CHAPTER TWELVE
PARKER
I pull into the driveway of my house with Poppy’s hand in mine. She held it the entire drive back to town, as we passed the street to her house and drove by the baseball fields and even when I hesitated before turning onto my street. She gave it a little reassuring squeeze.
It’s quiet as I open the door for her, help her out, and walk her to the front door. Not an uncomfortable quiet. It’s wonderfully calm and peaceful.
“So this is my house,” I say, swinging the door open to let her in. Thank god I had the good sense to clean up yesterday. I wouldn’t say I’m totally inept as a man. My house isn’t a total bachelor pad. But I would be lying if I said I was the pinnacle of neat and tidy.
“It’s nice,” she says, placing her purse on a table near the door.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask, swallowing hard. I feel a certain amount of jitteriness with Poppy in my personal space. We’re not out in public, we’re not around other people. It’s just me and her and my dimly lit livingroom now.
“What do you have?” She asks.
“Just about everything but alcohol,” I say. I don’t keep it in the house. I don’t care if other people bring it over for social situations but I feel no need to have it here anymore.
“Sweet tea?” She asks.
“Of course,” I say. “Make yourself comfortable.”
I step over to the kitchen and pull a glass from the cabinet but my eyes never leave her. She steps toward the couch and uses the heel of her foot to take off one shoe then the other. Her attention is snagged by the photos on the mantle. She reaches to touch the edge of one of the frames.
“When was this?” She asks.
I walk over, handing her the glass and looking at the photo in question. It’s me, Theo, Wade, and Garrett all at the lake two summers ago. I don’t remember where the girls were that weekend but we decided to have a bro thing. It was a pretty fun weekend, even if I did spend half of it so shitfaced, I fell out of the canoe. Thank fuck I didn’t drowned.
“A couple of years ago,” I say. “Don’t ask me for too many details because I don’t remember much. We went through a lot of beer and a few bottles, too.”
“I think I remember Theo telling me about it,” she says. “He said it was a good time.”
“It was,” I say. “The girls were off doing girl things I guess.”
She laughs. It’s a beautiful sound—sweet and full and just loud enough. I’d like to make her do it again.
Poppy takes a seat on my couch, tucking her feet up under her. She pats the cushion next to her, inviting me over.
I sit close enough that our knees knock a little as I adjust into place. She doesn’t hesitate sitting her glass down on the coffee table and leaning closer into me.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says. “I had a lot of fun.”
“So did I,” I say. “Hopefully it won’t be the last time either.”
“I don’t want it to be,” she says. “I- I want it to be maybe the first of many times.”
I smile. I can’t help myself. I smile so wide, I’m probably close to splitting my own lip open. “Can I confess something to you?”
“Of course,” she says.
“I know that you know I had a crush on you in high school. But I couldn’t find the courage to ask you out. And then I told someone and they told me it would never happen. So that crushed anything resembling what little courage I did have. So I just kept quiet.”
Poppy reaches out to me, placing her hand on my forearm. Her expression is kind, understanding.
“No need to dwell on the past, remember?” She says, reminding me of our earlier conversation.
“Right,” I say. “Lets focus on now.”
“And what do you want right now?” She asks.
“I want to make you feel good.” I lean in closer to her, licking my lips.
“I don’t remember the last time I felt good,” she says. “It’s been a long time.”
Suddenly I think we’re talking about something very specific. And I’m wondering when was the last time she didn’t have to make herself come. I’m wondering what she sounds like when she does. I’m thinking that if her laugh is that sweet, what’s her moan sound like?
I lean in closer to her, my mouth a couple inches from her ear. “I can help with that. Just say the word.” I nibble her earlobe for a moment, causing her to press into me.
“What word?” She asks.
“Pick one,” I say, teasing her jawline with my tongue.
She inhales sharply, her eyes fluttering closed. Poppy swallows, her jaw slack.
“How about we keep it simple? How about ‘go’?” She asks.
“Like Simon says? Like you could say ‘stop’ too?” I like the idea of that. Of course it could end in her torturing me anytime she likes but I have a feeling I would survive just fine.
“Sure,” she says. “But I don’t see myself wanting to say that.”
She stares at me for a long while, eye locked with mine like a game of erotic chicken. Except we both know she has to say it.
Poppy stands up, leaning over top of me. She pulls one knee up to my thigh, swinging her leg over to straddle me and sinks down until her center is flush with my lap. It’s important for my manhood to note that I’m not the same boy who got half chubs just from smelling her hair and until this moment, I’ve been a good boy. But I can feel myself growing against her.
“I haven’t done anything like this in a long time,” she says. “Wayne stopped touching me a long time ago.”
“That’s his loss,” I say, running my hands up her thighs.
“And before him, I didn’t-” Her words trail off.
“Poppy?” I say, making sure I have her full attention. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-”
“No,” she cuts me off. “I want to. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Ah fuck. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to explain to her how impossible that is. She could literally dress in a clown suit and ask me to spit in her mouth and I would. I mean, I don’t want to, but I would.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I say, hoping to put her mind at ease. I squeeze her thigh, wanting so badly to run my hands all over. But I won’t. Not until she tells me to.
Poppy tilts her head down, pressing her lips gently against the corner of my mouth. Her forehead rests against mine as she inhales slowly.
“Parker?” She whispers.
“Yeah?” I exhale.
“Go.”
I place my hands on either side of her face, bringing her mouth to mine in a frenzy. I press my lips against hers, licking the seam of her mouth until she opens for me. I deepen the kiss, exploring her with my tongue until she moans against me.
I reach under her, gripping her ass to hold her against me while I stand. She wraps her arms around my neck, holding on as she sucks my bottom lip between her teeth. It takes some skill, but I navigate us down the hall and to my bedroom. I press her against the door as I fumble to open it, kissing her throat and collarbone.
My feet find the edge of the bed and I lay her down, her feet dangling over the side. When I stand up straight, I can’t help but pause, taking in the sight of her lying there. Poppy Jameson is on my bed.
“What?” She whispers, breathing hard.
“There’s a seventeen-year-old self inside me that can’t believe you’re in our bed,” I say.
Poppy giggles as she reaches her hand up toward me. I lean down, her palm running over my chest. I place a kiss on her lips before pulling back to my standing position.
“Take off your shirt,” she says, her voice sweet but commanding. “I’ve been curious about what’s under those tight T-shirts of yours.”
I obey, using one hand to grip the edge of my shirts and lift it over my head in one smooth motion. I’ve always had a sort of naturally athletic build, so if there’s anything I’m confident about, it’s how I look undressed.
Poppy bites her bottom lip as her eyes skate over my torso before reaching my eyes. Before she can say anything, I reach down and undo the button on her jeans.
“Lift.” My one word command is met with an eager thrust into the air. I lift one of her feet, resting it against my shoulder as I remove her boot, then do the same with the other. Once they’re off, I give her belt loops a gentle tug, pulling her pants all the way off.
Her panties are dainty little things, a light blue lace. I take note that she clearly shaved her legs which means she thought this might happen. It’s been my experience that women only shave when they’re certain sex might be happening or they’re wearing something that requires it like a skirt or shorts.
“Now you take off your pants,” she says.
I appreciate that she’s being vocal, that she’s expressing what she wants. Aside from being a real turn on, I want to put her doubts of disappointing me out of her mind.
The leather of my belt makes a swift noise as I pull it off. It falls to the floor with a soft thud. I loop my thumbs into the top of my pants and push them down, stepping out of them when they bunch at my ankles.
Before I say anything, she slips her blouse over her head and throw it at me. It hits me in the chest and falls but I’m not paying attention. Because Poppy isn’t wearing a bra and heer tits are fucking beautiful.
She uses one hand to make circles around her perky pink nipple, my mouth beginning to water as it hardens under her touch. Then she switches to the other one, pinching it between her thumb and index finger.
“Goddamn,” I say in a hushed tone. Before she can say anything, I drop to my knees in front of her, positioning myself between her legs. I use my hands to pull her ass closer to the edge of the bed. Using two fingers, I swipe over her clit, still sheathed in thin lace. Her whole body tightens, then releases again. It’s a split second reaction to the touch, an abrupt shock.
Using my thumb, I press harder against her clit this time, rubbing circles over her most sensitive spot.
She lets out the sweetest moan, throwing her head back as her fingers hands grip the sheets.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
She sinks into the sensation my touch is creating, her hips swiveling to push against me. Her knees begin to squeeze against me, drawing inward on their own, like they want to close. But that’s not going to happen. We’ve only just started.
I hook my finger into the edge of her panties, pulling them to the side to reveal her sweet, wet pussy. It’s glistening and I find my mouth watering again.
I press a single digit against her opening, careful not to enter. My finger will not be the first thing inside of her.
“Oh my god,” she says, her back arching as she tries to press into me.
I know this to be an especially torturous sensation, a whisper away from what you’re craving. But I figure Poppy needs a little torture.
“Poppy,” I say, my voice low and gentle.
“Yes?” She says, breath slightly erratic.
“I’m going to fuck you with my tongue. I’m going to lick you and suck you until you come in my mouth,” I say.
Whether it’s the anticipation or the shock of what I’ve said, she doesn’t respond with her words. But she does spread her legs wider for me, toes curled into the edge of the mattress to keep herself in place.
Leaning up, I position my mouth over her and press my lips together, blowing on her most sensitive skin. Poppy lets out another delicious moan in response. As a reward, I press my tongue flat against her clit, lapping at it gently. God, she tastes so fucking good. Never in all my dreams could I have imagined she tasted this good.
I make my way down to her opening, sliding only the tips of my tongue inside. She bucks toward me, arching and stretching for more as she moans again but I withdraw. Before she can protest, I press just the tip in, then out again. I repeat this motion several times, until she’s dripping wet. Then, I plunge my tongue all the way in, my gentle touch gone. I push into her over and over again. As she starts to arch again, I grip her hips tightly, ensuring she can’t get away.
“Oh my god, Parker,” she yells.
The sound of her voice screaming my name is music to my ears. I replace my tongue with two fingers, sucking her clit into my mouth as I pump into her. I push in and lick in tandem, her legs beginning to grow rigid.
“I’m going to come, oh my god,” she screams out.
I focus on keeping the same rhythm as her pussy tightens around my fingers. I suck and lap my tongue as her entire body shudders, her legs squeezing against me.
A full thirty seconds later, her body begins to relax, her muscles twitching as they grow limp. Her breathing is fast and shallow as she basks in the post-orgasm euphoria.
I get up from the floor and lay down next to her, propping myself onto my elbow so I can look at her. She has her eyes closed but there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re like, really good at that.”
“Thank you,” I say. And for the record, yes—that is the other thing I’m good at.
Poppy rolls toward me, her fingers trailing light touches down my sternum and lower. She drags her nails against the soft skin between my belly button edge of my boxer briefs, causing my skin to turn gooseflesh as I lose my breath for a moment.
“Everything you do is so goddamn delicious,” I say, my eyes rolling back as my head hits the mattress.
“I haven’t done hardly anything,” she says, giggling.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
“Oh but I want to,” she says.
“Well, I do want you to do what you want to do,” I say, smirking.
She slips her hand beneath the elastic band of my underwear, her fingertips grazing the head of my dick as she reaches lower until she’s grabbing my shaft.
“Fuck,” I say, inhaling sharply. Her hand against me is warm and soft, her grip just the right amount of firm. My grasp on the sheet tightens as she slides her hand up and down over me. If I was hard before, I’m now painfully so.
“Do you have condoms?” She asks.
I reach up, tugging open the drawer of my nightstand, blindly feeling around until I find what I’m looking for as her hand continues to move over me. Biting down on the corner of the package, I tear it open and turn to her.
“What is the second way you’d like me to fuck you?”