22. Poppy
twenty-two
Poppy
Dylan and I sneak away to the barn house twice over the next four nights. During the day, we act like nothing is different between us. At night, he texts his sisters with a story about needing to work, and I slip out before Mona gets home from the bar and meet him at our little hideaway.
But on Wednesday night, we drive out to an abandoned field to spend a couple of hours on a blanket in the back of his truck, drinking beer from the bottle, laughing about our childhoods and making out under the stars.
For the first time in my life, I’m thankful that Dylan never looked twice at me before now. If he’d noticed me at all when we were teenagers, our relationship might have felt something like it does now—euphoric, hungry, obsessive, reckless—but it wouldn’t have been like this, whatever this is, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
Admitting that—even to myself where nobody else can hear it—is hard, and I chase away the bittersweet flavor of my life with a deep swallow of cold lager.
Beneath my bare thighs, Dylan lays naked on his stomach on the truck bed while I straddle his hips and massage the tight spots in his shoulders. It’s too cold for me to lounge around in the nude, so although I’m still wearing my loose sweater on top, I’m completely naked underneath.
I wish I could bottle the intimacy of being together skin-to-skin without sex. It makes the nights we spend together feel less like something scandalous and more like something sacred.
Dylan moans at each dig of my fingers into the tight, hard muscles of his shoulders, and every time his chest reverberates with the satisfied rumble, my pussy gets a little wetter—and so does his bare lower back.
“That feels so good,” he mumbles as I work the knot in his trap. “Don’t stop.”
I press harder, and he grunts but doesn’t tell me to stop. I can almost feel the knot unraveling beneath my fingers, and every so often, Dylan shifts his hips, causing my slick center to slip on his skin.
“What time is it?” he asks, voice muffled by his arms.
I lean to one side to pick up my phone. “Just after eleven,” I mumble, distracted by a text message from Daisy.
“Fifteen more minutes,” Dylan replies before he turns his head, sinks against the blanket, and closes his eyes with a lazy sigh. “Half an hour max.”
I swipe to open the message, read it, and almost drop my phone.
Daisy
I think Dylan is seeing someone! He usually brings his paperwork home, but he’s been “working late” nearly every night this week. I bet he’s sneaking out to meet a girl!
Shit. Shit! My fingers tremble as I tap out a reply.
Do you know who it is?
How the hell did I get myself into this situation? The screen blurs as my eyes switch focus, looking past my phone and catching on the few scattered freckles sprayed across Dylan’s smooth, toned back. Is it possible that something so commonplace as a half-dozen dark freckles can also be so irresistibly sexy? I sweep my hair over one shoulder so I can lean down and kiss each and every one of them, swirling the tip of my tongue across Dylan’s salty skin, and he moans in reply.
My pulse flutters between my legs, and I straighten with chagrin. That’s how I ended up here. I can’t keep my mind—or my mouth—off him.
Beneath me, Dylan’s perfect body rises and falls with the easy breaths of someone without a care in the world, even though I know that’s not true. He worries constantly about everything and everyone, but for a moment, I let myself believe that I’ve done something to relieve a little of the pressure he’s under. It helps to pretend there’s a reason other than my selfishness that we’re risking our relationship with Daisy to spend these nights together.
The three dots of Daisy’s incoming reply flicker at the base of my screen, and I try to mirror the rhythm of Dylan’s lungs—in and out, in and out—to keep the panic at bay. I never wanted to keep secrets from Daisy. I still don’t. What I want is to confess all the things I’m thinking and feeling, the same way we share everything else. Maybe she’d be happy for me. Maybe…
I shake my head and brush my thumb over her smiling profile pic. Maybe she’d be happy…if this thing between me and Dylan were real. If it could last. If I could guarantee her that nobody would get hurt.
But I’m not that stupid. Dylan’s been alone for too long. He’s overworked and wants a little fun, and I remind him of the man he used to be. Dylan doesn’t love me, and we’re not making each other any promises. That’s my reality. It’s why I can’t give up the nanny job in Europe this summer, and it’s also why I haven’t told Dylan that Daisy suspects something. It would only add to his stress when I’ve been trying so hard to make his life easier. Prove I can be what he needs.
There might not be a way out of this that leaves everyone unscathed, but I can hope that the only person hurt in the end is me. And lying here with Dylan in an empty field under the stars, I can’t help but think that my hurt is a price worth paying.
My phone lights up with Daisy’s reply, and I’m ashamed of the relief I feel when I read it.
Daisy
Nope. I thought you might have some ideas. Have you noticed anything different about Dylan lately?
My thumbs hover over the screen until I finally switch it off and set it aside. I can’t tell the truth. I can’t bring myself to tell Daisy a blatant lie.
But what if… What if I told Dylan I didn’t want to leave this summer? That there’s an email in my drafts folder declining the nannying job in Europe as well as the offer of work in Maine? What if I stopped running and stayed in Aster Springs? Would that change anything?
But if I stay, how do I confess to my best friend in the world that I’ve been lying to her for months? I can’t. Not after everything she’s been through and the promises we’ve made to each other. Maybe if I’d been honest from the start…
My chest grows heavy. I wasn’t honest. And it’s too late now.
Desperate for a distraction, I return to massaging Dylan’s shoulders, transferring my weight to my palms and using that as an excuse to tilt my hips and drag my warm, wet center over his smooth skin.
With a choked grunt, Dylan pushes up on his elbows, wiggling a little to indicate he’s about to flip over, and when I rise on my knees to give him room, he spins onto his back and, with a cocky smirk that says he knows exactly what I’m after, he grabs my hips and settles me on top of him again. This time, my naked pussy is against his hard length, and he slides his hands up underneath my sweater to toy with my nipple rings.
“You already came twice tonight,” he says, his voice low and tight. “You want more, Sunshine?”
I moan, my hips rocking and wet folds slipping against his cock as I nod. “Yes. I want more.”
“So fucking greedy.” His sharp jaw clenches, and his fingers dig into my hips, moving me harder and faster on his dick.
I bite my lip, a humming whimper sounding low in my throat. “Greedy for you.”
“Fuck yeah, you are. Just the way I like you. Ravenous and dripping. All for me.”
My pelvis rolls with a mind of its own, the wetness between my legs growing with the deep, brazen tone of his words, the slippery sound of my folds on Dylan’s erection obscenely erotic. Dylan lifts himself onto his elbows so he can look at the place our bodies meet, his eyes growing large and hungry at the picture of my bare pussy sliding against him, my swollen clit peeking out with every shallow thrust.
The muscles and thick veins in Dylan’s forearms and biceps flex as he grabs my hips and lifts me off his cock. He keeps me there with one hand gripping my hip while, with the other, he pulls a condom from his discarded jeans, tears it open with his teeth again, and rolls it onto his cock. My core aches at the performance, and lust speeds hot and urgent across my skin. Who knew my kink would be watching Dylan roll on a rubber?
I take a deep breath as Dylan sweeps the firm crown of his cock along my slick seam, and it’s all I can do not to fall apart when he strokes my clit, but when he notches it against my center, I hover over him, preparing myself for what’s to come next. I haven’t ridden him before, and I can only guess what a dick this size is going to feel like at this angle.
Overwhelming. World-changing. Earth-shattering. Ruined-for-all-men, is-this-real, when-can-we-do-this-again heaven .
Dylan smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and he slides his hands around my waist to knead the soft flesh of my ass before he spreads me open. “You can take it, and it’ll feel fucking amazing when you do.”
I trust him not to go too fast, but more than that, I know he’s right, and as the first delicious inch of him slides into place, I clench my jaw and release a little moan. It feels good. It feels snug. One look at Dylan underneath me, sweat beading on his brow, and I can see the thin hold he has on his self-control. I sink a little deeper, taking a little more, stretching around his girth before I get into my head and tense up. He’s so big. He’ll never fit like this.
“Breathe with me, baby,” Dylan whispers as he slips his thumb around to the front and rubs tight, torturous circles over my clit. Moisture floods my pussy, my core clenches in the first tremors of my orgasm, and I spread my knees to take in a little bit more. Another inch.
“ Breathe , Penelope,” Dylan murmurs again in a way that ignites my soul. He removes his hand from between my legs, and when he sucks his fingers, his eyes roll back in his head. “Fuck. Fuck . Do you know how often I think about eating you? Every day. Every night. Your pussy was made for me, Sunshine. Takes me so well and tastes like mine.”
The way he talks, like I belong to him, opens something in my chest, and I close my eyes to prolong the way this feels. Preserve it so I never forget it.
On my next exhale, he moans and circles his hips, stretching me with expert finesse, pushing in deeper as I breathe past the exquisite burn, applying a little downward pressure to my waist until I’m seated and he’s all the way in. I feel it in my throat as I adjust to his size, conscious of his fingers ghosting over my arms, my rib cage, my waist, my breasts. Soothing and arousing me. Waiting for me to give him the green light to fuck me like he wants to.
“That’s it,” he murmurs between his clenched teeth. “That’s my girl. So tight. So fucking wet. So pretty stretched around my cock.”
I feel so full and just like he promised—so fucking amazing.
“Oh, God .” I whimper at the snug fit of him and accept his hands as he threads his fingers in mine. I hold on tight enough to hurt and press my eyes closed as I test my tolerance with a hesitant roll of my hips. “Oh. My. Freaking. God!”
“Nah, baby.” Dylan’s voice is as tense as I feel as he increases his grip on my hands, both of us hanging onto the last threads of sanity. “It’s just me.”
“Dylan? Dylan!” I rock on him in motions that get a little faster with every swivel until I prove to us both it’s safe to be wild, needy, frantic. Then I shamelessly grind down hard as his cock hits every sensitive spot inside, and my clit rubs against the hard, hot plane of his pubic bone. I’m warm enough now that I don’t need my sweater, so I peel it off my body, but my hair hangs heavy and hot against my neck, so I scoop it up and hold it on top of my head.
“You like that?” Dylan grunts, squeezing my breasts and tweaking my nipple piercings hard enough to hurt before a zing of desire explodes deep in my belly. “You like riding this dick? You like the way I fill you up?”
“Yes,” I tell him breathlessly, bucking as I edge toward an orgasm, my pussy clenching and quivering as I ride closer and closer, then easing as I slow my hips, not wanting to fall off the other side yet. I don’t want this to be over. I want it to last forever. “Oh, God. Yes.”
Dylan grips my hips tighter, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises, and the idea of him making a mark on me pushes me closer to release.
His abdominals clench as he thrusts up into me with rough, selfish pumps that I love. My heart races, every inch of my skin flushes hot and damp, and my thighs tense around his waist as my core clamps down.
“Ride me as hard as you want. Ride me until you come. Make a mess of me, Sunshine. That’s right. Just like that.”
My orgasm crashes over me without warning. One minute, I’m riding the edge of my climax—literally—hovering on a cliff of blissful oblivion, relishing the pain, not wanting the moment to be over. The next, Dylan’s fingers are massaging my clit and pinching my nipple, and the euphoria grows so intense it just explodes. And so do I, soaking Dylan’s lap in my cum, sparks and hot light igniting all over my body, muscles clenching and rippling deep in my core. Over and over until Dylan’s dick pulses and his hips arch up as he releases inside me, and I collapse on his chest, the hot sticky evidence of my orgasm leaking down my thighs.
“Jesus fuck ,” he mutters, scooping my hair to one side so he can rain open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck. “You’re incredible. So fucking perfect. Do you know that?”
I’m floating and falling. That’s the only way to explain it. I don’t know if it’s his words or the flicker of his tongue that makes me shiver. And as the cool air caresses the sweat on my skin, Dylan rubs his palms over the goosebumps on my arms before he drags the blanket over me and carefully rolls me onto the truck bed next to him.
“Wait here,” he says, and I watch his tight round ass as he slides off the end of the truck, collects something from the cab, and returns with a damp washcloth and a clean towel.
He kneels beside me and unwraps me like a present, then he opens my thighs and wipes them clean with gentle, competent sweeps of the washcloth.
“It’s warm,” I say with surprise as the cotton makes contact.
“Thermos,” he replies, like his thoughtfulness means nothing when it means everything.
“You don’t have to—”
He silences me with a stern frown. “I want to.”
I lay still as Dylan takes care of me, and the scary part is that I could get used to this. He’s so careful and so particular, respectfully running the towel over my body. I feel cherished. Adored. Even loved. And that’s the most frightening part of all.
When he’s done, he sets the linens aside and wraps us both up in the blanket, two caterpillars in one cocoon, and though there’s a lot we could talk about, we lay in silence, soaking up the few minutes more we have together before we start all over again tomorrow, pretending that we aren’t sneaking around behind everyone’s back. That I’m just the nanny and he’s just my best friend’s brother.
Pretending that I’m not wishing he’d ask me to stay. That I’m not tragically, ruinously, and heartbreakingly in love with him.