Chapter 11 #3
Poppy’s mouth formed a perfect O as he bottomed out, she whimpered something that sounded like his name.
Her hips rose to meet his, greedy for him, and he had to grip her outer thigh to hold it in place and keep from losing all control.
The urge to obliterate, to conquer, was there, but so was the knowledge that he could go over the edge at any moment, and that paradox, that tightrope, made every second a sexual minefield.
He pulled out, almost all the way, and then drove back in with more force, more speed, and a shuddering groan.
The friction was so sharp and focused that it bordered on pain.
The next thrust was even harder, even faster, as he set a rhythm, slow at first, so he could see her face and the way her breasts bounced each time he entered her.
She bit her bottom lip, and her arms tugged against the restraints.
He heard the bedsprings squeal and noticed, distantly, that sweat beaded down the back of his neck.
Normally that would have been a sensory nightmare, but now it was just more proof that he was real, alive, and present in a way he’d never been before.
When he felt her breathing pattern change, he shifted the angle, adjusting her hips upward until her pelvis was tilted toward him, and suddenly he was hitting something inside her that made her cry out and thrash against the restraints.
The headboard banged against the wall. She was wild, glorious, and abandoned.
He hooked her knee over his elbow, then leaned forward, resting his hand beside her face, folding her nearly in half, and with the new leverage he drove into her even deeper, even harder.
Now every thrust hit her G-spot with the precision of a laser beam.
She cried out, begging for him not to stop, each sound from her a symphony of need.
He bent down and sucked her puckered nipple into his mouth, rolling the bud with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth.
She whimpered loudly, a feral little sound that vibrated through his bones.
He loved the taste of her sweat, the salt on her skin, and the way her body trembled and gave out beneath him.
He could feel her orgasm building, a tidal wave gathering mass, and when it hit, she clamped down on his throbbing shaft.
She convulsed, her inner thighs trembled, and AJ kept the rhythm, never breaking pace.
He was close, so close, the tingling started at his toes, radiating up his calves and thighs, a tightening of every muscle in his body.
But he didn’t want to come like this. He pulled out, forcing himself to slow down while she caught her breath.
He untied her wrists with trembling fingers, and when her arms fell to the bed, she looked up at him with eyes so soft and trusting he nearly came just from that.
He took her hands, kissed her knuckles, then guided them behind his neck.
She immediately locked her arms around him, yanking him down so he was chest-to-chest with her, clit grinding against his pubic bone.
AJ entered her again, her velvet tunnel slick from her release, and this time the sensation was so raw, so overwhelming, that he could feel it in every cell of his body.
Every pump sent a shockwave through his entire being.
She dug her heels into the mattress, lifting her ass and taking all of him, greedy, insatiable, perfect.
Her hands ran through his hair, not gently but not rough, and for the first time in his life the feeling was more pleasure than pain, a sharp and beautiful contrast to the pressure building in his balls as they tightened against his body.
He lasted longer than he ever thought possible, and when his orgasm finally tore through him, it was explosive, a total white-out of sensation and consciousness.
Pleasure so intense he felt tingles in his fingernails, in every cell, every atom of his body rushed through him like a tsunami.
He buried his face in her shoulder and groaned into her skin, feeling his own pulse throb in his very DNA as he emptied himself inside her.
They stayed locked together, bodies twitching in the aftershocks, for what felt like hours.
Eventually, the world crept back into focus.
The air in the room was thick with sex, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant hum of a fan.
AJ tried to move, but his arms and legs were jelly.
The only thing he could do was rest his head on her chest and listen to the mad gallop of her heart.
He realized, dimly, that he’d never come so hard in his life.
He’d never let anyone see him this undone, never let experienced intimacy in this way.
It was terrifying and liberating at the same time.
He felt defenseless, stripped down, but not in the way that usually made him panic.
More like he’d been emptied out to make room for something new and better.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I mean, was that okay?”
AJ was exhausted, completely spent. He was sure part of that had to do with not sleeping well since returning from his deployment. But another part of it was that he’d never shared such an intense, personal moment with another person. He’d given everything to it, not holding anything back.
“It was more than okay.”
He pushed off of Poppy and immediately walked to the bathroom.
It wasn’t because of anything to do with her, he just couldn’t have any bodily fluids or sweat or anything on him.
He went inside, closed the door, turned on the shower, and then looked for a towel.
He realized when he didn’t find one that he hadn’t even discussed aftercare with her.
That was something he always talked about with a partner before they had sex.
Fuck. He’d probably offended her. The reason he always discussed it with partners was because in college, he’d gone to take a shower and come out to find Dalia sobbing because she thought he was implying that she was dirty or something.
There was a knock on the door, and AJ opened it. “I’m sorr—”
Poppy stood in an oversized shirt, eating a cookie, holding a folded towel, his clothes, and also a pair of men’s sweats and a T-shirt, looking very much not offended.
“Here you go. I brought your clothes, and these are Liam’s in case you wanted to—I mean, just if you wanted to stay the night or not, or just, you know, be comfortable and hang out, or you could be naked.
Or you can just go home. Whatever, anyway, the water takes about ten minutes to warm up, and then it gets scalding hot.
Those are the two temperatures there are.
Ice cold, scalding hot. Oh, and the water pressure sucks hairy balls. ”
AJ looked down at the pile of goodwill she offered him. “How are you not married?”
This woman was perfect.
“I know, right?” she said dramatically. “I’m a catch. That’s what I’ve been saying for years.”
“You are.” He wasn’t joking, but he could see that she was.
She stared up at him, and for a split second he saw there was a vulnerability in her eyes. She swallowed. “Do you remember I said that my life was different than I thought it was going to be?”
AJ nodded.
“Well, I was really picky because I thought I was looking for the father of my children. But I found out I’m…that I can’t have children. So, who knows, now that my standard is lower, maybe I’ll be off the market by next week.”
She placed the folded towel and bundle of clothes in his hands, her smile a shield for something more vulnerable beneath.
“Remember, ice cold, scalding hot.” She turned, bare-legged, cookie in hand, and padded off toward the kitchen.
Her words still hummed in the air, the kind of joke that wasn’t really a joke at all.
AJ watched her go, struck by the duality she carried, quick with a punchline, quicker to mask the tremor of real feeling.
The offhand way she’d said, “Maybe I’ll be off the market by next week,” had bothered him more than he expected.
He saw the truth of what she was beneath the joke, that she’d lowered some internal bar, that she saw herself as less than, now that biology had dealt her a different hand.
He wanted to argue, to tell her she was more, more than any genetic lottery could quantify, but he didn’t know how to say any of that without sounding like he was making it worse.
He shut the bathroom door behind him and took inventory. The bathroom was pristine, almost militarily so, all soft colors and minimalist bath products. He closed his eyes and listened to the white noise of running water, the clean separation from the chaos of a few minutes ago.
When he finally stepped under the showerhead, the spray was just shy of boiling, and struck his skin in a thousand discrete points, washing away the stickiness of sweat, the salt of her skin, and the shockwave of what they’d just done.
He braced his arms against the tile and let the water hit the back of his neck until the world shrank to sound and heat.
He replayed the last hour in his mind, every frame.
The way she’d been genuinely excited about his neurodiversity and then been so thoughtful about intimacy.
The way she’d let him tie her wrists but never gave up any control, not really, not for a second.
The way her body had welcomed him in, utterly unguarded, her pleasure so immediate and total that it felt like a kind of gift.
The way she’d opened up after, not just body but her whole self, asking if what she’d done was okay, as if she might need reassurance.
She was a contradiction at every turn. Radiantly confident one moment and so heartbreakingly unsure the next.
He lathered soap along his arms, then his chest, scrubbing harder than necessary, as if he could erase the rawness of his own reaction.
He thought about Dalia, who’d once cried because she thought his post-coital showers meant she was dirty, and about the string of women after her, each one a little farther away than arm’s-length, his walls a little higher, and his tolerance a little more impervious than the last. None of them had ever risked the kind of honesty Poppy had.
He rinsed the soap residue off, toweled himself dry, and slipped into Liam’s sweats and t-shirt.
He would never wear a stranger’s clothes, but he’d grown up with Liam.
Liam was like a brother to him. In fact, sometimes, he felt as close to him than Niko.
For most of their childhood, he’d been convinced that Liam and Frankie would end up together, not Frankie and Tristan.
Which did make AJ wonder how Liam would feel about him sleeping with his sister.
That was a problem for a different day. Tonight, he was going to focus on Poppy.
He opened the door expecting to see Poppy in the kitchen, maybe at the table or at the sink.
Instead, it was empty. Poppy was curled up on the couch, sound asleep.
Her hair, wild and radiant, fanned across the cushions, and her mouth was slightly open, as if she’d run out of energy mid-sentence.
The cookie, half-eaten, rested on a napkin on her lap.
For a moment AJ just watched her breathe.
He was hit with an ache so pure it almost hurt.
He wanted to memorize everything about this, the way her eyelashes trembled against her cheek, the faint snore that caught at the end of every exhale, and the vulnerability of someone who trusted the world enough to fall asleep with a practical stranger in her house.
He crossed the room and leaned down. He could have woken her, could have whispered her name, and asked if she wanted to be moved to bed.
But instead, he slid his arms under her knees and behind her back and lifted her, careful as a medic carrying a patient but also more possessive than he meant to be.
After walking to her room, he laid her gently on the bed, and she rolled toward him, pulling him down.
He crawled in beside her, and she snuggled against his side, her leg hooked over his thigh, her palm splayed over his chest.
AJ never cuddled with people. He also didn’t sleep at partners’ homes.
Both were deeply uncomfortable for him. Both of those rules were exhibits as to why he’d been accused of not being able to compromise.
So why lying in Poppy’s bed with her draped over him felt like the most natural, right thing in the world made zero sense to him.
But right now, he just let himself exist in the quiet calm of his spirit.
He stroked her hair once, twice, then closed his eyes and let the blackness come.
The next thing he was aware of was waking before dawn, his body tangled with hers, the unfamiliar comfort of it like a second skin.
He didn’t move and didn’t want to disturb her.
He just listened to the slow exhale of her breath, to the heater clicking on, and to the first tentative sounds of morning.
For the first time in years, his mind, his body, and his soul were at total, complete peace.