Page 50 of Sunshine
Goosebumps flare all over my body, and my jeans are way too tight across the front. Jesus fuck, I should stop this, but it feels so good to be touched by her.
“And the butterfly?” Her fingers ghost over the little insect on one of the dandelion stems, and I swallow a moan. “What’s that all about? And why is it blue when the rest has no color?”
“I added that when Isobel was born,” I tell her. “I don’t know why, it just…felt right.”
“You know what? I like it.”
“Thanks.”
Poppy gently readjusts my shirt, and I turn around again, feeling like I might have proved that part of me is as adventurous as she is.
“Top that,” I challenge.
I’m not ready when Poppy lifts the hem of her sweater, t-shirt, and tank underneath to reveal colors and shapes inked into her soft pale stomach, then higher to show off a line of script on one side of her rib cage and curving underneath the swell of her heavy breast.
And she’s not wearing a bra.
My dick wants to party, but I ignore the throbbing need in my pants as I reach out, stopping short of her skin because I’m not sure I’m supposed to touch. But when she doesn’t pull away or drop her sweater, I carefully brush my fingers over the words underneath her right breast, then lean down so I can make them out.
“Once upon a time…” I murmur, wondering if the goosebumps that ripple across Poppy’s stomach are from the cool air, my warm whisper, or the contact between our bodies.
I continue my exploration, following the trail of tiny bluebirds and line art that dips and swirls across her torso, leading to more words on the opposite side of her body, this time on her left hip.
Before I have a chance to read them, noise farther up the trail startles us both, ruining a moment that was quiet and almost reverent. Poppy drops her sweater, and when the voices grow louder, I grab her hand and haul her into the trees, pulling usbehind a thick oak and pinning her between the trunk and my body.
Her chest rises and falls against mine as we wait for the people on the trail to pass us, their bright conversation and gritty footfalls eventually fading into silence. Even when complete quiet descends, I stay where I am, trapping Poppy between me and the tree.
“I think they’re gone,” she whispers at the same time I say, “I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “Maybe we should—”
“I didn’t get to read the last line of your tattoo,” I say before she suggests we leave.
Poppy licks her lips, her lashes flutter with a series of uncertain blinks, and her throat works as she wordlessly gathers the bottom of her sweater and edges it up to her chest.
This time, I drop to my knees.
The fine black script across the soft, tempting curve of her left hip reads, “…and they lived happily ever after.” It’s connected to the first line by ellipses and swirls of pretty chaos in between.
“What does it mean?” I ask, fighting the impulse to press my lips to her body but giving in to touching her again with my hands. I trace the patterns on her skin in every shade of the rainbow, so fine and delicate and beautiful.
Poppy lets out a shaky breath. “It reminds me that no matter where I started, and no matter how many times I get turned around in the middle, waiting for me somewhere is my happily ever after.”
“Someone to love?”
“That’s part of it.”
I sense there’s more to the story, but before I can push, I notice the hint of more body art higher up her torso between and underneath her breasts, and without thinking, I shift her clothes a little higher to get a better look.
It’s a large, delicate dragonfly stretching up her sternum and between the slopes of her breasts. And I lose all control.
Here on my knees, out in the woods without anyone around and Poppy pressed against an ancient tree like it’s some kind of altar, her body ripe and begging to be worshiped, I lean in so I can do just that by running the tip of my tongue over the ink.
Poppy whimpers delicately, and I taste her again, taking my time, memorizing the flavor of her skin. My dick swells, pressing against the zipper of my jeans, and I lick her again because I can.
With my tongue still on her body, I look up. Poppy has her head dropped back against the tree, her eyes closed like she can’t bear to open them, and then my prayers are answered. She lifts her sweater a little higher, revealing more of her perfect tits. They bounce in my face, the bare skin a reward for my adoration. I burn this sight into my brain, the way she looks above me, before I turn my head to kiss the underside of one breast, then the other. Poppy arches, wanting more.
I inhale deeply and open my mouth. Swirl my tongue. This is the wildest, most reckless thing I’ve ever done. I should stop. I should stand. I should walk away.
