Page 59 of Smooth Talk

Chapter 26

Poppy

I’m at Grayson’s finishing up a few things before he gets home. For once I’m early. Harper’s with Em and Ruby tonight. They like to tag team when they throw a slumber party. And I don’t blame them, keeping up with Harp’s energy levels is hard for me, let alone anyone who doesn’t do it daily. One paints her nails while the other fixes snacks. They usually veg out and eat junk food while watching movies after throwing a dance party, breaking out the karaoke machine. They went swimming earlier, so I imagine they’ll be doing some serious vegging tonight.

Gray gave me a car transmitter, so I don’t have to check in and out at the gatehouse of his neighborhood anymore. I also have a code to the front door (his fancy locks don’t use keys) so I can come and go as I please while I’m working here. Full disclosure, I’ve used it for non-work purposes. Wink. Wink. He’s used the spare key to my house a couple times, but it’s not the same thing. He laid his trust on the line giving me that code. I feel like it’s time I did the same.

He okayed my design plans over a week ago, but it’s taken time for everything to be made and delivered. I try to use as many local vendors as I can, but this is a small town, and it’s not always possible. The photo shoot with South Mag. is going down next week, so it didn’t give me a lot of time. Looking around the space, I couldn’t be prouder. Gunner looks comfortable lounging on the new couch, so I feel like I at least have his seal of approval.

I replaced the white vegan leather modern style monstrosity (p.s. who puts white pleather in a dog friendly bachelor pad? It’s like a giant rawhide no canine can resist) with a large dove gray comfy sectional. The cover is scotch guarded and washable. I fluff the myriad of blue, teal and crimson patterned pillows and refold the cream chunky knit throw on the couch without disturbing a snoozing Gunner. I’d kept the giant flat-screen and extended the built-ins to cover the entire wall, breaking up the continuity of the vast room. It was dead unused space before. Now it’s being utilized to house his books, knick-knacks, plants, and a few small pictures. Family is important to Gray; I wanted the room to reflect the man.

The monochrome scheme the previous designer used, could have worked for the room, but it lacked an ounce of Grayson. So, I topped half of the walls in a neutral greige and the bottom with white board and batten to give it dimensionality. The bright white previously coating the walls was almost blinding. I also added soft window treatments. The previous bare windows only added to the glaring and stark atmosphere. Finally, I laid down a neutral, hand-woven chenille rug to define and soften the space. Hardwood flooring is tough on bare feet, and the area is so big and open; it just needed a few touches to cozy it up.

I scoot around the distressed trestle-style coffee table, that I knew would be perfect for this room as soon as I saw it. The locally crafted piece fits the space better than the round black marble table it replaced. It was too severe and just had to go. Literally everything in this room was black and white, including the giant splatter-painted canvas above the couch. Anyone that has met Grayson can see he’s not cold, austere or withdrawn, yet those were my first thoughts upon seeing his home. It conflicted so much with the man I knew, it made me sad that he’d lived so long in a space that just didn’t fit him. It’s not what I expected at all. It was sophisticated but lacked fun, energy and charm. If he doesn’t love what I’ve done here to reflect his personality, I may need to find a new line of work.

Dating him hasn’t just opened my eyes another person’s perspective, it’s also changed mine on a few things. I’m learning to lean on him. It’s not easy; it’s a slow and rigorous process leaving behind the wariness and self-doubt, but I can feel that trust growing daily. And I want his trust to grow too. That’s why it’s so important that I get this right. He trusts me with his personal space. Not just to design it, but to be here alone. With his dog, that he loves more than anything. I want to feel like I’ve earned it; I don’t want to let him down. I straighten the edges of the canvases one last time. He’ll be here in a few minutes, just enough time for me to change. I love a good surprise reveal, but something tells me he’ll like my surprise even more.

I hear keys hit the entry table, the alarm reset, then footsteps. I’m walking through the doorway between the kitchen and living room when our eyes meet. We freeze. He’s removed his suit coat and shoes. His gaze drops to my feet, which are clad in the red heels he loves so much, then travels up my bare legs to the black lace lingerie I’m wearing. Em made me buy it when we were shopping last weekend; the top is a strapless ribbon-laced corset that makes my waist look tiny and my boobs look like they did when I was twenty. The matching thong is practically non-existent. Breathing hard, he stands still, burning holes through the thin material with his stare. I let the black silk robe, I’m barely wearing, fall off my shoulders onto the ground. My Panties are soaked, and my nipples are so hard they’re scraping against the lace begging to escape. Begging for his touch. I’ve just laid eyes on him and I’m already so turned on I can hardly move.

Regardless, I step forward on unsteady legs, praying they don’t give out on me and manage to close the distance between us without tripping once, “Hi.” My voice is a raspy whisper as I place my palm to his chest. I can feel his heart pounding as he takes a deep steadying breath. I’d planned for him to see the room first, appraise what I had done, but now that he’s here, looking at me like that, his hands on my hips as mine loosen his tie, my intentions are slightly less pure.

I hear his swallow and watch his Adam’s apple bob, “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he says. His voice adorably breathless yet rough and sexy at the same time. His eyes have yet to survey the room, they’re zeroed in on me. And I aim to keep them there. For now.

“You haven’t even looked at the room,” I whisper against his lips.

“I don’t have to. I’ve already seen the best part.” He kisses me slowly. It’s heaven, but I break away before I get so turned on my brain turns to mush. There’s something I’ve been wanting to do, but I just haven’t found the right time. This feels like it.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” I say as saucily as I can manage while lowering myself to my knees; I drag my palms down his torso, more to steady myself than anything else. But God, this man’s body is flippin’ incredible. I want my mouth all over it. I’ve been dreaming of wrapping my lips around him and seeing things through to fruition for a while now. It won’t be the first time my mouth has been in his area, but it will be the first time he doesn’t stop me preemptively. I’m a woman on a mission. I need this. I need to know what Gray looks like when I bring him to climax with my mouth. I slide his belt from his pants, pull the hook and unzip them, sliding them down to his knees. He’s busy undoing the buttons on his shirt and shrugging out of it.

He grabs my chin, tilting my face toward his, “Poppy, you don’t need to do this.”

I smile, my eyes meeting his, “but I do Gray; I want to. I need to taste you.” I can barely get the words out. My face feels hot, I can just imagine how ridiculously red my cheeks are. I’ve never been a dirty talker, but the way he’s looking at me right now is boosting my confidence. I really, really, want this. I pull his boxer briefs down slowly and watch his erection spring out like a delightful Jack in the box. A dick in the boxers if you will. I almost laugh, but I can’t with so much splendor before me. I love knowing I’ve gotten him this hard, with a sweet kiss, a few words and a little genuflection.

I wrap my fingers around the base and squeeze lightly as I skim my hand up and down his proud shaft, watching his ab muscles contract with the movement. I rub my thumb over the tip and catch some of his pre-come. He makes a quick gasping sound as I pop my thumb into my mouth and lick him off, mmming. He tastes good. Salty with just a hint of sweetness and a musk that is purely Grayson. I want more. I press my lips to the glistening tip and flick my tongue across it. He sucks in another deep breath. “Oh, fuck,” he’s already breathing hard and I haven’t even really started.

I work my lips around that perfect light pink head and slowly slide my mouth down. I move my hand up to meet my lips when I bottom out. I can only go so far; I’m, unfortunately, not one of those gals that’s blessed with deep-throat-genes. He’s so big; he fills my mouth to capacity, and my gag reflex is strong. I make a tight fist with my left hand, digging my thumb into a pressure point, effectively pushing the urge away. I will not gag while the most perfect peen I’ve ever seen is throbbing in my mouth. Hot, silky-smooth skin covers steel; a large very lickable vein runs the length. I don’t stop my tongue from caressing it. Up, down, up and suck the tip in again. He’s barely moving his hips, lightly thrusting as he grunts. Have I mentioned how much I adore those grunts?

I move my hand between his legs to massage his perineum. His hips jerk forward. “Shit,” he breathes out. Oh, he likes that. I take my mouth off him to lick down that delectable vein again, then I suck one of his balls into my mouth, licking around it while my hand grips him again. His hips are thrusting harder and he’s growling louder now. Like a beast. I look up into his eyes. They’re predatory; out of control. I did this to him. It’s a heady, powerful feeling. I need to know what he tastes like when he comes. He’s close.

I put my lips around his tip again and start a quick pace with my mouth, tongue and hand. “Oh, fuck. Poppy.” He manages to get out between pants. “I’m gonna,” he doesn’t finish. His fingers dive into my hair, gripping the strands tight, keeping me right where he wants me. Where he needs me. I speed up and slide my fingers down to massage his balls, then to the area just beyond and press up. “Baby, I can’t,” he grunts out a warning.

Keeping eye contact, I pull him deeper into my mouth, as deep as I can; I want this. I want to taste him. His eyes roll back, and he thrusts hard into my mouth, growling my name. My throat contracts. I feel warmth coating my tongue, my entire mouth is full. I swallow it down greedily and lick up his shaft as he empties himself into me. I wipe my lip with my thumb, as a little escapes, licking it off before kissing that delectable tip again.

He grips under my arms tightly, hauling me up to his face. “That was amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you.” He kisses me. Deep. I wasn’t expecting that. Most guys I’ve known (and the list isn’t long) don’t want to kiss you after you go down on them, unless you’ve showered or brushed your teeth, sometimes both. Not Gray. I’ve never really understood it. I don’t mind kissing a guy after he’s gone down on me. Dang double standards. I open my eyes and realize he’s searching my expression. “A: Any man that won’t kiss you after what you just did is either dirty or a dick. In both cases, he shouldn’t expect a woman’s mouth to get anywhere near his cock.” I huff out a laugh, embarrassed. He reads me so easily. “And B: please don’t think about other guys immediately after your mouth is on my cock.”

“Sorry, I’m just a little self-conscious, and I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. I hope it was okay,” I say bowing my head.

He tilts my face up with a finger under my chin again, “Poppy, don’t ever apologize for wanting something like that from me. I count myself lucky that you want anything from me and if I have the power to give you what you want, know that I always will. And, if you ever want to do that again, I will do absolutely nothing to stop you. You were perfect. Mind-blowing. This is going in my spank bank.”

I giggle loudly, “Seriously? Your spank bank?” He never ceases to amaze me. One minute he’s totally cultured and refined, and the next he’s an eighteen-year-old kid. It doesn’t bother me. I like that he doesn’t take everything so seriously, but he also knows when to stop joking.

“Everyone has one.” I just look at him smiling, shaking my head. “Most of mine involve you and those heels.” He’s waggling his eyebrows, and I’m giggling again.

“Oh, you have more material with me in something other than these?” I tease, kicking one foot up. Then my face falls a bit, what if he meant something else?

Immediately sensing the change in me, he tilts my face up again. “Hey, where’d you go just then? What’re you thinking?” The concern in his eyes is real. I reach down for the courage to be honest; I’ll need it if I want this relationship to work. And I really want it to work. It is working.

“I didn’t think… I mean… Did you mean that you fantasize about other women? I mean... I know all guys do, I guess.” I hate that I’m feeling jealous and insecure right now. I’m sure the women in his past were more experienced than me. Maybe even more experimental. Are there things we’re not doing that he wants to? I’m pretty vanilla. Am I exciting enough for a man like Gray? He’s never once given me any indication that I’m not or that he’s interested in anyone else. When we’re together, I feel like we’re the only two people alive in the world. But my history with men clouds my judgement.

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