Chapter Eight #3
Rosaline snapped the elasticized lace band of Poppy’s panties and chuckled when another shudder rolled through her, the subtle
sting raising goose bumps along the skin of her thighs. “Begging?” She grinned. “Already?”
Poppy’s hips canted forward and lifted slightly off the couch, silently asking for Rosaline to stop teasing and to actually
touch her. “Is that what you like?” Rosaline’s hair had once again fallen loose from the braid tossed over her shoulder and
Poppy gave in to the impulse to tuck a strand behind her ear, to let her touch linger, tracing the plains of Rosaline’s face,
fingers skimming her jaw, a smile tugging at her lips when Rosaline turned her face into the touch, her cheek pressed to Poppy’s
palm. “You want me to beg you for it?”
Another breathy laugh escaped Rosaline’s parted lips, hot air gusting gently across Poppy’s wrist. “I’m certainly not going
to complain if you do.” Her hand slipped lower, palm cupping Poppy, fingers parting Poppy’s folds. Her dark lashes fluttered
rapidly, and a soft groan fell from her lips. “You’re already soaked,” Rosaline whispered hoarsely. “You really need this,
don’t you?”
Poppy nodded jerkily and drank in the look on Rosaline’s face, her jaw slightly slack, glossed lips parted, her eyes heavy-lidded,
and gaze dark, locked on where her hand was hidden inside Poppy’s shorts, looking as wrecked as Poppy felt, and Poppy—Poppy
hadn’t even touched her.
That needed to change. Poppy cupped Rosaline’s cheek with purpose and leaned in, heart pounding as she closed the distance between their faces, ready to finally, finally learn what Rosaline’s mouth felt like against hers, to find out if Rosaline’s lips were as soft as they looked, if—
With a turn of her head, Rosaline swerved, lips brushing Poppy’s cheek. “No kissing, okay?”
Poppy tried not to frown.
Kissing was one of her favorite pastimes. In fact, she missed the days where it was the main event rather than a step to sprint
past on the way around the rest of the bases. But kissing was intimate, probably why she liked it so much, feral for affection
of any kind. Maybe Rosaline had the right idea, kissing a little too intimate for whatever this was. Blowing off steam. Physical
release.
Catching feelings for Rosaline Sinclair was the last thing Poppy needed.
Poppy nodded. “No kissing.”
Rosaline leaned back in, lips skimming the skin of Poppy’s throat, leaving a trail of shivery heat in their wake. Poppy closed
her eyes, dizzy with desire, head filled with the spicy sweet scent of Rosaline’s perfume.
“Hold on.” Rosaline shifted, right hand sliding between Poppy’s back and the couch, urging her to turn. With one arm now banded
around Poppy’s waist, she dragged her closer, Poppy’s back pressed against Rosaline’s front, her body nestled in the cradle
of Rosaline’s thighs. She brushed Poppy’s hair over her shoulder, giving it a gentle tug that sent pleasant tingles down Poppy’s
spine. Her head fell back against Rosaline’s shoulder.
“What do you like?” Her teeth grazed the underside of Poppy’s jaw and Poppy couldn’t have swallowed the whimper that rose
up in her throat when Rosaline’s fingers slipped back inside her panties and dragged up her slit, finding her clit swollen,
sensitive. “Tell me.”
Her hips shifted restlessly, bare skin of her thighs sticking to the leather. “More.”
Rosaline hummed. “More what?”
Just—more. All of it. She tried to rub her thighs together, to alleviate this ache even just a little, but Rosaline was quicker. One
hand dropped, the one not buried between Poppy’s legs, her grip against Poppy’s thigh bruising. A sob of frustration slipped
out.
Rosaline had the audacity to laugh. “I asked you a question.” Her hand returned to Poppy’s hair, fingers carding through the
strands at the nape of her neck, nails raking against her scalp. Her lips closed around the lobe of Poppy’s ear and nipped.
Poppy’s breath stuttered, chest heaving. It was hard to think, let alone form words with Rosaline’s fingers rubbing her slowly.
Up and down Poppy’s slit, making a maddening circuit from her clit to where she was dripping. “I can’t—can’t think when you’re
touching me.”
“I could always stop if you want,” she offered, voice sly as if she knew exactly how much Poppy didn’t want that. Her fingers made light circles around Poppy’s clit.
“Please don’t.” She rocked against Rosaline’s hand, seeking the friction she desperately desired. “Please.”
“God, you beg so pretty.” A faint warmth blossomed in Poppy’s chest, and she had about three seconds to bask in the glow of Rosaline’s praise before
two of her fingers were slipping inside Poppy and crooking forward. Rosaline’s mouth pressed against the hollow beneath Poppy’s ear. “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, lips curving against
Poppy’s skin.
Poppy arched against Rosaline, trying to get Rosaline to press harder, fuck her faster. “Uh huh.”
Rosaline curled her fingers a little harder, giving Poppy almost exactly what she wanted.
“You should see yourself. Riding my fingers like you just can’t get enough.
Like you’re desperate for it.” Her teeth grazed the side of Poppy’s throat, breath ghosting against her skin. “Are you desperate for it?”
Her thighs trembled, her insides fluttering. “Yes.”
The answer tumbled off her tongue, more breath than word, an almost soundless noise drowned out by the heartbeat inside her
head.
Rosaline tightened her fist in Poppy’s hair, dragging a whine from her throat. “I want to hear you say it.”
Poppy shut her eyes, a wicked blush creeping up her jaw, heat flooding her cheeks. “I’m—” Her voice cracked, and Rosaline
huffed a laugh, breath hot against her neck.
“My, my, have I actually rendered Poppy Peterson speechless?” Rosaline nipped at the thin, sensitive skin covering Poppy’s
collarbone, the sharp sting sending a bolt of pleasure to her center. Rosaline drew reactions from Poppy she couldn’t control,
the muscles in her calves twitching and her toes curling and back bowing. Each hard, ever quickening curl of her fingers drove
Poppy a little closer to the edge, pressure building, pleasure licking up her spine. “So fucked out and you haven’t even come
yet.”
Her words toed the line between condescension and praise, just the right side of mean, setting Poppy’s blood on fire. They
made her want to work harder, do as Rosaline had asked, chase that feeling she’d gotten when Rosaline told her she begged
pretty. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and licked her lips. “Can I?”
“Hm.” Rosaline licked a stripe up the side of Poppy’s throat, soothing the earlier sting. “Can you what?”
Poppy’s chin wobbled and she struggled for breath.
Rosaline tsk-tsked softly. “Come on. You can do it.”
That. Want turned to need and Poppy threw out a hand, clutching Rosaline’s thigh. “Can I come?”
“I don’t know.” Rosaline smiled against Poppy’s neck. “Can you?”
Just like that, the hand between her legs stilled and Poppy bit down hard on the side of her tongue, choking on a stifled
sob.
Rosaline gave a throaty chuckle followed by a lazy thrust of her fingers, keeping Poppy hovering right there on the edge,
her whole body thrumming like a live wire, close but not close enough. “You’re desperate now, sure. But I wonder . . . just
how desperate can you get?”
This . . . this was either going to be the best thing that ever happened to Poppy, or it was going to kill her. Maybe both,
but there’d be no in-between.
“Please,” she tried, knowing that had worked like a magic word once before.
Rosaline slipped her fingers from Poppy’s cunt, making her whimper at the loss, her legs shaking and hands clenching, squirming
in Rosaline’s lap. “Hm, no. Not yet.”
“Rosaline,” Poppy whined high in the back of her throat, earning another of those soft—evil—chuckles.
“You’ll come when I want you to come,” she said, circling Poppy’s clit with a featherlight touch. “You want to know why?”
“Tell me,” she begged. Whatever hoop Rosaline wanted Poppy to jump through before she’d let her come, Poppy would eagerly
hurl herself through it.
“Because right now?” Her fingers slipped through Poppy’s wetness, three pressing inside, the unexpected stretch so good Poppy keened.
“When we do this?” Rosaline sank her teeth into the side of Poppy’s neck and sucked, no doubt leaving a mark, a bruise that Poppy could press in the morning, a tender reminder of this fever dream of a night.
“When we do this, for however long we do this, you’re mine, Poppy. ”
Poppy was past the point of speech; all she could do was steal greedy, gasping gulps of air as Rosaline dragged the pads of
her fingers against the front wall of Poppy’s cunt as if with a single-minded purpose—to make Poppy lose her goddamn head.
Mine.
She had never belonged to anyone before. Not in any way that counted. Even if it was only temporary, only for a short while,
and even if it wasn’t exactly how Poppy wanted to belong to someone—and wanted someone to belong to her in kind—something inside her swelled, bright, and
hot, and hungry. And it had nothing to do with the brink Rosaline was nudging her toward with each relentless stroke of her
fingers.
“Poppy?” From the way Rosaline said it, this wasn’t the first time she’d called her name, Poppy too lost inside candy-coated
thoughts to hear it.
“Mm?”
“Are you?” Rosaline tugged on Poppy’s earlobe with her teeth. “Are you mine?”
Poppy nodded so fast her head spun. “Yes.”
Rosaline released a ragged breath and pressed a kiss against the bare skin where Poppy’s sleep shirt had slipped, the place
where her shoulder met her neck. Shockingly sweet when her fingers were making filthy slick noises between Poppy’s thighs.
“Good girl.”
Time stopped.