24. Poppy
twenty-four
Poppy
The day Charlie and Daisy leave for San Francisco starts like any other Saturday, and it isn’t until Izzy and I pull into the driveway following her ceramics class that the simmering anticipation of the last week bubbles into full-blown butterflies.
One weekend playing house with Dylan starts now.
I cut the engine and unbuckle my seatbelt, and when my phone pings with a text message from Daisy, I reluctantly pick it up.
Daisy
Remember the plan. Text me the minute Dylan tells you he’s going to The Hill to ‘work’ this weekend. I don’t care how late it is. I need to know who he’s seeing! Do you think it’s Molly—the girl from the bar?
In the back seat, Izzy heaves a sigh, and instead of squirming out of her booster seat like she normally would, she stares distractedly out her window.
“You okay, Little Bee?”
Izzy shrugs and plucks at her pale pink tutu. “I guess so.”
“Are you tired?”
Izzy shrugs again but yawns widely, confirming my suspicions.
“You know what? It’s been a big week, and I’m tired too,” I tell her. “What do you say we go inside for some quiet time?”
Izzy’s half-hearted agreement gives me an excuse to heart Daisy’s message, throw my phone back in my tote, and forget about her suspicions. And I do it with relief.
Daisy has spent the entire week obsessed with the idea that Dylan is secretly involved with someone. I’ve spent the entire week trying to avoid the subject. And I still haven’t told Dylan that his sister might be on to us. I act like mess and chaos are my happy places, but this time there’s too much at stake, and I’m scared about what might happen next.
Never in my life have I felt so high and so low at the same time. I’ve finally made the kind of mess I can’t run away from.
There are still a couple of hours to kill before Dylan comes home to make dinner, so Izzy and I change into the matching cotton candy-colored sweats I purchased especially for this weekend, curl up on the sofa with a couple of blankets, novelty tiaras, and soup bowls filled with cereal, and press play on our favorite movie.
We’re at the scene where Rapunzel realizes she’s the lost princess when Izzy’s head lolls against my side. She’s fallen asleep, so I remove the half-empty bowl from her grip, snuggle her under my arm, and sink deeper into the cushions. It’s so cozy that I close my eyes for a moment too…and suddenly Dylan is there, crouching beside the sofa and scooping Izzy up into his arms.
“Oh. Hi.” I shift up onto my elbows and squint around the dark room. “We must have—”
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s past her bedtime anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier. I know we talked about making dinner together tonight, but the restaurant was busy. I sent you a text. Did you get it?”
I rub my eyes and lean down to search my tote. “No. I’m sorry. I missed it.”
“That’s okay. Let me put Izzy to bed, and I’ll be right back.”
“I can do it.”
I start to stand, but Dylan stops me with a perfect smolder.
“Don’t be a brat. Do as I say and stay right there.”
I hit him with a mock pout, then drop back against the sofa. But as soon as he hits the landing at the top of the stairs, I’m on my feet, tote in hand, dashing to Daisy’s room where I’m supposed to sleep tonight. But I’m not. I’ll be in Dylan’s room. In Dylan’s bed. Wrapped up in his sheets. Burrowing my face in his pillows and inhaling the scent of him in the fabric.
I disappear into Daisy’s bathroom, strip off my tracksuit and remove my everyday underwear, then stand naked at the basin as I brush my teeth and weave my hair into braids before looping them around my head in that Scandinavian style that always makes Dylan wince a little like he’s being tormented by dirty thoughts. And I want to torment him tonight. I want to push all those buttons I’ve been toying with for years, only this time, I want to take it all the way. I want to see him snap, and I want to watch the animal in him go wild. I want to see what happens when Dylan Davenport really loses control.
And I want the reason for his downfall to be me.
I step into the bedroom and hurry to the duffel lying open on the end of the double bed, a mound of clothes already spilling out of it, and search for the skimpy underwear I bought just for tonight. As I pluck the scraps of black lace from the mess, Dylan clears his throat in the open doorway, and I jump as I spin around.
“Jesus!” I smack a palm across my bare chest and close my eyes as my heart flutters behind my hand. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” Dylan replies, but his voice is low and husky and not sorry.
He moves into the room, closing the door behind him, and I stand taller, drop my hand, and make sure he’s got a full view of every damn inch of me.
He leans against the door frame, fully dressed, making me highly aware of my nakedness. I might be vulnerable, but judging by the way his eyes darken, I’m also the one with the power. As a familiar rush of adrenaline storms my system, I drop my lingerie on the bed and cross my arms under my breasts, lifting them higher and pushing them together. Dylan’s eyes fall, and desire dances across my body as his gaze trails over my nipple piercings, across my stomach, over my smooth bare pussy, and finally my thighs before they rake upward again.
I can almost see his self-control crumbling in real time, watching the flex of his hands and the clench of his jaw as he stares like my bare body is a taunt he’s trying to rise above.
“Can I help you?” I lift my nose in the air. “I was getting ready for bed.”
“I can see that.” Dylan sweeps his gaze down my body again, pausing at the apex of my thighs, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Like a reflex, my own eyes drop to the fly of his jeans, the hint of a bulge straining behind the denim.
He moves toward me, and I tense my thighs to capture the throbbing desire between them. Dylan takes another step toward me, not stopping until we’re chest to chest, his blue eyes growing hotter with every pace. My breath comes so fast I’m close to hyperventilating, and as my pierced nipples brush the cotton of his shirt, Dylan looks down at me with a smirk.
“We both know you’re coming to my bed tonight,” he murmurs.
My breath quivers as he slides his hand up over my breast, my pulse flies when he skates his fingertips across my collarbone, and wetness inches down my inner thighs as he settles his fingers gently around my throat.
I raise one eyebrow and pretend I’m not throbbing wetly for him. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
Dylan laughs lightly as the tips of his fingers press a little tighter around my throat. “I am. Fucking on tabletops and barn house floors and truck beds under the stars has its own appeal, but when we spend half that time watching the clock, we don’t get a chance to prolong the tease of wanting what we shouldn’t have. And that changes tonight.”
I swallow deeply as ancient need aches in every bone, every vein, every memory. That’s always been the delicious pain of being close to Dylan. The constant craving.
I angle my hips toward him, searching out the hard ridge in his jeans for a brush of much-needed friction, but my pelvis ghosts past the denim-clad muscle of his thick thigh.
Fuck. I want him to be the one to lose control. And here I am, one direct order away from falling to my knees and begging this man to put his cock in my mouth.
He leans in, and his warm breath caresses the soft hollow beneath my ear. “You’re doing what I tell you to do tonight. And you’re going to enjoy it.”
My eyes float closed at the command in his voice. “Quit being so bossy… Chef .”
I feel his smile as he drags the tip of his nose along my jaw, and I listen as something in the room clicks, coming to life with a soft mechanical hum. I don’t have time to figure out what it is before the edge of a vibrator circles the tip of one breast.
With a pained whimper, my knees buckle, but Dylan holds me upright with a hand around my throat and a hard thigh between my legs. I keep my eyes closed as the vibrator on my nipple sends ripples of arousal deep into my core, grinding myself against Dylan’s leg like I’ve got no shame.
“Quit being a fucking brat,” he replies, “and go to my room. Now.”
My last thread of control frays to nothing as I reply with weak defiance, “Make me.”
Dylan’s hand remains around my neck, but he removes his leg from between mine and switches off the vibrator. I open my eyes in time to see him tuck my Galentine’s Day toy in his back pocket.
I gasp as he slips his hand over my pussy, fingers gliding through my wet folds, and squeezes me hard enough to make me moan.
“You like driving me crazy, don’t you, Sunshine?” he practically purrs. “You like tormenting me. Teasing me. You like it when I glare and scowl. Get frustrated and annoyed. You like getting in my head, so I can’t think of anything but you.”
His fingers work me expertly, drawing more moisture from my core, and I latch onto his shoulders to help steady myself. His words register in another part of my brain, the one not fogged up by the wretched need to be fucked really freaking hard, and I rejoice inside. I do drive him wild.
Even if right now, I’m the one going insane.
Dylan’s thumb lands on my clit, rubbing back and forth as he slides a single finger inside me. “Tell me you get off on torturing me,” he demands.
“Ne— Ne— Never,” I gasp as an orgasm threatens to undo me.
And then, without warning, Dylan’s gone. His hand disappears from between my thighs, his fingers are no longer wrapped around my throat, and the scent of him fades as he steps back.
Dylan licks me off his fingers as he says, “You’ve got two choices, Penelope. You can admit to being a total brat, and I can reward you with the kind of orgasms that’ll ruin you for the rest of your life. One after another after another…”
A whimper sounds deep in my chest, and Dylan smirks.
“Or,” he continues, “you can keep playing this game, and I’ll edge you until you’re begging me to let you come. And I won’t. Not until you admit that you’re only happy when you’re driving me crazy. That you like playing games. That you’ve been waiting for me to lose it and…do what, exactly?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I creep my fingers toward my clit, wanting to show him that I don’t care about his threats. I can make myself come if I choose to.
His gaze flickers downwards, and I freeze.
“Go on,” he says in an ominously quiet tone. “Touch yourself. I dare you.”
Shit. He wouldn’t really leave me here to sleep alone, would he? I’m wound too tight to risk it, too desperate for these orgasms he’s dangling like a carrot, so I do as I’m told and drop my hand, but I don’t admit that he’s right. That I’ve been pushing him toward this moment for years.
Dylan smiles at my obedience—or maybe it’s the way I try to glare through the haze of my arousal.
How the fuck did this happen? I was supposed to be the one holding the cards tonight. I was the one who was going to push Dylan to his limits so I could see what happened when he lost control. Now, the only one here at risk of losing their mind is me.
“Good girl,” Dylan murmurs, and I wish those words weren’t magic between my thighs. He plucks my robe from the pile of clothes and swings it around my shoulders. “Now go to my room, lay down on the bed, and spread your pretty thighs.”
I narrow my eyes even as my traitorous body propels me toward the bedroom door. Dylan takes hold of my arm as I pass him, stopping me so he can whisper in my ear. “I’ll have you begging to come within minutes.”
I summon up all the strength I can to stare him down, letting a smile play on my mouth as his gaze drops to my lips, and it occurs to me that Dylan might think he’s in control here, but I’ve got him right where I want him. Wrapped around my finger.
“I can’t wait to see you try.”