23. Poppy
23
Poppy
I blink, watching Wyatt’s back as he strides across the parking lot. How did we go from that kiss to him walking away?
It was that asshole Bruce, rubbing his award in Wyatt’s face. I should have said something.
“Wyatt,” I call again, but he doesn’t turn around. I hitch up my dress and rush after him, my heart jammed in my throat. He kissed me. He kissed me. My head is still spinning.
He reaches for the door handle when I get to his side, but I slide between him and the limo, needing to look at him. Needing him to know.
“He’s an ass,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “Ignore him. You should have won.”
“Jesus, Poppy.” Wyatt steps back, dragging both hands down his face. “Is that really what you think I’m upset about, not winning an award?”
I open and close my mouth, unsure of what to say. It doesn’t really seem like something that would bother him, to be honest, but I’m not sure what else it could be. Everything was great until the moment Bruce’s company won over his.
Wyatt rakes an agitated hand through his hair, glancing away. My gaze follows the ink on his skin, the way it contrasts with the crisp white of his rolled shirt cuffs. He’s never looked hotter. It’s been a fight all evening to keep my hands to myself.
“That’s not it at all,” he mutters. His gaze comes back to mine, dark and intense, pinning me helplessly to the side of the limo. “I’m upset that you look breathtaking, but you’re not here as my date.” There’s an edge of agony to his tone as he continues. “I’m upset that I can’t kiss you—that I shouldn’t have kissed you. That I can’t take you home.”
“You are taking me home,” I point out. Which is a very stupid thing to say considering everything he just told me. My brain must be short-circuiting.
“Yes,” he concedes. “But when we get home, we’ll be going to separate bedrooms.” A deep groove settles between his brows as he hesitates, then adds, “And that’s not what I want.”
God. There is no sweeter feeling than the guy you’ve wanted, the guy you’ve fantasized about, finally admitting he wants you too. My heart cartwheels, my breath catches, and I gaze up at this huge, tattooed man, my blood pulsing with need.
“That’s not what I want either,” I whisper.
He stares at me hard for a long moment, heat swirling in his gaze, and hope bursts to life inside me. Is this really going to happen?
But Wyatt’s jaw hardens. “Too bad.”
“Why?” I press. “Why can’t we have this?”
He smirks. “I don’t make a habit of sleeping with my daughter’s friends.”
I screw my eyes shut in frustration. He was so close to giving in to me, giving in to himself , to what we both want. I know he doesn’t want to hurt Bailey—neither do I—but she said it herself. She wants him to meet someone. She wants him to be happy. And I really think I could make him happy.
He deserves that.
“Wyatt—”
“Get in the car,” he grits out, any trace of warmth gone. My brows crash together at the harshness of his tone.
“Why are you talking to me like that?”
He grimaces, looking away. “I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me?” I emit an incredulous scoff. He’s nailing that fatherly thing, but he’s not my father, and I need to make that clear. “I’m a big girl, Wyatt. I decide what’s best for me.”
“Don’t push me, Poppy. We’re leaving.”
I stand my ground. He doesn’t get to kiss me, then pretend it didn’t happen. I’ve put up with enough shit from Kurt to know what I will and won’t tolerate from a man, and I expect better from Wyatt.
“You can’t boss me around because I’m young. I thought you respected me more than that.”
“I do respect you.” His hands come to rest on the car behind my head, caging me in. There’s a desperation in his eyes that tells me he’s close to breaking. “That’s why we need to leave.”
“If you respected me, you’d listen.” I hazard a hand on his chest, touching him gently. I know he’s not angry with me—he’s angry with the situation. With himself, for wanting this, and he needs to know we’re doing nothing wrong. “I want you as much as you want me. I’ve thought about nothing else since I moved in.”
It’s painful to see the sheer torment on his face. “I can’t—”
“You can,” I whisper, heart drumming in my chest.
“I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re Bailey’s friend.”
“I’m also a grown woman,” I remind him. “A woman who knows what she wants.” I move my hand up his chest, sliding it around the hot skin of his neck, and feel his pulse beating under my fingertips. “Kiss me, Wyatt. Please.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
I see the moment he gives up the fight. The moment his defenses fall away. With a low growl, he lowers his mouth to mine, and my heart sighs in relief.
His kiss is hot and urgent this time, tongue sweeping across my bottom lip, demanding entry. I’m all too happy to oblige. I part my lips, inviting him in, and his tongue slides over mine in a wet, dirty kiss. His earthy scent overwhelms me, his beard rough against my cheek. Heat flares between my hips, and I whimper with need.
I lose all sense of reason at this point.
Grabbing Wyatt’s ass with two hands, I tug him against me. He moans into my mouth as his erection presses against my stomach, and I lift a leg, desperate to feel him closer. He takes the hint, hand sliding up my thigh to hook it around his hip, so he can press his hardness where I need it.
“Fuck, Poppy,” he rasps as I drag my mouth over his beard, down his neck. “I’ve thought about nothing but kissing you all night.”
His words make me dizzy. The feel of him hard and ready for me as he pins me against the limo door is too much. I need more. I need all of him.
“Wyatt—”
Headlights sweep across the parking lot, and he curses under his breath, pulling away from me. He adjusts himself, breathing hard as he reaches past me to open the door to the limo.
“Come on,” he mutters. For a second I think he’s going to protest again, say we need to stop, but he adds, “I can’t stand the thought that Bruce might be watching.”
Ugh. Me either.
I slide onto the leather seat of the limo, Wyatt behind me. He intentionally leaves room between us, as if giving himself room to catch his breath, and calls out to the driver to leave. I didn’t even realize the driver was there. Wyatt presses the button to close the partition between the driver and the back as the engine starts. Then he drops his head forward, rubbing the back of his neck, and I’m not sure what to do next. After kissing him like that, feeling him against me, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. And I don’t think he can either.
I glance out the window as we pull out of the parking lot. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen a single other limo, despite Wyatt telling me they send them for all the finalists. And now that I think about it, that seems absurdly extravagant.
“Why were we the only limo there tonight?” I ask quietly.
He exhales roughly, finally meeting my gaze. “I ordered us one.”
My heart does a funny flip. “Why?”
“Because…” His head drops back on the headrest to stare at the ceiling. “Because I wanted you to have a good night. Bailey said your prom was crap and I wanted… I don’t know. I wanted tonight to feel special.”
Prom…
I glance at my teal dress, at how perfect it is. The moment I saw it, it reminded me of the dress I wore to prom all those years ago, albeit a lesser version. I’d assumed that was simply a coincidence, but…
“And the dress?” I whisper.
Wyatt glances back at me, giving a small nod. “Bailey told me this one looked like something she’d seen you wear in a photo.”
I swallow, trying to process this. He bought me a beautiful dress, got me a limo, all so I could redo my awful prom?
My chest tightens with emotion. How did I ever think Wyatt was a bad guy?
“I’m sorry I fucked it all up.” He stares miserably at the floor, and I breathe a disbelieving laugh.
“Sorry? Are you kidding?” I slide closer to him on the seat, taking his face in my hands so he’s forced to look at me. His beard is scratchy on my palm as I stroke his cheek. “Wyatt… that is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I don’t even have words.”
I don’t need them.
I press my mouth to his, wanting to show him how blown away I am by his gesture. Trying to show him how much I want him, how good he is.
He sighs, the tension draining from him as he relaxes against my lips, sliding his hands into my hair.
“You…” I breathe, peppering kisses across his cheek. “You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.” Then I cover his mouth with mine before he can protest, because I know he’s going to. But he kisses me back, letting any words die away. His hands are warm and rough as they slide across the back of my neck, sparking fire in my core. I swing a leg over him, straddling his lap, and he pulls me into him. The skirt of my dress gathers between us and I shove it aside, pleased for the slits between the fabric. I’m especially pleased when Wyatt’s hands find them and slide up my thighs.
“Yes,” I rasp, rocking against the erection straining his dress pants. I’m already so wet for him. “Touch me.”
“Fuck.” He drops his forehead against mine, breathing out hard. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined you saying that?”
I smile, undoing the top buttons of his shirt, sliding my hands over the warm skin there. “Tell me.”
“More than I care to admit.” He grimaces, trying to look away, but I turn his face back to mine.
“It’s okay.” I kiss his cheek. “You’ve done nothing wrong. We both feel this, Wyatt.”
He lets out a low growl, pressing his erection against me. “I love when you say my name like that.”
Oof. I wish I’d known that sooner.
“Wyatt,” I purr, rocking against his stiff cock. How long until I get to feel it inside me?
His hands find my waist and lift me off him, pushing me back to lie along the seat. He leans over me, one hand snaking up my leg.
“Have you thought about this?” he asks, fingers circling the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh.
“I’ve thought about little else.”
His eyes darken, heat swirling in their amber depths. I reach for his zipper, but he pushes my hand away, pinning it above my head.
“Tell me you want me to touch you.”
My breath stutters at his demanding tone. “I want you to fuck me,” I pant, shifting restlessly under his weight.
“God.” His eyes press closed, and when they open again, they’re black. But he shakes his head. “I’m not going to fuck you in the back of a limo. You deserve better than that.”
I arch a brow. “Even if it’s what I want?”
“Yes.”
I push my lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, and he dips his head to nip at it with his teeth. I whimper.
“Can I touch you, Poppy?” He draws back to examine my face. He’s so insistent with asking, checking that I’m happy with what he’s doing, and it’s the nicest thing. Consent is fucking hot.
“Yes.” I squeeze his arm. “Please.”
His mouth finds mine again, tongue lapping hungrily at mine as his fingers move up my thigh, brushing my panties. His kiss stops abruptly, and he pulls back again to look at me.
“Fucking hell. You’re soaked.”
I lift my hips, making his hand brush me again. “That’s how much I want you. Now will you stop beating yourself up? This is very, very mutual.”
He groans, his head falling onto my shoulder as his fingers slip into my panties and slide through my wetness.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters into my shoulder. I feel his erection flex against my thigh, but I can’t reach it in this position. I’m desperate to feel him, to take hold of that hardness, but then his fingers push inside me, and my eyes roll back.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, arching into his touch. His thumb strokes my clit and I cry out in pleasure. It’s been so long since a man has touched me, I’ll probably come all over his fingers in seconds.
“Is that good, baby?”
Fuck .
That word makes me clench around his fingers. I’ll like anything if Wyatt calls me baby .
“Yes. God, yes.” I cling to his shoulder, pressing my mouth to the soft skin under his beard as his fingers work my clit, pleasure gripping my insides. The sensation coils up tight, building to a climax. Shit, I knew it. “Wyatt, I’m going to—”
The limo rolls to a stop, and a light comes on, flooding the interior of the car. Wyatt lurches away from me, the pleasure inside ebbing away before it can break. I blink in the light, my breath coming short and sharp.
We’re back at the house.
Bailey’s voice calls from somewhere outside the car, and I look at Wyatt in alarm. My face is hot from kissing him, from my almost-orgasm. Wyatt reaches out to smooth my hair, his eyes wide. I hastily button the top of his shirt, and we stare at each other for a beat, silent. He doesn’t have to say it—Bailey can’t know.
“Oh my God, you guys.” The limo door is wrenched open and Bailey peers in, dressed in her pajamas. “I didn’t know you took a limo.”
I flick a glance to Wyatt, but he’s already stepping from the car.
“The landscape society sent it,” he mutters. The same excuse he used with me.
Taking a deep breath and smoothing my hair again, I step from the limo, plastering on a smile for my friend.
Act natural. Like you weren’t just making out with her father in the backseat of a limo. Like he didn’t just have his hand up your dress .
“How was it?” Bailey asks, looking between us.
Wyatt stares at the driveway, hands jammed in his pockets. His cheeks are red, his gaze downcast, his head hung in shame. I know he feels bad about what just happened between us, especially since he’s had to confront Bailey so soon. I was hoping she’d be in bed and we’d get to continue inside. But with the slump of Wyatt’s shoulders, I know that won’t be happening. He feels too guilty.
I mean, I do too. Especially with the way Bailey eyes us hopefully. With knowing she helped him pick out my dress.
But… I don’t know. Wyatt and I are adults. She wants us to be happy. And if we happen to find that happiness with each other, is that really the worst thing? Sure, it might be a little awkward at first, but ultimately, I think she’d be okay with it.
At least, I want to believe that, because Wyatt deserves to be happy. He deserves something good for himself, for once.
“I didn’t win,” Wyatt says at last, giving a light shrug.
“Oh.” Bailey’s brows draw together. “That sucks.”
“It does.” I nod in agreement, resisting the urge to touch Wyatt’s arm. “He was robbed. His design was easily the best.” I steal a glance at Wyatt, who’s gazing at me intensely. Bailey looks at us with interest, and I force a yawn. “Well, I’m tired. I guess…”
“Yeah.” Wyatt yawns too, throwing in a stretch for good measure. “It’s late.”
Bailey snorts a laugh. “It’s not that late. I guess you’re not used to the time difference, though.”
She heads into the house and we follow. I want to pull Wyatt aside, to tell him again that we haven’t done anything wrong, but there’s no way to do that without Bailey seeing. So we all head up the hall to the bedrooms, pausing at our doors.
“Well…” I glance from Bailey to her dad. His eyes lock with mine, shadowed with guilt, and I sigh. “Goodnight,” I murmur, and we slip into our separate rooms.