Chapter Thirteen #4
lips around Rosaline’s clit and flicked her tongue fast and hard, determined to make her come because she couldn’t. Not again. No matter what Rosaline said, it would wreck her, send her splintering into a million little pieces
she’d never, ever be able to put back together.
“You’re—oh, fucking hell, Poppy, you’re—god, you’re perfect,” Rosaline babbled, rocking down against Poppy’s mouth. “Feels so—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Good. I’m
so close.”
Fuck, so was Poppy. Everything south of her belly button went molten, and the flimsy, gossamer-thin thread holding together snapped,
the pleasure rolling through her so good, so sharp it almost hurt. A blissful sort of agony that made her eyes prickle and
her vision blur, her fingers digging hard into Rosaline’s hips.
Rosaline bolted upright with a sharp cry, hips jerking and thighs quaking. After a moment she listed to the side and reached
for her phone with a trembling hand, taking mercy on Poppy and shutting off the vibrator just as she passed the point of oversensitivity.
One hand still on the headboard, Rosaline rose up onto her knees and climbed over Poppy, settling into the space beside her.
She leaned in and brushed her mouth against Poppy’s, a sweet kiss that curled Poppy’s toes and took her breath away. She pressed
her lips to the corner of Poppy’s mouth, her jaw, the lobe of her ear, the tender space behind it. Chaste little connect-the-dot
kisses that made Poppy melt into the mattress. Everywhere her lips could reach without moving down the bed, Rosaline kissed.
Task complete, Rosaline flopped back against the pillows with a shuddering sigh. Her lids were heavy and her green eyes soft
as she reached out, thumb sweeping against Poppy’s cheekbone. “Was that okay?”
Her heart squeezed dangerously. Was it okay?
Poppy huffed. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that question.
” As if Rosaline hadn’t made her come so hard she was pretty sure the fabric of the universe had torn, creating a rift in the cosmos, the consequences of which were yet to be discovered. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“Considering my brain may or may not still be leaking out my ears, okay is an understatement.”
Poppy snorted. “Sexy.”
Rosaline tapped the tip of Poppy’s nose with her finger, making her go cross-eyed. She chuckled softly. “You realize I wasn’t
planning on actually sitting on your face, right?”
Poppy scooted closer. The pillow under her cheek smelled like citrus and musk, rose and patchouli. Like Rosaline’s perfume
and sex—if Poppy could bottle the smell she would. Spray it all over her room, bathe in it. Cash would probably have something
to say about that, but he could consider it payback for all those times he’d picked her up back in high school with his funky
ass, sweat- and sock-smelling gym bag in the back seat instead of the trunk where it belonged.
“It’s called face sitting, not face hovering,” Poppy pointed out. “I don’t believe in doing things halfway.”
“Hm, no. You really don’t, do you?” Rosaline grinned and reached out, winding a sweaty strand of Poppy’s hair around her finger
before tucking it behind Poppy’s ear. “I almost crushed you with my thighs. You could’ve suffocated. What would I have told
the police? The headlines, Poppy? I’d have an unmitigated PR disaster on my hands all because of your hubris.”
“Icarus flew too close to the sun and I, what? Buried my face too deep in your pussy?” She laughed. “Bad press surrounding
my hypothetical and untimely demise aside, at least as far as final meals go, I’d have had no complaints.”
Rosaline tucked her face into her pillow with a groan. “That was abominable.”
It really was god awful. And yet she couldn’t help herself. Give her an inch and she was liable to take a mile. “Don’t you know, fallen warriors go to Vulva-halla, Rosaline.”
Without raising her head or looking at Poppy, she pointed at the door. “Get out. Right now. I mean it.”
“Nooo.” She laughed and slipped her arm around Rosaline, encircling her waist, breasts mashed against Rosaline’s back as she clung
to her like a sloth. “I like your bed.”
It was warm and soft and that was even without crawling beneath the sheets, which she’d bet her left tit were just as soft,
if not softer, than the duvet. But far and above all else, the best thing about Rosaline’s bed was that she was currently
in it.
Rosaline cracked open one eye, glaring weakly. “I see how it is. I’m nothing more than a glorified Airbnb to you.”
“More like a true-blue bed-and-breakfast,” she teased, nuzzling the ball of Rosaline’s shoulder. “Except, in case it wasn’t
clear, you’re the break—”
Rosaline lurched forward, swallowing her words with a kiss.
“What am I going to do with you?” Rosaline asked, shaking her head, a smile stealing across her face.
Keep her. If she was looking for suggestions, she should absolutely, 100 percent keep Poppy. Keep her in this bed, just—keep
her, period.
“I’m going to have to gag you, aren’t I?”
Poppy bit her lip and smiled impishly. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“It’s hardly a threat if I intend to make good on it.” Rosaline sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. Poppy
didn’t pout, but it was a near thing. “Are you hungry?”
Starving. Aside from a meager table of hors d’oeuvres in the freezing cold publicists’ lounge Poppy had only briefly poked her head in, there had been no food, not unless you counted the Vosges chocolate truffles Lyric had offered Poppy from her gift bag, which she did not accept.
Only free-flowing champagne and cocktails that Poppy had obviously not indulged in were served during the show, imbibing encouraged, eating not.
Not that, at the time, she’d had much of an appetite. Now was a different story.
Rosaline padded her way across the room to her dresser and rummaged through the top drawer. She tossed a bundle of fabric
at Poppy. “Get dressed.” She slipped a T-shirt over her head, white and oversize. “I’ll whip you up my specialty.”