14. Poppy
14
Poppy
I close my bedroom door, Sugar at my feet. Mr. Mathers—shit, Wyatt. I’m supposed to call him Wyatt—is running himself a hot bath, at my suggestion. It will be good for his sore back.
I made mushroom risotto for dinner, which Wyatt —
That’s really going to take some getting used to. I’ve been calling him Mr. Mathers because he’s my friend’s dad, and it’s respectful. Plus, it seemed to put a little distance between us. But as I sat on his sofa and rubbed Deep Heat into his back while he told me about what Bailey’s mom did, it felt like any distance I’d tried to establish was long gone.
And the truth is, I didn’t mind at all.
So, okay. He wants me to call him Wyatt… I’ll call him Wyatt. I’ll just have to get used to it.
Anyway, I made risotto for me and Wyatt, which he ate on the sofa because he was already comfortable there with the heating pad. After an awkward conversation from where I sat at the counter, I joined him. This time, we didn’t talk. Instead, he passed me the remote and told me to watch whatever I wanted. I’ve been bingeing Schitt’s Creek for the second time, so I put that on, and he smiled, agreeing it was a great show.
Only, I couldn’t focus on the TV. Not with Wyatt next to me, not after I’d seen him shirtless and felt his smooth skin. Watching him come through the door practically doubled over in pain was awful, and all I could think of was helping him feel better. Usually I’d do that with food, but I knew he needed something else.
I didn’t expect him to let me massage cream into his back. And I definitely didn’t expect that massive maple tree tattoo stretching over every inch of his skin. And God, his skin —like warm butter under my fingertips, muscles so firm I wanted to take a bite out of him. I tried not to enjoy touching him, really I did, but I’m only human, and I was close enough to smell him, that intoxicating mix of sweat and earth and his cologne that smells like sage, and holy fuck, okay, I’ll admit it, I was a little turned on.
When he turned around, I was not prepared. I was not prepared for the muscular definition in his torso, the tattoos of plants and birds and butterflies spanning his abs and pecs, the salt-and-pepper hair that dusted his chest. And I was especially unprepared for the piercing on his right nipple. Why is that so hot? It’s only a tiny bar of metal, but… fuck me . I wanted to pull it between my teeth, to trail my tongue over every inch of his skin.
Thank God he put his shirt back on.
And then when he shared about Bailey’s mom… I couldn’t believe it. All this time I’d assumed he was absent from Bailey’s life by choice, but by the way his face crumpled as he spoke I knew he was telling the truth. Bailey’s mom is the person in the wrong, not him. And knowing him better, as I do now, that makes a lot more sense to me. In fact, he’s the opposite of everything I’d assumed. He’s compassionate and caring. He’s selfless enough to take the fall for Bailey’s mom’s bad judgment. He’s suffered to protect their relationship.
And it’s unfair. He deserves better than that.
Part of me wants to tell Bailey the truth about her dad, because I’m sure it would only make their relationship better, but it’s not my place, and he’s right, it would hurt her relationship with her mom, which is already rocky. I don’t blame him for struggling with what to do, even if I think he’s being too self-sacrificing.
I sink onto my bed and Sugar jumps up beside me, nuzzling her head into my arm. She’s gained a little weight in the short time we’ve had her, and her coat looks better too. I’m relieved to see her looking healthier.
The water shuts off in the bathroom, and a moment later, Wyatt lets out a low sound of satisfaction as he eases himself into the tub. I considered offering to help him bathe, but figured that might be pushing it a bit far. The poor guy has had enough of me perving over him for one day.
Besides, what would Bailey think if she knew the thoughts I’d had about her dad? She’d be horrified, wouldn’t she?
Not that she’d ever find out. She’s too damn distracted to talk to me, anyway.
My bitterness takes me by surprise, and I check myself. It’s not personal; she’s busy with her new job, her new life on the West Coast. Besides, that hasn’t stopped her from checking in to make sure I’m okay. She just doesn’t have time for the new business right now, but that’s fine. I’m making it work without her.
There’s a sound as Wyatt shifts in the tub, the water moving and a soft sigh from him. I’m sure he’s only getting comfortable with his sore back, but my dirty mind imagines something else. It imagines him naked, with one hand wrapped around his cock. Heat blooms low in my belly.
Fuck, I’m so messed up, imagining this about my friend’s dad. And yet… now that I’ve let myself go there, I can’t shake the image from my head. He’s a big guy. I bet he’s huge down there. I can picture his large hand fisted around his thick cock, stroking in the warm water. And while I’m certain this would never be the case, in my fantasy, he’s thinking of me.
Heat spreads between my thighs, and I grab Sugar, placing her into her bed on the floor. She looks up at me questioningly, and I shake my head.
“Stay there,” I whisper. “There’s another pussy that needs taking care of.” Then I cringe because I’ve literally never referred to my vagina as my pussy in my entire life.
What does Wyatt call it, I wonder, letting my hand stray into my pajama bottoms. Sugar curls into her bed, and I’m relieved for a moment alone, to think my dirty thoughts. In my mind, I imagine what he’d do if I walked in while he’s in the tub, jerking off.
“Poppy!” he says, sitting up in surprise. The water splashes over the sides of the tub, as he looks around for something to cover himself, but I kneel beside him, smiling seductively.
“Let me help,” I say, and his mouth opens in surprise.
“You shouldn’t…”
“I don’t mind. Your back is sore and you’ve had a long day. Just relax, Mr. Mathers—”
“Wyatt,” he corrects, like usual, and I smirk.
“Wyatt,” I purr. His nostrils flare. “Let me help.”
He swallows, nodding reluctantly, and I reach for his stiff cock, circling it with my hand. It’s velvety smooth, hot and hard, and I stroke him gently, watching as his eyes roll back.
“You shouldn’t be doing this, Poppy.”
“I know,” I murmur, stroking faster. There’s something about the way he keeps telling me it’s wrong that turns me on even more. “But it feels so good, doesn’t it?”
“So fucking good, baby.”
Oof. Yes, please.
I stroke my fingers through my wetness now, imagining him calling me “baby.” Imagining him giving in to my touch.
“Come here,” he rasps, reaching for my face. “I need to kiss you.”
I lean forward and touch my lips to his, moaning as I feel the roughness of his beard on my cheek. My fingers work faster on his cock, and he wraps a hand possessively around the back of my neck, sweeping his tongue into my mouth.
“Fuck, you know exactly how to make me feel good,” he grits out, letting his hand fall as he gives in to the pleasure. I trail my mouth over his chest, wet from the bathwater, and flick my tongue over his nipple piercing.
“Let me make it even better,” I purr, taking his cock into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip as he moans. Then I draw him back into my throat, as deep as I can, and suck.
“Fucking hell, Poppy.” He grips my hair, holding it back from my face so he can watch me. “You have the most perfect mouth for my cock.”
Holy hell.
My fingers stroke my clit, imagining Mr. Mathers’s cock in my mouth, imagining him saying such dirty things to me. I almost moan at the thought, but catch myself just in time. He’s in the next room, in the tub, and could easily hear me if I’m not careful. But having to be quiet makes it even hotter, and I lose myself in the fantasy.
“That’s it, baby. God, I’ve wanted this since the day you moved in.”
I look up at him as I lick his shaft, his amber eyes dark with lust.
“I want to fuck you,” he pants, his hips bucking up to meet the movements of my mouth. “I want to make you feel good too, baby.”
But I shake my head, releasing my mouth with a pop while continuing to stroke him. “No. Tonight is all about you.” I don’t know why, but I can sense he needs it. He needs someone to make him feel good. Feel special.
His breath hisses out as I draw him back into my mouth, sucking like I mean business.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”
God, I’m going to make myself come at this rate. My fingers work quickly on my clit as I bring Wyatt to orgasm in my mind.
“Yes, that’s it. Suck me good, baby. Take my cock down your throat.” Who knows if he actually talks dirty like this in real life, but in my fantasy he’s filthy. “Such a good girl, sucking my cock so perfectly.” His breathing gets choppy as he reaches his limit. “Fuck, Poppy, yes—”
And with that, he grips my hair, spilling down my throat with a guttural roar. In my bed, I bite my fist to keep from moaning aloud as my body shakes with my orgasm, imagining what it would be like to feel him explode in my mouth, to swallow his salty seed.
As I settle down into my mattress, I hear Wyatt shift again in the tub, releasing a relieved sigh, almost as if I’d made him come for real.
God, what I wouldn’t give to make that happen.