’t keep asking you if you’re okay,” I begin, keeping my voice low, barely above a gruff whisper, noticing the way she reacts, goosebumps flaring over her skin. “But I will ask you this—” Her eyes lift, meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror yet again. “Areweokay?”
In the mirror, Poppy’s gaze roams over my face, dropping down to my chest, taking me in before meeting my eyes once more. I can tell she has something to say, the way she rolls her glossy lips together, and when she turns to face me, tilting her chin and peering up at me, there’s that same flicker of sadness in her eyes that I swear I saw this morning when she walked intothe kitchen. But, just like this morning, it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
I touch her, my hands rubbing up her arms, following the curve of her shoulders, my fingertips skating up her slender neck before stopping to carefully cup her cheeks, not wanting to ruin whatever makeup she’s applied. “Pops, talk to me. Please…”
She reaches out a hand and smooths it over my chest, my thundering heart, like she’s trying to placate me while also unintentionally lighting a fire against my skin through my shirt because, suddenly, I need her more than I need food and water. And I need to show her how much I need her. I need her to know that this isn’t just fake. I don’t know what’s real anymore, but I know this isn’t the same as what it was when it started, and I need to prove it to her.
Ducking down, I crash my mouth against hers, shiny peach gloss be damned. Sliding my tongue between her lips, I groan at her taste, and she meets me with fervor, moaning into the kiss, her hands moving up into my hair, nails scratching my scalp, fingers tugging on the longer lengths, spurring me on.
I kiss her hard, with everything I have, moving my hands down her back, over the curve of her ass and hiking her up off her feet. I carry her out to the room, stopping at the edge of the huge bed and depositing her onto the mattress.
Staring down at her, I’m caught off guard by the way she looks up at me, her lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flush, chest heaving with her heavy breaths, and my cock aches at just how perfect she is right now—and always.
“I would love nothing more than to be able to claim you right now,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her heated cheek, down over her jaw, her neck, stopping at the spot I know drives her wild and flicking my tongue over it with a murmured, “Own every inch of this perfect body.”
A small sound escapes her.
“But we’re pressed for time, and when I finally get you to myself, I intend on taking it so fucking slow so I can enjoy every goddamn second. So, right now, I’m going to eat this perfect pussy that I’ve been craving since yesterday.” I kiss and lick her pulse point, reveling in the way she arches into me, her head falling to the side to grant me better access. “And then later, when we get back here tonight,” I whisper, blowing hot air against her hot spot, “if you’ll let me, I’m finally gonna make you mine.”
I pull back, meeting her eyes, the look of lust in her heavy-lidded gaze almost sending me over the fucking edge. Arching a brow, I steady her with a stern look. “I need your yes.”
She nods. “Yes.Please.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Good girl.”
Hovering over her, I tug gently on the towel, unwrapping her like a gift, my eyes lighting up at the sight of her soft body, her heavy breasts heaving with her racking breaths, dusky nipples peaked and begging for my mouth.
“Lie back, baby. I’m going to make you feel so damn good,” I murmur, dragging my tongue down between her tits, licking the first one, then the other nipple, biting and sucking and causing her hips to buck with anticipation.
Dropping to my knees on the floor, I open her thick thighs, groaning at the sight of her glistening cunt, so pink and swollen and needy, and then, draping her legs over my shoulders, I bury my face into her sex like a man starved.
“Oh my God,” Poppy cries out, her back arching up off the bed.
I watch her as I devour her pussy, licking, sucking, biting, teasing her with my lips, teeth, and tongue. Placing my hand over her smooth mound, I hold her open to me, licking her from her swollen clit all the way down to her tight little asshole and back up again, her body writhing uncontrollably. I place my other hand over her soft belly, holding her down as I suck her clit hard enough to make her slap a hand over her mouth to contain her own throaty scream.
“Don’t you fucking hold back, baby,” I mutter. “I want this whole damn island to hear you when you come.”
Poppy cries out, grabbing her tits and playing with her nipples, tugging and pinching on them.
