Chapter Nine #2
skin, which wasn’t perfectly smooth, Poppy picked her favorite shot and sent it to Rosaline.
She settled further into the pillows and trailed her fingertips along the waistband of her panties, shivering at her own teasing
touch. Right now, a thousand miles away in LA, Rosaline was probably looking at the picture Poppy had sent. Any second now,
she was going to text back and god, Poppy didn’t know what she wanted more—Rosaline’s words or a picture in return, which,
knowing Rosaline, would be artistically erotic. Black and white, maybe, to complement all that inked skin. Both would be perfect. She dipped her
fingers beneath the cotton and exhaled sharply, heat stirring low in her gut, a heavy sort of pulsing that made her hips shift
restlessly against the bed.
Her phone rang and she jerked her fingers out of her underwear like she’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Her heart hammered and she fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it, laughing as her hands shook, struggling to switch over to speaker.
“Hi,” she answered, as breathless as if she’d sprinted a mile, blood pumping just as hard. “Not that I’m complaining, far,
far from it, trust me, but I was not expecting this.”
“That,” Rosaline said, clearing her throat, “makes two of us.”
Poppy swept her fingertips up and down the valley between her breasts. “Like I said, I’m a big believer in show, don’t tell.”
“I was asking what you were wearing to the World Music Awards, Poppy.”
Her breath left her in a rush, cheeks filling with heat. “Oh.” Fuck. Poppy was so stupid. “That’s—wow, okay. Sorry. Um. I—I haven’t decided yet. I’ll probably go to Nordstrom downtown.
Buy something off the rack. Don’t want to—” Her voice cracked and she squinched her eyes shut. “Stand out.”
If there was a God, if they were merciful at all, they’d strike Poppy down now and put her out of her misery.
Rosaline let out a strangled-sounding laugh. “Poppy.” The way she said her name managed to be both soft and full of reproach.
One more contradiction to add to the ever-growing list. “Do you really think I give a damn about that now? I want to talk about that picture.”
She seemed bound and determined to give Poppy whiplash. At the very least keep her on her toes.
Poppy gnawed on her thumbnail. “Did you . . . like it?”
“Did I like it?” Rosaline laughed, a little mean in a way that sent a shiver down Poppy’s spine. “I like sunrises and kittens and horror
movies. But that picture you sent? No, Poppy, I didn’t like it. You want to know why?”
She didn’t wait for Poppy to answer.
“Because,” she said. “You’re there, and I’m here, and do you know how fucking expensive it is to charter a flight at such short notice at this time of night?”
Poppy choked on a laugh. “I know I’m hot and all, but there’s no need to buy any carbon credits on my account.”
“I beg to differ,” Rosaline said loftily. “But I suppose the next best alternative would be if you told me what you were doing
dressed like that. Undressed like that?”
She curled her toes into her soft, cotton duvet. “I, uh, was sort of hoping you’d tell me?”
Rosaline chuckled, low and throaty, and a part of Poppy regretted having her on speaker, that she couldn’t hear Rosaline’s
voice directly against her ear. “You’re telling me you didn’t have anything in mind when you took that picture? I mean, what
did you think was going to happen? What did you think I’d say when I saw you like that, posed so pretty, like such—” Her throat
clicked. “I—never mind.”
“Say it,” Poppy pleaded. “What did I look like?”
“You know damn well what you looked like,” Rosaline accused sharply. “Don’t play with me. Do you think you’re being cute?
Fingers where I wished mine were, touching you, skin on—” Her throat clicked for the second time and goddamn, Poppy had never,
ever felt so fucking heady. Dizzy with desire, drunk on—on power. Like even though she was on her back, waiting for Rosaline to
give her permission to touch herself, it still somehow felt like she held the cards. Some cards, just enough of them. “What did you think was going to happen when you sent me that picture?”
“I thought—”
“You didn’t though, did you?” Rosaline chided softly, tongue clicking against the back of those perfect teeth Poppy had yet to taste. Wanted to—to trace. “You just wanted it. Wanted someone to tell you what to do?”
Even though Rosaline couldn’t see, Poppy still nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Are you touching yourself?” Rosaline asked.
“No, I—”
“Don’t lie to me. I saw that hand.”
She shook her head, then remembered she was on the phone and Rosaline couldn’t see her. “I didn’t. I waited. I wanted—”
She couldn’t say it.
“You know what I think you wanted? I think you wanted permission.”
Poppy didn’t answer.
“My question is, do you think you deserve it?” Rosaline didn’t pause long enough for Poppy to answer, not even sure what her
honest answer would be. “From those texts you sent me, it sounds like you’ve been working hard today. I think you deserve
it. Go on.”
Poppy trailed her fingers down her belly. “How?”
Rosaline seemed to shudder. “You know what pisses me off?”
What the hell kind of answer was that? “Kind of feeling like I am right now, to be honest.”
Another of those throaty laughs came through the line. Assuming they’d do this again, Poppy was going to wear earbuds. “The
other night, I feel like—” Her throat clicked. “I barely got to learn how you like to be touched.”
Being touched at all sounded good right now. “You started slow. I kind of hated that, but I—I also didn’t?” she confessed.
“And then, when you didn’t let me until you said I could.”
Rosaline hummed. “Start slow then. Are your breasts sensitive?”
She ghosted her fingers back up front. “Mhmm.”
“Circle your nipples for me.”
Goose bumps rose up on her skin as she did as Rosaline asked—no, told her, and her nipples pebbled, hardening into points. “Feels nice.”
Rosaline scoffed. “If nice is where we’re at, we need to do better. Pinch them.”
She did, pinching her nipples between the pads of her fingers, sucking in a sharp breath at the pleasant sting.
“You make the prettiest fucking noises. Those little whimpers and gasps? Christ, Poppy.”
Her tits throbbed, heavy. “You’re touching yourself too. Right?”
“What do you think?” She laughed. “Unlike you, I’m not really a fan of slow.”
Oh god. “Tell me?”
“Pinch yourself again and I will. Harder this time.”
Squeezing, Poppy pinched until it hurt and then a little harder because Rosaline had told her to and even though she couldn’t
see her right now, Poppy really, really wanted to be good. A bolt of pleasure shot from her chest to her core, her pussy clenching.
A tiny cry fell off her tongue and Rosaline swore softly.
“I grabbed my vibrator within seconds of getting that photo. I’ve had it on practically this entire time,” she said, panting
just a little. “Wishing it was your mouth on me.”
Between her thighs, she was already soaked. She rubbed her legs together, trying to get even a little friction. A groan of
frustration tumbled off her tongue.
“You like the idea of that, huh? Maybe me putting you on your knees? Shoving your face against me? Ordering you to get me
off?”
Iron and salt exploded on her tongue from how hard she bit her lip. “Can I touch myself?”
“I don’t know,” Rosaline laughed. “Can you?”
Bitch. Poppy loved it. “May I touch myself?”
“Ask me nicely.”
Poppy squeezed her eyes shut. “Please.”
At this rate, Rosaline was going to have come twice before Poppy came at all and—she really didn’t hate that.
“Are you still wearing those panties?”
“Yeah.”
“Keep them on. Spread your legs and tug them to the side.”
Parting her legs, Poppy pulled her underwear to the side. The cotton blend bit into the inside of her thigh from the stretch,
and she shivered, the air from the fan cool against where she was soaked.
“I know you said you like slow, but I have something different in mind right now.” Rosaline’s voice was strained like she
was close. “I want you to fuck yourself, Poppy. Three fingers. Pretend they’re mine. I wouldn’t be gentle.”
Poppy dropped her hand between her thighs and—god, she was drenched, arousal seeping from her. Even though she was touching herself, she still inhaled sharply when her fingers
slipped inside, then stole in a deep breath, bracing herself before following Rosaline’s instructions, fucking herself hard,
curling her fingers the way Rosaline had. Her back arched and biting her lip couldn’t even stop the noises clawing up her
throat from slipping out.
“Talk to me,” Rosaline demanded. “What was it you said the other night? I’m going to need you to be really explicit? Paint a picture for me. Do you always get as wet as you did with me, or has it just been a while? Or was it me?”
Her next gasp came out as a cry. “That’s too many questions.”
Rosaline’s laugh was thready and it made Poppy clench.
“I guess you don’t really have to answer.
I must be on speaker because I can hear how wet you are.
” The slick sounds coming from between her thighs filled the room, making her flush hotter than she was already, a mottled blush creeping down her chest all the way to her belly button. “Close already?”
She was, rapidly approaching her peak at breakneck speed. “Uh-huh.”
“Stop.” Rosaline exhaled shakily. “Keep those fingers buried in your cunt but stop moving.”
A cry of frustration escaped her. “God, I hate you.”
“I want to hear you when you come,” Rosaline panted. “And—fuck, seeing as I’m about to come, I don’t want to miss anything.”
Her mouth dropped open. Maybe Poppy hated her a little less, a lot less when she cried out, Poppy’s name on her lips. Poppy’s eyes scrunched and her back bowed a little, pussy pulsing around
her fingers, not coming but so, so fucking close, the sound of Rosaline getting off nearly nudging her over the edge.