29. Wyatt
29
Wyatt
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve coming home to Poppy naked in her apron, begging to please me, but I’ll take it. I’d take this moment every day for the rest of my life, given half the chance.
The thought startles me, and I try to shake it off. It’s been an amazing week, making love to Poppy every night, waking up beside her each morning, feeling her warmth and softness beside me in my bed. Watching her double the size of her catering business because word of mouth has spread like wildfire. Her cooking is that good, and she needs to believe it. I tell her every morning and every night.
After that first night together at home, I kept good on my promise to improve my room. I cleaned, bought a new comforter, some throw pillows, and added another nightstand, replacing both bedside lamps. I also hung a beautiful print of poppies I found online, bright red blooms that take center place on the wall. She was delighted when she saw what I’d done, and even though I know that’s not why she wants to sleep in there, it’s important to me that she does. That it feels like somewhere she can relax, somewhere she belongs. Because that’s exactly where she belongs—in my bed, beside me, every night.
And in my kitchen, on her knees like this.
Heat pools in my pelvis as I watch Poppy slowly unzip my fly, freeing my already stiff cock. Her hand wraps around my length, but it brings me no relief. I need more. When her tongue darts out to flick across my seam, licking up the leaking precum, she gives a tiny sigh of satisfaction that drives me crazy. She wants to be on her knees for me. She wants to give me this.
“That’s it,” I grit out as she begins to stroke. “Show me how much you want to please me.” My hand tightens in her hair and she whimpers, drawing me into her mouth, groaning around my dick as if it’s the best thing she’s tasted all day.
Hell, I would have come home a lot earlier if I’d known this was waiting for me.
Sugar circles my ankles, wanting my attention, but I’m too fucking distracted to care about the cat. I grope blindly on the counter behind me for something to entertain her, finding a roll of paper towels and tossing them into the living room. I’m relieved when she chases after, pouncing on them with glee, and I can focus on Poppy, who’s doing her best to make me come before we even get started.
Shit.
“Slow down, baby,” I choke out, rocking my hips into her mouth. “That’s my good girl.”
She moans around my shaft, the sound vibrating through me, drawing my balls up tight. Her legs shift restlessly on the kitchen floor as she sucks me, and I know that my next move will be to bend her over the kitchen counter and fuck her in that little apron like I’ve dreamed of doing a hundred times.
I stroke her cheek. “You look so pretty on your knees.”
She grins, using her hands to shove my jeans down to my ankles, then cups my balls before sucking them into her mouth, stroking them with her tongue.
I lean back against the counter for support, my knees weak, my vision wavering. This woman knows exactly how to make me feel good, and it’s almost too much.
Her hands move to my ass cheeks, massaging them as her fingers inch inward. Then she does something completely unexpected. She licks her middle finger, keeping her gaze locked on mine, and slides her fingertip behind my balls into a place no one has ever touched before.
I suck in a sharp breath at the contact, the tip of her finger brushing my most sensitive, forbidden place, surprised to feel my cock harden even more in her other hand. I’m not sure if it’s the taboo nature of what she’s doing, or the sensation itself, but I don’t care. I’ve never been more turned on in my life.
“Is this okay?” Poppy asks, looking up at me with round, dark eyes.
I swallow. “Fuck yes.”
I widen my stance to give her better access, knowing I should probably kick off my jeans, but I don’t want to do anything to interrupt this moment. She takes me back into her mouth, one hand wrapped around the base of my cock, the other gently, slowly, easing inside me, and I let out a shuddering breath.
“How did you know?” I rasp.
She lifts a shoulder, her mouth curling into a filthy smile. “I had a feeling.”
“Fuuuck,” I groan, letting her pleasure me from all angles. “So fucking good. Don’t stop, baby.”
She hums around my shaft, sending another vibration through me as she sucks harder, taking long, deep pulls on my cock, and when her finger hits a spot inside I didn’t know was there, I lose control.
“Fuck, Poppy, I’m going to—”
It’s too late. I spill into her mouth in a blinding flash of pleasure, gripping Poppy’s hair, my legs shaking as I let her take it all from me. She doesn’t let up until I sag back against the counter, my heart pummeling my ribcage. Then slowly, reluctantly, she rises to her feet, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth.
“I love the taste of you,” she breathes, running her hands over her apron. She squeezes her breasts under the fabric and my dick twitches at the sight, my balls tightening again as if they haven’t just been drained.
Jesus. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the need to go for round two, but as Poppy turns with a little sigh to wash her hands at the sink, I step behind her, nestling my still stiff cock against her ass.
“My turn, baby. Time to return the favor.”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “You don’t have to—”
“Oh, but I do.” I grab her hips and tug them toward me, until she falls forward onto the counter, her ass in the air. Without wasting a second, I fall to my knees, dragging my tongue over her pussy, surprised to find it already soaked. She loved what we did as much as me, it seems, and I want to make her feel as good too. I want to show her how good it feels to be naughty. I split her ass cheeks, licking higher, swirling my tongue in the same place she ventured with me, waiting for her approval. When she groans, reaching back to hold my head there, I know I have permission to continue.
“Oh, Wyatt,” she rasps as I probe at the tight ring of muscle with my tongue, my fingers stroking her swollen clit. “That feels so good.” It takes approximately two minutes for her to come, spasming against the counter, pressing her thighs together as she rides the wave.
Then I rise to my feet, jeans still wrapped around my ankles, and line my aching dick up with her entrance.
“You ready to give me what I want, Poppy?”
“Yes,” she breathes, squirming, as I tease her pussy with the head of my cock.
“This is what I want. What I’ve fantasized about since you moved in. Fucking you right here, in this kitchen, in this apron.”
She moans as I sink inside the tight, wet heat of her, hands firm on her hips.
“Every time you’ve put this apron on,” I growl, giving a hard thrust into her, “I’ve wanted to do this. I had to jerk off because it drove me so crazy.”
“Fuck,” she chokes out. “I wish I could have seen that. I would have helped.”
I chuckle, reaching around to grab her breasts under the apron, tweaking her stiff nipples as I drive into her. My hands instinctively go to her stomach, imagining it full and round, and it’s an effort to push the image away. Instead, I hook a hand behind her knee, hoisting her leg higher, opening her wider for me. She moans as I do.
“You love it deep, don’t you?”
“So much,” she sobs, as I bottom out inside her. “I love feeling all of you.”
“Me too, baby.” I kiss my way down her back, slowing my strokes as I slide my thumb between her ass cheeks. “I want to feel all of you, too.”
She gasps as I make contact with that forbidden spot again, then pants out, “Yes, fuck, yes,” as I sink my thumb inside her, rearing my hips back to thrust hard.
“You’re such a naughty girl,” I say, pumping into her, thumb teasing that taboo spot. “Wearing nothing but an apron when I come home from work.” She clenches around me and my balls tighten, ready to explode again. “Loving the way my thumb feels in your ass.”
“God, Wyatt,” she whimpers, “I’m going to come.”
The heat building inside me reaches a boiling point as she tightens around both my shaft and my thumb, but I need to make sure she gets there first.
“Soak my cock, baby. Show me how good it feels.”
A loud moan rips from her mouth as she shoves her hips back, swallowing my dick into her depths, shaking and pulsing with her orgasm. The feeling is so good I can’t do anything but grip her hip and give into it, filling her with my seed.
The oven timer brings us back to reality, and Poppy issues a faint laugh as I withdraw from her and drag my jeans back up, buttoning them with shaking hands.
“I’d forgotten all about dinner,” she says, smiling sleepily.
“Good.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have done my job.” She giggles against me. “I love how kinky you are, baby. I had no idea.”
She blushes. “I didn’t realize I was. You must bring it out in me.” With a peck on the cheek, she ducks out the room to clean herself up, saying, “I’ll be right back.”
I sigh, washing my hands in the sink, finally noticing the delicious smells wafting from the oven. I pull the dish from the oven and set it on the counter, knowing Poppy will want to serve it up herself.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I slide onto a stool at the breakfast bar, noticing Poppy’s laptop. It’s open to a website I don’t recognize, a company called Grow Your Own , bursting with colorful photographs of vegetables and a manifesto about the joys of growing your own food. My pulse quickens as I scan the images. Everything about it captures my attention, drawing me in, and I lean over, scrolling through the rest of the site. I can’t describe the feeling that tugs at me as I read, eyes devouring the photos, the words proclaiming how empowering it is to eat something you’ve grown yourself. And, God, the pictures—stalks of rainbow chard, the vibrant blooms of sweet peas, golden pumpkins and squash nestled on rich soil. My fingers itch just looking at them, desperate to get into the garden.
“Oh.” Poppy stops short when she sees me poring over her laptop. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”
“See…” I shake my head. “How did you find these guys? Are they in New York?” I scroll down the page, but can’t see any contact details.
Poppy swallows. “Um…”
“I have to get in touch with them,” I say, clicking on a link to their About page. I frown when it sends me to an empty page.
“You do?” she asks, venturing cautiously toward me across the kitchen. She’s clothed in a summery red dress, her apron over the top.
“Absolutely.” I click back to the home page, reading the manifesto aloud while Poppy nods along, chewing her lip. “This is exactly what I said to you on the plane,” I remind her. “It’s like they’ve read my mind.”
She shifts her weight. “Well…”
“This is what I want to do,” I tell her. I don’t realize it until the words are out of my mouth, but the moment I say it, I know it’s true. I don’t care about fancy, manicured yards in Park Slope. This is what matters—growing food you can eat, taking part in the vital role of feeding yourself.
“I know,” she murmurs, a smile nudging her lips. “But… you can’t contact them.”
I glance up. “Why not?”
“Because…” Poppy exhales, sliding onto the stool beside me. “They don’t exist. I made that website.”
“You… what?”
She motions to her laptop. “Those are your vegetables, Wyatt. The pictures are of your patch at the community garden.”
I look back at the images, examining them carefully. They’re all plants I have growing currently, but I don’t remember them looking this good. The closer I look, the more I can see she’s right. They’re mine. How did I not realize? I guess I haven’t seen them in a couple days, since Marty and I worked on his patch, planting out broccoli seedlings he’d nurtured in a small greenhouse he keeps in his own yard.
“How did you…”
“Daisy took the pictures.”
Daisy. Of course. She’s a brilliant photographer.
“But why…”
Poppy places her hand atop mine. “I wanted to show you what’s possible. What you could do. I made this because I thought if you could see it, you might realize what a great idea it is.”
“I…” I have no words. She made this website, took Daisy to the garden to photograph my plants, all to convince me to pursue this passion?
“You don’t have to abandon the business you’ve got,” Poppy adds, squeezing my hand. “But you could find someone to run it while you build this. Why not have both?”
I blink as I absorb her words. I could have both, couldn’t I? And seeing the website with my own eyes makes it feel real. It makes it feel possible.
But… there’s more to this than that. The fear crystallizes in my mind as I imagine striking out with this new venture, only to have it flop. What would Bailey think? I can’t stand to imagine how my daughter would see me if I failed. She already believes I’m a failure as a father, even if she’d never say it. Even if she doesn’t show it.
I glance at Poppy, pushing the thoughts away. Those fears don’t change what she’s done, what she’s trying to do for me. There’s a hard squeeze in my chest as I stare at her, thinking about how much she cares. How much she wants me to be happy. That’s all she’s wanted all along, isn’t it?
Poppy grimaces, taking my silence as disapproval. “I hope I haven’t overstepped,” she murmurs, withdrawing her hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
I cut her words off as I crush my mouth to hers. She sighs against my lips, relaxing into my embrace as I pull her from the stool and into my arms. God, I am so in love with her. I haven’t said those words since we first confessed them, mainly because I haven’t wanted to scare her. I was surprised when she whispered them after we’d made love, surprised and unbelievably happy, but part of me wondered if she’d only said it because she was wrapped up in the moment. Part of me wanted to be sure she meant it.
Because I sure as hell do.
I never meant to fall so hard for Poppy, but I can’t fucking help myself. I can’t stop myself from loving the woman who cares for me so much. The woman who makes me feel things I haven’t felt for… well, ever.
And I can’t hold that in any longer.
“I love you so much.” My voice is thick as I rest my forehead to hers, closing my eyes.
“I love you too,” she breathes. Her soft fingers stroke over my beard, my cheek. “You’ve made me so happy, pushing me to cook more, to do something with my food. I want to do the same for you.”
“Poppy…” How is it possible to feel this intensely for someone so quickly? I want to fall to my knees and ask her to marry me. To tell her I can’t imagine being with anyone else, that I can’t imagine being without her at all.
I open my mouth to speak when the buzz of my phone ringing on the counter interrupts me. Ah, it’s just as well. What’s wrong with me, feeling these things after only a week? She’s twenty-five for God’s sake; who knows if she’s ready for something so serious? And with a man seventeen years her senior, no less.
I swallow, turning away as I lift the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Mathers?” an unfamiliar male voice asks.
“Yes.”
“I believe you’re a friend of Martin Somerville?”
“Martin…” I echo, frowning. “Oh, Marty?” Goosebumps rise on my arms. “Yes…”
“I’m Martin’s attorney,” the voice says again, tone solemn. “I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Mathers, but Martin has passed away.”