Page 15

“Is this real?” she mutters, squinting.

I palm her cheek, thumb brushing the ridge of her cheekbone. “Real as it gets, kitten.”

“Thank God.” She’s got the sexiest fucking smile I’ve ever seen.

I lean in and catch her lips with mine, slow and sweet at first, just because I can. Her lashes flutter and she melts into the kiss, her little fingers sliding up into my hair and tugging gently. My cock wakes up, all the way this time.

Fucking hell. She owns me, heart and soul.

She pulls back just a little and blinks up at me, her curls spilling everywhere and her cheeks flushed. “I need a shower and then something to eat before we have another round of dessert.”

I run my palm along her thigh, loving the way she shivers. “Whatever you need.” I brush a stray curl off her forehead and stand to lift her into my arms.

I turn the shower all the way to hot, and the steam fills the bathroom.

I step into the glass enclosure with her curvy body in my arms. I want her again, but I can feel how raw and spent she is, so I keep it slow, just mouths and hands and the steady beat of her heart against mine.

I set her on her feet and reach for the bottle of body wash. She shivers when I soap her up, and makes a sound when my hands wander, but when I go for her breasts, she laughs and tries to wriggle away. “Breakfast first. Then dessert.”

“Anything for you,” I murmur, kissing the tip of her nose.

After we finish our shower, we towel off and get dressed. Poppy pulls on her black dress from last night, the fabric still slightly wrinkled from where it had been tossed carelessly onto my bedroom floor. Water droplets cling to her neck where she missed drying off, catching the morning light filtering through the bathroom window. She smooths her hands over the dress, trying to make herself presentable. "Before we do anything, I need to go home, change clothes, and feed Moonpie.”

I want to haul her right back into bed, but I can see how serious she is, so I just nod and tuck a finger under her chin. "Whatever you want, kitten. I'll walk you home and meet Moonpie while you get ready." Her cheeks pink up, and she looks so damn adorable, I can't help but lean in for one more kiss. Her mouth is my new addiction.

When she finally pulls away, she’s breathless and blushing, smoothing her hands over her dress. "I look like I’ve been steamrolled," she mutters, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I wrap my arms around her from behind and bury my nose in her wild curls. "You look perfect to me." I mean it. I want her just like this: messy, flushed, fresh from my bed.

We walk down the hall to her place hand in hand. The building is quiet this early on a Saturday morning, but Mrs. Winters does pass us in the hall, and I know the building grapevine is going to be buzzing like crazy.

The second we step inside her small apartment, I spot her cat perched on the windowsill like she owns the place. Poppy scoops her up and introduces us. “Jack, this is Moonpie. She’s the real boss around here.” The moment I reach out, the cat gives my hand an assessing sniff, then head butts my knuckles.

“She likes you,” Poppy says, sounding half-shocked, half-suspicious.

“I have a gift with furballs,” I tease as the cat hops down and rushes straight over to her empty food dish.

I stifle a laugh as Poppy shoots me a look like, See? Told you. The cat is already yowling for breakfast, acting like she’s on the verge of starvation. Meanwhile, Moonpie has at least twelve chins and a chunkier ass than my Frenchie.

“Her food is in the silver canister on the counter,” Poppy tells me. “If you feed her, you’ll be her friend forever. I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the bathroom while I find the canister and pour some food into the ceramic fishbone-shaped bowl. Moonpie gets right in there, all business, crunching like she hasn’t eaten since the dawn of time.

I’m still grinning at the cat’s feeding frenzy when I hear Poppy’s voice behind me. “Okay. Don’t judge, but this is my comfiest outfit.” I turn and nearly swallow my tongue.

Holy. Shit.

She’s standing there in tight black capris and a simple gray T-shirt that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her hair is still damp, curls going wild over her shoulders. She looks so goddamn cute that I actually forget how words work for a second.

I crowd her in two steps, pinning her against the wall with my body. My hands bracket her hips. “You look fucking perfect, kitten. You always do.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I groan to myself. Since I’m not on call, it must be my asshole brother.

I glance down at the screen and see a message from him.

Spare Parts

Your dog is a menace.

Me