Page 11 of Keeper
She turns her head up and looks at me curiously. I return her gaze, noting the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed those before. She draws my eyes downward as she licks her lips and a warmth spreads between us.
All of the sudden, she sits up, pulling me out of the trance I have on her lips as she situates herself crisscross to face me. I inhale deeply as her hand slides into my hair right above my ear. “Looks like you could use a cut,” she croaks, combing through the thick locks. I expect her to pull away, but she lingers, her scent wafting over me. My eyes fall closed as she slices through every strand and traces her fingertips along the nerve endings on my scalp, massaging in slow, languid movements.
God, that feels good.
My head nods to the side as I slur, “I’ve missed you, Poppy.”
She exhales. “I’ve missed you, too, Booker.”
“No, I mean, I’ve seriouslymissedyou.” Groaning from her touch, I add, “I put one of my lamps in your room. I know how you hate the dark.”
Silence ensues, so my eyes lazily open and find she’s watching me.
“I don’t know why I said that just now,” I husk.
Her hand falls away from my head, but I catch it with mine because, well, I’m not ready for her to stop touching me yet. I want to be close to her like we always used to be.
I slide my fingers between hers, loving the softness of her hands against the hardness of mine, the smallness of hers against the largeness of mine. She feels so good against my skin. I never want to lose Poppy again. I’ve missed having her near me like this.
Aching for more, I pull her to me. Her legs unfold as she tucks into my chest, one hand over my heart, the other still entwined with mine. She nestles into me like she did when we were kids and she’d been crying about one of the many animals that died at her dad’s clinic.
Pressing her nose into my chest, her shoulders rise as she inhales deeply. I can feel her warm breath through the fabric of my shirt and it feelsgood. Really good. I want her mouth to open so her breath goes from warm to hot. I want her lips to part, and I want to feel her tongue on my body. On me. Flesh against flesh.
I crook my finger beneath her chin and lift her face to mine. She looks beautiful. Familiar and comfortable, like a memory that I once lost. I lower my head so we’re eye-to-eye and softly brush her lips with mine. It’s a kiss of friendship. Of history. Of knowing someone so completely that you assume you know what their lips will taste like before you even touch them.
But I didn’t know.
I had no fucking idea.
A soft whimper travels from her throat to my lips still pressed against hers. It ignites a lust inside of me that I’ve never felt before. Desperate for more, I swipe my tongue across the seam of her mouth and she opens herself up to me like a blossoming flower. She moans when I taste her tongue and hearing her voice reminds me that I’m kissing my best fucking friend. But I can’t stop. I’ve kissed her head, her cheek, maybe even her hand when she made us play make believe shit. But never her lips. Never her soft, lush mouth that feels like an oasis I could get lost inside of.
In my mind, I know I should stop.We’ve had too much to drink. You’re taking advantage. This will terrify her. She will leave you.But my body can’t get close enough to her. I want to feel her. All of her. I want to claim her in a way that will make me feel secure about where she is right in this moment. I know I might regret this, but fuck it. I want her.
Clumsily, I begin pushing Poppy backwards on the couch. Her legs wrap around my hips, making our connection more snug. Her hands press against my chest, clutching my shirt as our breaths mingle together with strenuous, confused pants.
“Poppy.” My voice wavers with equal parts bewilderment and lust as I stare into her eyes only a few inches from mine. She looks as shaken as I am.
Her gaze drops to my lips. “Kiss me, Booker.” Her deep, throaty request is needy. “Kiss me like you mean it.”
So I do. I do because there is nothing I want more right now. I close the distance between us and mean every lick and nibble and swipe I place on her. My lips part to devour her, and she’s warm and compliant against me, desire and yearning evident all over her body as I make a complete sweep of her mouth. The heady tension generating between us is so electric, I’m not sure I have the strength to pull away and draw breath.
Somehow, I manage to break apart for a split second because her hands are yanking at something between us. When I realise she’s trying to take my shirt off, I help her pull it up over my head. It gets stuck on my ear, but as soon as I’m free, I do the same to hers. And before I can get my trembling hands to grip the zipper on the front of her sports bra, she’s already got it undone and her breasts tumble out.
My eyes catch a glint of metal on the tip of her left nipple, and I stare for a second before it registers that she has a piercing on one of her breasts. A frenzy erupts inside of me. My hand isn’t gentle as it grabs hold of her breast, squeezing hard with the urgent need I have to claim it as mine. Every change about Poppy—every surprise, every subtle difference, every hair cut on her head—feels like a betrayal. Poppy ismyfriend. She is mine. I should know everything about her. The surprise of this piercing is hurtful.
In a haze of hunger and the need for some more intimate skin-on-skin contact, I pinch her pierced nipple so unapologetically, a hoarse cry rips from her throat. The pitch of her voice is so hot, I want to taste it. I slam my lips back to hers, clinking our teeth as I plunge my tongue deep inside her mouth, massaging hers with mine. She tastes so good. Like raspberries and whiskey. Combined with the scent of her perfume, it makes me want to lick every inch of her body.
Her hips thrust up into me as I dive down to pull her nipple into my mouth. She keens as the metal clinks on my teeth. Her hands rake through my hair as she pulls me away and then yanks me to her chest repeatedly, like she can’t decide if she can take any more.
I pause my assault on her breast to slip a hand inside her shorts. My head drops into the crook of her neck when I find her hot with arousal. “Oh my God, Poppy. You’re soaked.”
“Booker,” she whimpers, gyrating her hips up into my palm with desperate thrusts. I slide a finger deep inside her, but I know that’s not what she needs. I’ve never heard Poppy’s sex cry before, but I’ve known her long enough to know what she needs from me.
It’s instinct.
I sit back on my knees, nearly tipping backwards as she rises with me, frantically fumbling with the drawstring on my trousers. When she frees me from my boxers, her hand wraps firmly around my cock. All of the sudden, she pauses and looks up at me. Her eyes have a hint of apprehension in them and everything freezes. Her grip, our bodies, our breaths, our hearts, even our eyes lock on one another…and it feels like a dare. Like she’s daring me to stop her. Daring me to grant her permission. Daring the world to crash all around us.
“Poppy.” I utter her name like a secret password to grant us permission.
