She kisses me once and then again as I toy with her, teasing until she grinds again. Moaning into my mouth, I swallow it down, then kiss her right back. My fingers nudge and then find purchase against her clit.
“Ohh,” she says, dropping her head as she gets lost in the intimacy, the ecstasy of being together. I remember how to make her come. I remember the face she makes when she falls apart. I remember all of it, but I need to see her do it again for me.
I slip the tip of my finger inside her tightness, circling her sweet clit with another. I can’t ignore the ache that I feel from wanting my own happy ending. Not yet.
She rides up and sinks down, engulfing my finger and fucking me like I want her to. “Do you like that? Does that feel good?”
“So good.” She can’t keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds, the pleasure taking over every part of her soul to claim it as its own.
She’s too close to go into the house, to lay her down on the island and eat her out. So I increase the pressure, diving my finger deep into where I want my dick and wanting to nip at her bud. But every time she thrusts down, I get closer to getting off with her.
When her eyes latch onto mine, she cries, “Oh my God. Oh God. Yes. Yes.” Her breath chokes in her throat as her head dips to my shoulder. Her body trembles on top of me, and then she moans, “Ahhh.”
My dick jerks from the moans in my ears as she rides me through her tremors . . . “Ah, fuck.” My body sends me into the deep end, my mind traveling through the rush of an orgasm. I pump and thrust and release just as she wraps her arms around me.
We both are too caught up to breathe normally. With her holding me like she loves me, I wrap my arms around her, never wanting this to end. When my heart returns to its regular beat, I turn to kiss her neck, behind her earlobe, and under her jaw. The corner of her mouth is especially delectable, but it’s when I reach her ear that I whisper, “I’m definitely writing you up for that.”
Her laughter fills the freezing night air, and she tilts back, her breasts bare before me and an expression I remember like it was yesterday set on her face—love in the aftermath.
I fall in love with Poppy all over again.
17
Poppy
There’s so much we don’t know about each other—our last names have never been exchanged, what he does for a living, or where we’re heading after this, emotionally and physically, once the snow clears. I just can’t seem to care as I revel in the afterglow of my first orgasm in two-plus years.
Laird bends down to kiss my temple before he pauses. “You’ve been smiling for an hour.”
He’s been grinning the entire time too, but I won’t tease. I don’t have the energy for a fun comeback when all my reserves have been spent. “I’m happy,” I reply instead, tucking my hands under the pillow supporting my head.
Lying on the couch, I watch him settle into the leather chair at the other end. I like being able to see him, to admire his features and his smile and to see when the dark clouds roll in and his mind goes elsewhere. Whether dark and heavy or light and carefree, I haven’t found anything I can’t appreciate about this man.
Kicking his feet up on the couch near mine, he’s slumped in the chair but doesn’t look as comfortable as I feel. I might have to make room for him to snuggle with me. It’s something I can’t stop thinking about. It’s late, and we’re both tired but dragging our feet about separating. The lids of his eyes have gone half-mast, but he’s still smiling. “You say that so easily,” he says.
“And you say that as if you’re jealous.”
“I am.” Chuckling, he adds, “What’s it like to feel profound happiness?”
“Endless. Nothing seems impossible.” I stop to touch on what I am feeling, other than the general joy of being with him, and then get up and go to him. “I feel invincible.”
Adjusting in the chair, he positions himself to have me sit on his lap. I drape my arms loosely around his neck. I don’t want to come on too strongly, but I could devour him, and it wouldn’t be enough.
The happiness he’s just out of touch with shines in his eyes when he’s looking into mine. I can see it. I wish he could. Resting my hand on his T-shirt-covered chest, I whisper, “One day, you’ll feel the same.”
“I . . .” His hand covers mine.
I hate that everything seems to remind him of another woman, someone I’m too afraid to even ask about. His smile returns with a vengeance as he searches my eyes, kicking my heart up a notch. He seems to pivot from his original thought, and the corners of his eyes soften. “I do with you.”
Who knew that was the balm of reassurance I needed? I lean down to kiss his lips, the need fastening our mouth together before pulling back. Although I can’t see it, I drag my nails over the spot I remember the tattoo being located. “Can we loop back to the star and rose?”
His grin is beaming, but he asks, “Do I have a choice?” as if the topic is taboo.
“Of course, you do. But why do you not talk about it? Does it bring back bad memories?” The warmth of his hand covers my bare thigh as my shorts ride high. I love the way every swipe across my skin feels intended and causes goose bumps to rise in the wake.
“It brings up memories I never want to forget, but they’re complicated and not straightforward.”
“I feel like you could say that about any aspect of your life.”