Page 71 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“Yeah. I mean, you used to be like, ‘Of course, Dad, we’ll do whatever you want.’”

“Ha. I mean you’re not wrong, but pleasing him...it was such an old behavior. Took me a long time to break that down,” Ali said. “I’m sorry I hurt you. You were right to hate me.”

She wasn’t sure that hate was ever the answer. It was time to make peace with the past. She kissed his nose. “Did you hate me?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he said. “I told everyone about the bitch I married when I was out drinking, but when I got home, out of my mind, I would reach for my phone and look at your picture, still wanting you back.”

“Is this—” she gestured between them “—about you wanting me back because it means you haven’t failed? Or was it to make a real change for yourself?”

“It had to be for me, because there was no situation I could foresee that you’d ever be with me again. Until Amber Rapp.”

Poppy let out a humorless laugh. “Amber Rapp continues to change my life.”

Poppy nestled on his lap wasn’t something that his body was going to ignore for long. This conversation that he dreaded having was actually something that he needed.

“Amber Rapp, huh? Her songs are okay, but I never thought she’d have this much influence over me.”

“Not your usual listen?”

“You know I’m all death metal.”

“Ha. You’re a pop man. Amber seems like your kind of listen.”

“She would be if her lyrics didn’t cut so close to home. Hearing myself inRhapsody for an Exsort of soured me on her music. Then George calls out of the blue to tell me you’re famous.”

“You weren’t stalking my socials?” she asked with a fake pout that made him lean forward and take the kiss she’d tried to give him earlier.

Poppy shifted up onto her knees, her hands on either side of his face as she sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth. Her sundress was thin enough that he could feel her body heat through it.

He pulled the fabric up, bunching it until his hand was on her back. Lowering his hand to her butt, he massaged her cheeks as he held her.

There wasn’t a moment he didn’t remind himself how lucky he was to be back in her arms. To be in her house and see her every day. It was a gift he never thought he’d have.

She lifted her head. “We’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Agreed,” he said, flipping her onto her back on the couch.

She shimmied out of her panties as he fumbled for the condom he’d put in his pocket earlier in the day, before he knew they were having this talk.

“Thank you for being here with me after everything,” he said. His emotions felt too big to keep inside. He was seconds from spilling it all when she took the condom from him.

The moment her hand wrapped around his dick, he almost forgot about the gratitude and love—there was no denying that he loved her—and his need to express that to her. He would show her instead.

The condom on him, she shifted, pushing his erection down until he was at the entrance to her body. “Fuck me.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I have been since the moment you were honest with me. That was the biggest turn-on,” she said, pulling his head down to hers. She whispered into his ear, “Nothing is sexier than you when you are unfiltered.”

He could deliver that. He leaned over, rubbing his chest over her body. The fabric of her dress in the way, he shoved it up and toward her neck. She hadn’t worn a bra, so he felt the press of her hard nipples against his chest. He groaned.

God, she felt so right. There wasn’t another woman who had ever been able to erase the memory of how Poppy felt in his arms. There never would be.

He knew that.

Entering her in one long thrust, he held himself there. The emotions he thought he’d caged for the moment were back. It took all of his willpower to keep them bottled inside instead of letting them spill out while he fucked her.

She felt so good and tight around him. She clawed at his hips, urging him deeper and faster until he was caught up in a haze of need and demand, driving himself into her frantically. His orgasm was right there, but he wasn’t even sure if she was close.

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