Page 72 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

Reaching between their bodies, he rubbed her clit the way he knew she liked it, and she arched her back, screaming his name as her pussy throbbed around his cock, and he came.

Thrusting until he was empty, he let himself lean forward, resting his head next to hers on the couch.

She turned her head to look at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said.

He loved her. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he kept them back. This moment wasn’t perfect, but it was as close to it as he imagined it could be.

For years, he’d been searching for his place and his purpose. He’d tried a few different things and finally found true happiness and contentment in brewing, but that was just something to keep him busy while he waited.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d been waiting for until now.Poppy.

She was what had been missing. Not the Poppy who married him at eighteen, but the woman she was now.

This woman.

He kissed her, then rolled to his side, tucking her against his chest so that he wouldn’t be tempted to blurt out the truth of his feelings. There was still so much she had to sort out for herself.

Which was only part of it. The other part was that this felt so new and scary, and what if he was wrong? What did he know of love? Maybe this feeling in his stomach and soul was just him trying to keep something good for himself.

He couldn’t manipulate her again for his own means. She needed to figure out how she felt about him before he would ever admit that sometime between the Tor and tonight, she’d become his entire world.

Twenty

August was a heady month. Usually, the end of summer was full of sun and fun. This year was, well, uncommon with Alistair by her side. He’d shown up at her place at 5:00 a.m. with his Ducati—he’d bought one here and taken her for a ride up around the countryside, ending at Hanging Hill.

They were holding hands at the top as they watched the sunrise. Releasing her hand, he bent over to the bag at his feet and pulled out a thermos filled with her magic courage tea and mugs for both of them.

Typically, August was the month of maturity and gratitude for earthly sustenance. For the first time, Poppy felt that she was leaning into her own maturity.

When Ali had come clean about his leave of absence that night one week ago, something within her had been unstoppered. There was a lightness to her bones that wasn’t there before. As if she’d released the weight of the past, even though she thought she exorcised all of that when she signed her divorce papers.

“Nice. It’s not the Tor, but I hope it will do,” Ali said. “One of the books I was reading on the ritual of tea spoke of welcoming the sun each day and taking time to be present in the day.”

“This is a great way to start it.” She took a leisurely sip from her mug, taking a deep inhale of the fortifying steam. “I’ve been working on a new tea blend for you.”

The more time they spent together, the easier it was for her to figure out which leaves and essences to blend to create one as unique as he was. It would have to have heat, so she started with the huang pian sheng pu’er that she used in the mix for Liberty. It was strong like Alistair.

She added in bergamot because of his heritage and lineage. But she also wanted the new flavors to represent the man he was becoming. That was the tricky part.

She wanted to use something that represented the Kent coast where he brewed his beer. Summer flavors of brambleberries and strawberries. But they were too delicate for the harshness of the sheng pu’er, so she’d had to scrap it and start over.

“I’m intrigued. What will it include?” he asked.

“That’s the problem. You’re a bit of an enigma. I thought I’d use some Kentish flavors and a strong fiery base. But the sheng pu’er I started with is dominating the tea,” she said. This was the first time she’d brought up brewing around him, she realized, other than the kombucha they were working on together.

The one time she’d tried to talk to him about unique blends when they were married, he’d mansplained tea blending to her and told her that her flavors weren’t going to work. He’d been wrong. The blend he didn’t think was good enough was the first one she’d made and sold at markets and her online shop. It was still popular.

She called it FUAM. A lot of people assumed it was some mashup of a region or her just trying to sound exotic. But it was simplyFuck You Alistair Miller. It had been the first step toward WiCKed Sisters.

“You’re smiling.”

He slid his hand into the back of her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp as he leaned forward and kissed her. He’d been very touchy-feely lately, always reaching for her when they were together. It suited her, because as much as she felt they were good and solid, fear sort of crept around them, reminding her of the last time everything had fallen apart with Alistair.

“Just remembering the last time we talked about tea blending.”

He shook his head, pulling back from her. “Fuck me. I was an ass. I’m sure I told you you were doing it wrong.”

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