Chapter 27 – Ivan #2
“Suck,” I commanded.
Such a sinful sight. On her knees, the prayer gleaming in her eyes.
Poppy pulled my thumb deep into her mouth.
“Do you see what you do to me?” I breathed. I pumped my cock, once—twice. “Does it scare you?”
“No,” she garbled around my hold.
I smirked. For once, I liked that answer on her lips. But only just this once.
“What should I do about this?” I slid my grip over the velvety surface. “I hate taking care of the problem alone in my room. But if that’s what you want me to do, I’ll go.”
Her chest rose and fell as she considered me. Up and down. Air in and out. Behind me, the showerhead pelted rain in a relentless onslaught. The other wand shot water in a cutting stream against the wall, splashing back on us as it fell.
Poppy pushed against my thumb with her tongue. I let her spit it out. If she refused me, I might die. But then, she leaned forward. That lush mouth closed hesitantly over the tip.
Pleasure shot straight up my shaft. It struck deep in my belly. I’d had body shots from an opponent’s fist that packed less punch than this.
Poppy’s elegant fingers brushed over my thighs, exploring the ridges and dents of muscle. She rose on her knees, pulling me deeper into her mouth.
Stars bloomed in the bathroom. The world went black then bright white in a blinding instant.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “You’re good at this.”
Poppy snorted. “Beginner’s luck.”
The drone of water and a full mouth muffled the words. I stared at her, not trusting what I heard.
She was hesitant at first, sucking and tasting, but as she gained control of the situation, her tempo increased.
I braced myself on the shower wall, holding the top of the glass door on the other side. My balls drew tight, poised and ready to unleash. When I couldn’t hold myself back any longer, I gently tipped my hips and thrust into her mouth.
Poppy gagged.
“Can you take it?” I growled.
She sucked in a sharp breath…and then gave me a nod.
I thrust again. “Good, I knew you could.”
Reaching behind, I fumbled for the shower hose. “Here. Put this back between those gorgeous legs.”
Poppy lifted her hand, blinding clasping for the showerhead. She was concentrating hard on taking every measured thrust I gave.
“That’s it, rub the water on your clit, flower.”
A delicious moan caressed the tip of my cock in the back of her throat.
Poppy hugged an arm around my knee, taking the balance she needed to pleasure herself while ending me.
If right now was all about my needs, I would have fisted her hair and drove into her mouth until tears and snot ran down her face. But I controlled each movement, not letting go to the wild flash of ecstasy.
Every nerve ending in my body was alive, tuned into the pants, the gasps, the moans.
With a groan, I cursed violently in my native tongue.
Poppy’s smirk told me she understood at least a couple of the choice words.
My beautiful flower. She’d come into my life, bringing back the stolen piece and showing me one that I didn’t know I was missing. Now my only focus was to make her stay.
“Now spank that pretty little pussy.”
Her nostrils flared as she sucked in a surprised breath.
I tightened my grip on her hair. “I said, spank it.”
A weak, wet slap echoed under the rain. I chuckled. It was intoxicating corrupting this beautiful wildflower.
“Nice, but this time, do it harder.” My voice held a sharp note. It came out in a low, tight snap.
Poppy obeyed. Shock flickered in her shadowed eyes.
She liked it.
“Alright, Poppy, you can come.” I relaxed, enjoying the feel of her lips bobbing on my cock as she focused on taking her own pleasure. In seconds, she was breathing hard. “That’s it, beautiful, give it to me. Give it all to me.”
Her cry of pleasure was muffled by the heavy gag. Poppy stiffened and then collapsed in a panting heap. My dick slipped from her mouth. The loss of heat was physically painful.
I crouched before her, tipping her chin up so as not to miss a thing. Wildfire danced through her eyes.
“You are stunning,” I confessed.
Chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, she licked her top lip, then pulled the bottom between her teeth. “That was…that was intense.”
I smirked. “Come on, let’s get you out. You’re starting to prune.”
Poppy gripped my thighs and shook her head. “We’re—we’re not finished.”
Whatever trick of the universe sent her my way was having a good laugh at my expense. I nearly passed out as she bent over my lap, taking my cock deeper. At this angle, I bottomed out, hitting the back of her throat.
My fingers slipped, finding no purchase on the sides of the tub. Poppy cupped my balls, massaging and squeezing. With her other hand, she pumped the base of my shaft.
I was going to come. My seed was going to be inside her. Fuck. That thought was all it took.
Shoving my fist into my mouth to stifle the roar, I exploded down her throat.
“You’d better swallow—” I gasped. “Every last—” Breathe. “Drop!”
Poppy did. Her throat worked, taking everything I gave.
With a twitch, I finished.
The beautiful sinner sucked one last time, draining the very last of me. I hissed and felt her smile around my length. She released me, bending to lick from root to tip.
The sensation was pure torture.
I grabbed her around the back of the head, brought her up, and crushed my mouth against hers. There wasn’t time to think that the slight tang of salt was me. I just needed her lips on mine more than I needed to breathe.
We kissed in a desperate tangle of arms and legs, climbing on top of one another and fighting a war over the last of the oxygen. This woman, this shy, adorable little thing, was the very devil in disguise.
How was I so lucky to find her?
I wasn’t thanking the heavens, even though I’d been taught to as a boy to do that when the smallest of blessings came our way. I also wasn’t letting fate change its fucking mind.
Poppy belonged to me. Part of me was inside her, for heaven’s sake. I counted the days until I slid myself between her legs and left a more permanent mark.
“Stop, I’ll faint!” Poppy broke away, breathing hard.
I cupped the side of her face. “I’ll catch you. I swear it.”
She studied me. It was a test. I let down my guard, bearing my soul and hoping she believed it was true.
“Okay,” she finally whispered.
I pushed her gently onto her bottom. Reaching up behind us, I grabbed the detached shower head from where it swung. I also adjusted the stream to a more gentle cadence. While the overhead flow became rain, I scooted behind Poppy, wrapping my thighs along hers.
The shampoo bottle popped after I flicked the top.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Hush,” I rumbled. “I want to.”
Poppy fidgeted.
I looked between her long hair, hanging in tendrils between her shoulder blades. I used a coin size for mine, but for this? I shrugged and filled my cupped hand. Careful not to drop the sweet berry scent, I massaged it into her temples. Sudds formed, bubbling and escaping down her body.
Poppy hid a soft laugh behind her hand. “I didn’t need that much.”
I frowned. “Well, now I know for next time.”
Poppy’s shoulders snapped tight.
Fuuuck, I shouted in my mind.
Here we were. Right back to the same place, the one where she said no.
There would be a next time. Hell, if I had it my way, this woman would never shower alone again.
“Tell me about your life,” I said to divert whatever bullet train was zig-zagging through her mind. “I know you’re Penelope’s cousin, but I don’t know who you are.”
She’d also mentioned that she left her father and brother in the underworld. I didn’t want to remind her of that specific detail, but I was certain it would come out in her story if I pressed the right places in her memory.
Poppy drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “My last name isn’t Greenbriar. I took my uncle’s name about six months after I ran away from home.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, then wrapped her arms tighter around her bent legs. “Everyone assumed I was another Greenbriar in Carrington. It was easier to blend in.”
That made sense. “If you’re not a Greenbriar, then who are you?”
Maybe that was the key to why she wasn’t yet mine.
I dashed that thought away with a vicious slap.
My fingers pushed into the crown of her head. I rubbed and massaged, tipping her chin to the left and right as my touch pressed into the muscles of her neck.
“Caravello. My Christened name is Francesca Isabella Maria Caravello, but my mama called me Poppy. It stuck.”
The scorching rain drops seemed to turn to ice. Cold slithered through my veins.
“As in Massimo Caravello?” My throat was suddenly raw, words sticking to the sides as the air forced them out.
“He’s my brother,” Poppy whispered. “My late father was Don Tito.”
That vile sonofabitch who ruled east of us was a legend—just like his father. But Tito’s father, if I remembered my history, was one of the men who overthrew the Purple Gang in the beginnings of the Detroit Mob. It would take a horrifying bastard to undermine that crew back in the day.
No wonder…. This explained a lot. Her reluctance to be in the underworld wasn’t just preference, it was biology. A survival instinct that threaded through her very being.
I began to rinse the suds from her hair. There were too fucking many.
“There,” I said after a good five minutes.
Poppy turned her head and placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “Thank you, Ivan.”
I traced my thumb along the high point of her cheek, pushing a ball of suds out of the way. “You’re welcome, flower.”
She smiled. We lingered in the moment. What must she see when she looked at me? When she thought about what I was capable of? Her imagination couldn’t be too far wrong. I might not have Don Tito’s fascination with unnecessary violence, but my soul was every bit as black as her family’s.
This woman was the one good thing that came from the hell that was the Detroit Underworld.
I understood.
Poppy sighed and rose. Shutting off the water, she pulled back the glass door to collect a towel. Instead of drying herself, her arms wrapped around my waist as she smothered me with it.
Gentle hands brushed the water away. She patted over my muscles, and I gave her time to study my body close up. She seemed to be reading my history in the lines of ink and the faded scars. If she asked for details, I would’ve told her. But she never did.
“That was…nice.” Her cheeks were dark again.
Nice? Nice! “I’ve got to do better if the only word you can come up with is nice,” I teased.
“Run along and give me some privacy. Please.” She shifted the towel, draping it over her middle.
I shuffled into my boxers then scooped my clothes off the floor.
Once in the kitchen, I toweled off my hair with the green cotton towel hanging from the stove.
The late don’s daughter was in my house.
That conversation needed to be continued.
Why was she in the middle of nowhere? Her father would have used her. He would have—
Red tinted the room.
What had that old, fat Italian bastard done to her?
She ran away.
Something happened.
I tugged my jeans. I nearly caught myself in the zipper—a rookie mistake.
I was too mad to put the shirt on. Downstairs, my weights beckoned me.
I could work some of this rage out, before I made some phone calls.
My knives hadn’t eaten Italian in a few years.
If the father was dead, the brother would have to do.
It didn’t matter what happened. Because of the very fact that Poppy had felt the need to run, I was going to gut the Italian swine.
A firm knock on the front door had me pulling out my gun. Crossing into the living room, I cut the TV, the light extinguishing in the room. Creeping to the far end of the bay window, I peeked out.
A man dressed in a fucking sheriff’s uniform glared at my front door.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Tucking the gun against the small of my back, I moved to open it.
“Yes?” I snapped.
The clean-cut man looked me up and down. Dirty blond hair dusted the top of his head, and a sunburn could be seen on what was exposed of his throat. When he met my gaze, judgement filled his eyes.
“Is Poppy available?” he asked.
A dozen thoughts flipped through my mind, each singed with the same red fury that was already boiling through me.
“No, she’s not fucking available—”
“Kevin?” Poppy gasped. She was still in the damn towel.
The insane desire to stab the man’s eyes out, to prevent him seeing her like this consumed me.
It was only tempered by the little voice in the back of my mind that she’d come out like that.
For me. I gripped the door tighter, keeping back the instinct for violence, giving her the opportunity to trust me—to trust the monster who wanted to worship her.