27. Poppy
27
Poppy
E verything feels right with the world again the moment Wyatt’s lips meet mine. He’s frantic in his kiss, hands on my back, in my hair, tongue claiming mine with a ferocity he didn’t have in Napa.
And I’m all too happy to cooperate.
He walks me back against the counter, hips pressing forward as his hands try to touch every inch of me, to hold me close. Finally, he breaks for air and pulls me tight into him, holding me as if he’s afraid I’m going to slip away the minute he lets go.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair. He’s wearing the brown leather jacket he wore at Bailey’s party, and it makes him look dangerous. It makes him look hotter than anything.
But I’m going to need a bit more from him before this goes any further.
“Why?” I ask, drawing away to gaze up into his wild, amber eyes.
He shakes his head, stroking my cheek. “I saw the ambulance and I thought… Fuck. I thought something had happened to you. And I realized…” He trails off, letting his forehead rest against mine. “I made a mistake, pushing you away. Telling you this couldn’t happen. Life is so short, Poppy. We should be together. For real.”
I swallow, my heart swooping at his words. He wants this. Us. For real .
“If it’s not too late,” he adds, gazing at me desperately. “If I haven’t fucked everything up.”
Oh, God. My heart.
I caress his bearded cheek. “It’s not too late, Wyatt. You haven’t fucked anything up. But…” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, hesitant to bring this up, but knowing there’s no point in pretending. The same issues he was worried about before are still there. “What about Bailey?”
He gives me an agonized look. “I don’t know. All I know is I can’t not be with you anymore.”
“Oh. Baby.” He’s the one who calls me baby, but the word slips out, and he sighs, turning his cheek into my hand, his eyes fluttering closed. It suddenly looks as though he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for years, and all I want to do is lighten that load for him.
“I told Bailey I’d watch out for you,” he murmurs in defeat. “That I’d keep you safe.”
Of course he’d want to do that. No wonder he’s beating himself up. His feelings for me are not only a secret from Bailey, they probably feel like a betrayal of his promise. He worries he’s the one I need to be kept safe from. That’s what this is. I think of how he said he didn’t want to take advantage of me, that I’m vulnerable, and breathe out slowly.
“Then you should know…” I step up on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve never felt as safe as I do in your arms.”
Wyatt lets out a shuddering sigh, as if my words have finally given him permission to let go. His mouth brushes mine in the softest, gentlest kiss, and he slides his hand into mine.
“Let’s go upstairs. I want to make love to you, Poppy.”
My heart is a glowing ember at those words. No man has ever wanted to make love to me in my life, and as we climb the stairs together, it feels different from the hot, forbidden sex we had in Napa.
Only…
“I should shower,” I say, feeling self-conscious as he drags his mouth over my neck at the top of the stairs. It’s been a hot day of cooking and running around New York to deliver lunch, and there’s no way I’m letting him get close when I smell like this.
Wyatt drags himself away with great effort. “I probably should, too.” His eyes sparkle as he pushes the bathroom door open, tugging me in behind him. Sugar attempts to follow, but he closes the door, keeping the cat outside. She gives a single mewl, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tub as Wyatt turns the shower on and looks at me.
My heart skitters when I realize what he’s suggesting. With shaking hands, I peel my dress over my head until I’m standing in my underwear. Wyatt lets out the longest, deepest sigh I’ve ever heard. The sigh of a man who has finally gotten what he wants.
I reach behind and unhook my bra, then slide my panties down my legs and kick them off. Heat pools in his eyes as they rake over me, and my nipples harden under his gaze. I suddenly feel exposed, naked in front of him while he’s still fully clothed, but I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to stand my ground, letting him look his fill. There’s a growing bulge below his belt that I’m desperate to get my hands on, but I curl them into fists at my side.
There’s no rush this time.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he says thickly. “Everything about you. Fuck.”
His eyes continue devouring me, and I blush at his compliment, dropping my gaze. My hair is a mess, my belly bigger than I’d like it to be, my thighs dimply, but Wyatt sees none of that.
“I mean it, Poppy.” His finger strokes under my chin, tilting my face back to him, forcing me to acknowledge the dark desire in his gaze. My heart thumps in response.
Steam billows from the shower as he unzips his leather jacket, sliding it off and tossing it aside. He reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head, and I huff out a hard breath. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless, but this feels different. I take a moment to drag my gaze across the hard swell of muscle in his shoulders and pecs, the glint of his nipple piercing, the trail of salt-and-pepper hair leading over the light definition in his abs and into his pants. Ink covers every inch of his arms and torso; plants and flowers, birds and butterflies, the rose for his mom and the name of his daughter. The things he loves, the things that make him who he is. The sight of him takes my breath away, the utter masculine beauty of his skin, his muscles, his presence. He’s made for touching, for running my hands over, my tongue over.
He kicks his pants and boxer-briefs off, a hand covering himself for modesty. I give a slow shake of my head, letting him know I need to see him, just like he’s seen me, and with a low chuckle he lets his hands fall to his side. His cock is hard and thick, the head reddish-purple, ready for me.
I get the sense he’s been ready for me for a while.
My mouth waters at the sight, as if preparing to taste him, to give him the pleasure he deserves. The thought sends heat streaking through me, makes my thighs quiver with need.
Wyatt motions to the shower, and I step under the steaming water, my pulse rushing. I’ve never showered with a man before. I’m not sure what to expect. Unless he plans to have sex in the shower, which always looks more awkward than sexy…
He calms my jangled nerves when he steps behind me, sliding his arms around my stomach. His chest is warm and firm against my back, his erection nestling against my ass as he kisses my neck, holding me close under the water. I meant what I said, that I feel safest in his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, and I love the way I tuck into his body, the way his arms feel so strong and protective around me. I trace the ink on his forearms with my fingers, trying to memorize it all.
He reaches for the soap, then steps away, turning me to face him. Soaping up his hands, he sets the bar aside and, so gently, glides his hands over me, washing me. It’s such an intimate thing, but I love that he wants to do this with me. I can only hope it will be my turn after.
He starts on my shoulders, moving down to my hands, then motions for me to lift my arms, washing under them. It tickles, making me giggle, and he bites back a smile, too.
My laughter dies away as he continues down my chest, sliding over my breasts, circling his thumbs across my nipples. His hands are so slippery with soap, and every nerve ending in my body becomes hyper-aware of the places he touches, the way his fingers sweep over my waist, my hip, then slide around to graze my ass.
He works his way down my legs, and I watch him kneel before me, taking care to wash behind my knees, over my calves. He seems to know not to put soap between my legs, as much as I want his fingers there, and rises to gently turn me under the water, using his hands to rinse the soap from my skin.
Pressing his chest to my back, his hands return to stroke my breasts again, less to clean me and more to play with the weight of them, to hold them in his palms, to caress my stiff nipples and tug them gently between his thumb and forefinger. Molten heat pools between my thighs, and I let out a moan that makes his cock flex against my ass.
“I fucking love the feel of you against me,” he rasps, scraping his beard across the sensitive skin of my neck. “All wet and warm.”
I give a huff of arousal, twisting in his arms. “You have no idea,” I murmur, shifting restlessly. “My turn.”
His mouth curves into a slow smile as I soap my hands, then wash him; the globes of his shoulders, the hard slabs of his pecs, the firm ridges of his stomach, the nipple piercing I love. I use my soapy fingers to trace the outline of a blue jay, a monarch butterfly, a sunflower. His torso is a garden of wonders, alive and breathing, and I wish I could step inside it.
“You are so beautiful, Wyatt,” I breathe, spinning him around so I can soap the maple tree, follow its branches, trail my fingers down its trunk. And, fuck, his ass… I had no idea it was so glorious. Hard orbs of muscle that tighten under my touch. A tiny moan escapes him as I soap his ass cheeks, and my center throbs at the sound. Wyatt likes having his ass touched? Good to know.
I work my way down his legs, intentionally washing them from behind. If I stood in front of him to do this, I’d be too distracted by his dick. I ease his back under the water, washing the soap away, turning him around to face me. His black eyes watch me as I rinse him clean, as I kneel in front of him in the tub, finally taking hold of the hardness that’s been tempting me all this time.
“Poppy,” he begins, but as I stroke his cock, his eyes fall closed and his words die away. He braces himself against the shower wall, letting me touch him, letting me drag my fist up and down his length. I delight in the heat of it, the sheer fucking size of it, the way it pulses and turns to steel in my hand.
“God,” he grits out. “Baby.”
Slick heat rushes between my thighs as I take him into my mouth, sealing my lips around the hard length of him. He’s hot and perfect, and I slide my tongue across his slit, lapping up the salty precum leaking from the tip of him.
“Ohhh,” he groans. His hand goes to my head, stroking my cheek as I suck him. “You look so fucking perfect down there. So fucking good with my cock in your mouth.”
I smile around the length of him, using one hand to grip his base as my head bobs back and forth, the other to massage his balls. I love knowing I’m making him feel good, knowing he’s getting all the pleasure, that he’s letting himself enjoy this moment. Each moan is a reward, his hand tightening in my hair proof that he’s enjoying it, his hips thrusting forward, driving him deeper. I want to take more of him, and with a deep breath, I draw him to the back of my throat.
“Jesus, Poppy. God—”
His body tenses as I gag on his size, my eyes watering. He draws his hips away and his cock pops out of my mouth. I look up at him questioningly.
“I don’t want to come in your mouth, baby.”
I sigh, rising to my feet, hands still gripping his cock. I don’t want to let go, and he can tell. It makes him chuckle against my lips.
“Let’s go to bed. I want to spread you out. I want to taste you.”
“Okay,” I breathe, squeezing my legs together at his promise.
We step from the shower, toweling ourselves off as quickly as possible, neither of us wanting to waste time on practicalities. Wyatt tosses his towel aside, missing the towel rail completely, and slips his hand into mine. I follow him through the door to his bedroom, taking a moment to look around, to absorb his space.
It’s surprisingly sparse. The walls are the same eggshell white as mine, with the same dark, exposed floorboards. His bed is in the center under the window, topped with a plain white comforter. There’s a wooden dresser, drawers hanging out, overflowing with clothes, a dusty TV mounted on the far wall, and a single nightstand with a lone lamp, its shade askew. This is the room of a man who doesn’t allow himself luxuries. Who comes here only to crash. It makes my heart squeeze.
I glance at Wyatt, who seems to be looking at the room through my eyes, and grimaces. “I’ll make it better in here, I promise.”
A laugh slides from me as I step closer to him. “I don’t care. I only want you.”
He breathes out slowly, stroking my hair, then dropping his hands to my chest to nudge me backward. I fall onto the unmade bed, shuffling up to burrow into his sheets. They smell like laundry detergent and him—that earthy scent with a hint of sage. I roll over to smell his pillow, and Wyatt drapes himself across my back. His skin is so hot, still damp from the shower, his weight pinning me to his mattress. He rocks his hips, pressing his erection against my ass. I moan at the feeling, but he rolls off, flipping me over, spreading my legs as he moves down the bed. He doesn’t waste a second before swiping his tongue through the slick heat between my thighs.
“God, Poppy. You taste so good.” He samples me again with an agonizingly slow lick, dipping inside me, swirling up over my clit. “So fucking good, baby.” His voice is so raw with arousal that heat invades me, making my legs twitch restlessly, desperate for more.
He gives a dark chuckle as his hands spread me further, until I’m completely open and exposed for him. Then he drags his tongue through my wetness, lapping at me eagerly, hungrily, like a man at his last meal.
“Yes,” I whimper, hands plunging into his hair, holding him where I want him as I rub my wetness shamelessly on his face. I love how rough his beard is on my sensitive flesh, the way he nips at my clit with his teeth. He groans, letting me ride his mouth, hands massaging my ass cheeks.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasps against my wet center. “Do what feels good. Use me for your pleasure.”
His hands inch inward, thumbs meeting in the center to spread me open, before he slides two thick fingers into me, curling them upward. I writhe as pleasure surges through me, building with the pressure of his fingers curled inside me, the insistent tug of his tongue and teeth on my clit. He gives a rough suck that pushes me over, and my hips buck against his mouth as ecstasy explodes through me. His mouth doesn’t let up until I’ve stopped twitching with aftershocks, until he knows I’m finished.
When he rises to meet my gaze, his cheeks are flushed, his eyes dark and hooded, his beard ruffled and dripping with my arousal. He moves up the bed to my side, laughing as I reach out to wipe his beard and clean up his face.
“Sorry,” I murmur, but he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“No apologies. That was so hot, Poppy. Feeling you come on my tongue. I could do that all night.”
I chuff a laugh, pushing his hair back from his forehead. As much as I’d like that, there’s something I want more.
Our lips meet as I draw his mouth to mine, tasting myself on his tongue. He’s hard against my thigh, and I tug him on top of me, between my legs. His cock settles at my entrance. With a gentle nudge, he sinks inside me, and we share a moan at the feeling of him filling me, the way we fit together perfectly.
“Fuck, baby,” he grates out, giving a slow roll of his hips. “Since Napa, I’ve thought of nothing but being back inside you.”
I smile, dragging my lips over his shoulder, the soft skin of his neck. “Me too. I touched myself last night, thinking about the way you fucked me. How good it felt.”
Wyatt lifts his upper body, changing the angle as he drives himself deeper. “You’ve touched yourself thinking about me?”
“Yes,” I rasp. “Many times.”
“Shit.” Another thrust, deeper, harder, nudging me up the bed. I groan at the sensation, and he does it again. Another deep, hard thrust. The headboard rattles against the wall, but at least we don’t have to be quiet this time.
With the next roll of his hips, I let out a loud moan. Wyatt’s eyes flash with heat as he watches me take his cock, my breasts jiggling with the movement. He dips his head to pull my nipple into his mouth as he drives himself into me again.
“Moan for me, baby.” His voice is little more than a shred, muscles rippling as he moves over me. “Be loud like you wanted to in Napa. Tell me how good it feels.”
“It’s so good, Wyatt.” I drag my nails down his back. “So good.”
“Fuck.” His hair falls across his forehead as he pumps into me. “Every time you say my name like that, I get hard.”
“Wyatt,” I repeat, wrapping my legs around him. I’m lost in the moment, in the pleasure, desperate for more. “Fuck me, Wyatt. Fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”
His eyes glint dangerously, and he lifts my legs, pinning them by my head. I didn’t realize I was so flexible, and I stare at the point where he’s entering me in long, hard strokes, my heart drumming.
“Be careful what you wish for, pretty girl.” His cock hits something deep inside me, and my eyes roll back as a loud moan tears from my mouth. “That’s it,” he growls. “You want my cock? Take it. Take it deep.” His fingers find my clit and pinch, and it all becomes too much. Pleasure erupts inside me, and I thrash and buck as he slams into my core.
When I blink back to reality, Wyatt eases my legs down, lowering himself so his chest is flush with mine.
“There is nothing hotter than watching you come,” he murmurs, grazing his mouth across my neck. His arms envelop me, and he rolls us onto our sides, where he tucks me in close to his chest, my legs wrapping around him as he thrusts up into me. “There you are. I want you close.”
I sigh, kissing his beard, his cheek, capturing his mouth again. His tongue brushes lazily over mine as he slows the pace, his gentle kisses calming my racing heart. As much as I love him fucking me senseless and pouring filthy words into my ear, there’s something about holding him close like this and savoring the feel of each other that makes my heart melt.
“Wyatt,” I breathe, but it’s different from before. He rocks into me, hands traversing my back, claiming me, possessing me, protecting me.
“I know, baby.”
All I’ve said is his name because my heart is too full to find the words, and he seems to recognize that. His heart seems to feel the same. The thought makes me kiss him hard, deeply, trying to pour all my feelings into the places where our bodies meet, where our skin speaks the words we can’t. The moment becomes so much bigger than both of us, bigger than two people simply seeking pleasure. We move in tandem, fused together, becoming one.
And when Wyatt fists a hand in my hair, tugging my head back to drag his lips over my throat, I let out a strangled cry as the pleasure inside me crests again.
“Wyatt, God, I’m…”
“I know,” he repeats, his voice soothing as the pleasure breaks. “Come for me, baby. Come in my arms.”
I do. I shake and tremble as I lose myself to the feeling of him inside me, to his arms around me, to his mouth covering mine. And just when I think the moment can’t get any better, Wyatt finally gives in. I capture his moan with my mouth as he buries himself deep, clutching me close to him, filling me with his warmth. We ride the wave together in each other’s embrace, until it calms.
I press my face to Wyatt’s chest as I wait for the emotion in my ribcage to settle. His heart thunders against my cheek, and I brush a kiss across his moist skin. Bailey’s name stares back at me from his chest, but I turn and rest my face against it with a sigh. I love her dearly, and in this moment it feels like loving her father, too, can only be a good thing. It seems absurd that loving him could be anything but wonderful.
Loving him .
My heart hiccups as the realization settles around me. I do love him. I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone, and as much as that thought should scare me, it doesn’t. I know I’m safe with Wyatt. I know my heart is safe with him.
I draw away to meet his gaze. He’s breathing in a steady, reassuring rhythm as he gazes at me. The little creases beside his eyes deepen into a smile as I study the contours of his face.
“I love you,” I whisper. Maybe I shouldn’t say it out loud, maybe I should play it cool, but now that I know how I feel, I can’t hold it back. I can’t be anything but honest.
Wyatt presses his eyes shut, as if in pain. A ripple of uncertainty moves through me, but it vanishes the moment he slides his hand into my hair, kissing me deeply.
“God, Poppy…” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I love you, too.”
There’s a lump in my throat as I swallow. “You do?”
“I do.” His eyes are liquid amber as they move over my face. “I love you in a way I didn’t even know was possible.”
My heart squeezes hard, like it can’t quite believe it’s lucky enough to have Wyatt’s love.
“Yes,” I say, blinking the moisture from my eyes. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
He pulls me tight against him, and I realize what a huge deal this is for him, letting himself be with me—love me. He rode his bike today, too, at his own suggestion, and I’m sure he wouldn’t have done that a few weeks ago. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been good for him, reminding him it’s okay to be happy, to put his needs first for once. Just like he’s been good for me, pushing me to explore my cooking more. Today was proof of that; proof that people like my food, that they’re willing to pay for it, that I could do something with that passion if I believed in myself enough. And Wyatt has helped me to believe in myself. His love has done that.
I think back to our conversation on the plane, when he lit up, talking about people growing their own vegetables. He deserves to do something with his passion, too.
And as I snuggle into his chest, an idea blooms in my mind. I could help him using my marketing skills. Tomorrow, I decide, I’m going to talk to Daisy. I’m going to see if she can help me put my plan into action.