Chapter 12 Vance
TWELVE
Vance
Poppy is flushed red, sweat dusting her flesh like the first droplets of morning dew over grass. Her pussy lips swollen and soaked.
She’s still bound by the T-shirt attached to the back of her chair, her legs practically limp and twitching.
I sweep my tongue across her thighs as Tristan comes to stand beside us.
“No time for you to eat,” I tell him, standing and grabbing the back of his head before smashing my lips to his in a bruising kiss.
I pull away and delight in his dazed gaze. “But I don’t mind sharing.” I grin.
“I need to get dressed,” Poppy wheezes, trying to shift herself back onto the seat.
Tristan’s brows crash together, looking down at her like a puppy being put in time out. Lowering down on his haunches, he fucking pouts. “Why?” His eyes feast on her exposed tits, traveling down to her pretty, pink, perfect cunt.
This woman tastes like cherries and sin, and I want to be drunk on her every hour of the damn day.
I see now why Tristan was so damn obsessed with her.
Everything about her is alluring, she’s cute, funny, and genuine.
Even now, after her cruel bastard fiancé cheated on her with his own cousin, there’s no bullshit life drama tainting her, making her bitter.
“Can you free me, sir?” She bats her lashes up at me and licks her luscious fat lips, my cock jerking against the seam of my sweatpants at the sight.
Tristan releases a rough croak from the back of his throat as he swipes his sucker up her slit, collecting the wet juices I made her squirt all over my chin and down her cunt and thighs. That honeypot is always so willing to grant me nectar.
Shoving the candy into his mouth he groans around it. “You’re so sweet, Poppy. Do you not want me to eat your pretty pussy?”
“I said no, Tristan.” Unbinding the shirt, I loosen it from her throat and pull it over her head, dumping it on the table.
She cups Tristan’s face then leans in to offer him a tender kiss when he glares at me for refusing him playtime.
Breaking away, she giggles. “When I get back, how about I taste you?”
“Get back?” His hands go to her hips, keeping her in the seat.
Clearing the breakfast plates, I toss over my shoulder, “The boyfriend keeps calling. She’s going to see him.”
I watch Tristan’s posture solidify as he shakes his head, lines pinching around his eyes. “Why?” Although his tone is deep and dark, Poppy shifts forward to get closer to him, not balking like most women would.
“I need to get my things,” she responds softly. “I can’t live in your shirts forever.”
He quickly rises to his feet, almost knocking her backwards. “I have clothes.”
Marching over to the front door, he collects the shopping bags and brings them over, setting them on the table.
“What is this?” Poppy stands and points to the shopping bags, wonder in her voice.
Her eyes travel over all the bags, then she turns to me, and I grin.
Such small offerings bring so much light to her eyes.
I want to give her diamonds, see her dripping in them and nothing else. She would shine so fucking bright.
“I called in an order for you. The personal shopper assured me you’ll have everything you need in there.” He nods to the bounty, coaxing her to check them out with a hand to her lower back.
“Tristan, I can’t accept this. There’s so much.” She places her hands to her face, peeking between parted fingers.
“Actually…” He scratches the back of his neck, “There’s more downstairs.”
Looking at me again, her jaw looks like it’s going to dislocate. I fold my arms and nod to the bags. “Say thank you, Angel, then pick out something to wear.”
Big round eyes gaze up into Tristan’s, his lips pressed tightly together, the pulse in his neck thundering. “Thank you,” she says breathlessly, throwing her arms around his neck and jumping into his arms.
He makes an oomph sound then relaxes, scooping her up. Her legs wrap around his waist, her face nuzzling into his neck as he beams at me over her shoulder, cradling her to him. “You’re more than welcome. Now you don’t need to leave.”
Loosening her legs, she slides down his body, and he releases her.
Tristan gnaws on his lip, looking reluctant as he tucks her hair behind her ear and grazes a knuckle down her cheek.
“You want to go?” Noticing that the rigidness in his posture has returned, I step next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Go get ready, Angel.”
Confliction flutters across her features, sucking on her inner cheek, she nods her head and collects the bags then trots down the hallway to Tristan’s bedroom. We’ve all been sleeping together in there since she arrived.
Tristan runs a hand roughly through his hair, that’s air dried and looks sexy as hell in a messy pile on his head. He drops into the seat I just ate Poppy in. “She deserves to hear what he has to say,” I mutter as I go to the bar to pour him a whisky, despite it still technically being morning.
“Does he deserve to see her?” Tristan practically growls. Thrusting the glass at him, he frowns but takes it, downing it in one gulp. “I don’t want her to leave.” So grumpy.
“She’s coming back,” I tell him, but there’s a weird expanding hole opening in my gut. What if she doesn’t? “Let’s drive her there,” I decide, rolling my shoulders and taking off for my bedroom to get dressed.