11. Chapter Eleven
I’m as hard as a fucking steel pipe as she grinds on me. And in a fucking skirt. Face to face. Chest to chest, legs spread, and oh fuck. I”ve never seen anything hotter in my life.
It”s mind-blowingly fantastic. I refuse to blink, terrified of losing out on any part of this experience. I need to see every second of her getting herself off on my cock. Normally I don’t care if a chick gets off or not, but watching her do this is so fucking hot. I need to know how she looks when she comes and the sounds she makes when doing so.
As she bites down on her bottom lip, a soft whimper escapes her, breaking the silence.
“You like that, Princess,” I ask, a hint of excitement and anticipation hidden within my words. “Open your eyes. Let me watch you because it”s fucking hot seeing you enjoy my cock.”
My hand rises and I can’t resist tracing my fingers along her plump lips, reliving the intoxicating experience her mouth unleashed upon me a week ago.
Her eyes flutter open, and I”m drawn to the strong longing and desire in her gorgeous blue eyes. Holy shit, she”s fucking hot, and I”m such a dumbass for never realizing it. This chick doesn”t compare to those other dull, self-centered bitches I usually bang. They are nothing compared to her. They”re all as fake as their phony orgasms.
She lets out a little moan and picks up the pace, grinding against me even harder. Even though she’s getting herself off, she is taking me right along with her. Her body instinctively arches to meet mine. She”s practically begging for more, thrusting with all her might. As if she wants even more of me. I never give a shit about whether the girl comes. It”s all about me getting off. But fuck me, I’m getting pleasure from just watching her, and I haven’t even got my dick in something warm. This girl is blowing my fucking mind, and I can’t wait to watch the second she shatters all over my cock.
“Rub that sweet pussy all over me,’ I add, my breath quivering with pleasure. “I want to watch you come, Princess. I want to see how beautiful you are when you let go.”
”I”m so close,” she moans, her voice filled with desperation, as her breath hitches with every word.
As the grinding intensifies, her grip on my shoulders tightens, bordering on pain. I can’t explain why, but I have an overwhelming urge to kiss her. The feeling of someone’s lips pressed against mine is unfamiliar to me. And I have no clue why I’m desperate to taste her mouth.
But I don’t. I hold myself back because I don’t do that shit. I prefer to keep it strictly a transaction to fuck them and then leave to avoid any personal interaction. But still, I want to feel her mouth on mine. I want to snake my fingers under her skirt and rub that sensitive spot. Drive my fingers into her hot pussy. But I can’t do it. Because it could totally mess up this moment and she might come to her senses. I want her to keep going. To find pleasure on her own terms. I’m desperate to see the moment she comes all over my cock.
Her hips grind up and down, then side to side, finding her rhythm to where it feels best. Harder, then faster. Her pussy driving directly over my dick as she jerks me off through my jeans. The temptation to reach out and touch her is overwhelming, yet I am entranced by the spell she has me entangled in. I want to throw her down on this couch and fuck her in every way I envisioned last night when I was stroking my cock.
“Xander,” she cries in a slow, sexy purr. Her body builds as she sinks her nails into my shoulders.
As soon as I hear her say my name, I can’t resist the urge to reach out and touch her. With a cautious movement, I slide my hand beneath her skirt, tracing my fingers over her soaked panties.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” I add, running my thumb over her sensitive nub.
She’s totally into it, moaning and biting her lip. Her face is so close to mine, that she is practically breathing on me.
“That’s it, baby,” I growl, my voice all hoarse. Leaning forward, I press a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. “Fuck me harder. Make us both come.”
I rub that little clit faster, knowing she is so close.
“Come for me, Princess. I’m right there with you. Yeah, that’s it. Fuck me like that. Can you feel how hard you make me?”
”Xander,” she says, leaning in, completely falling apart as she comes.
While I”m mesmerized by her, watching her come, listening to her sexy sounds of arousal, blending with my heavy breaths as hot cum streams over the inside of my jeans. But I don’t care. I”ve had the most intense and unforgettable experience of my life. And my dick wasn’t even out of my jeans. I can’t remember a time when I’ve come so hard.
Wait… yes, I do. It was the night Poppy had her hot mouth wrapped around my cock.
Her head drops to my shoulder as she continues to ride out the last of her orgasm.
Instinctively, my arms wrap around her as the pleasures of what just happened pulsate through my body. I bury my face in the warmth of her neck, closing my eyes to savor the delicate fragrance that lingers there. Watching her ride me is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It feels incredible to witness her intense reaction to me. The way her eyes held her desire. The way she called my name. The way she just let go and took what she wanted. It all fell into place and created an unforgettable moment.
Out of nowhere, she freezes, not making a single movement. As she lifts her head, her eyes widen in surprise when she gazes up at my face. Her body tightens under my fingers.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. She”s in complete shock and probably feeling a little embarrassed about what she just did.
I watch her face turn a vibrant shade of pink, like a blooming rose. She tries to get up, but I hold on tighter to stop her.
“Don”t be embarrassed.”
Her eyes wander up and meet mine.
“I should be embarrassed. I’m the one with jizz all down my leg. You made me blow in my pants like a thirteen-year-old boy. That’s how fucking hot it was, Princess.”
She lets out a giggle that fills the room, her eyes twinkling with delight. Her hand goes over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound.
“No. Go ahead. I”d be laughing too if it wasn”t me,” I say, smiling at the sound of her laughter.
When her body relaxes, I can see the relief in her expression. I study her pretty face, noticing the delicate curve of her lips and the freckles scattered across her cheeks. Then, out of nowhere, I do something completely out of character. I raise my hand and tuck a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear.
“I might need to use your bathroom.”
She gets up from my lap, her warmth dissipating, leaving an empty space that feels cold.
“It’s down the hall. The second door on the right.”
I follow her gaze to my lap, where a wet spot on my jeans catches my attention.
Rising from the couch, I inquire, “Is the mess from you or me?”
Her cheeks blush a bright red as a direct response to my comment. Sensing her intention to escape, I interlock my fingers with hers, preventing her from getting away.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s hot that your cum is mixed with mine.” I lean forward, feeling the warmth of her breath and then I kiss her, savoring the gentle touch of her lips. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, enchanting my senses. As I pull back, the scene before me sharpens into clarity.
Fuck. I totally caved and kissed her, breaking my no-kissing rule. Seriously, what the hell was I thinking?
Releasing her hand, I head to the bathroom to tidy myself up. The moment the door clicks shut, I curse myself for my thoughtless action. What in the world is happening? My go-to move is usually to hook up and then disappear. With my palms pressed against the countertop, I raise my head and lock eyes with my reflection in the mirror. Frustrated, I mutter to myself, questioning my actions, “What the fuck are you doing, dipshit? When you go back out there, you”re just gonna leave. Like you always do.”
Once I’ve given myself a serious pep talk and cleaned up, I head back out.
Upon my return, I find Poppy still sitting on the couch, her arms crossed over her chest, and her eyes locked on the ground. She remains perfectly still, not even a twitch, as if she has no idea I am standing right next to her. Is she going over in her mind what we just did? Does she regret it?
The mere thought of it makes me feel unsettled as if I don”t want her to feel any remorse for what we just did. It was so hot, but I”m glad we did it. Fuck, just thinking about it is making me hard again. Say something asshole before she looks up and sees you checking her out like some creepy stalker. But remember, you need to get the hell out of here before you do some more crazy shit that you will regret.
”I meant to ask you the other day,” I add, taking a step closer to her, and resisting the urge to sit down, knowing I won”t be staying here for long.
“Hmm...” she mutters, shaking her head as if trying to dislodge the thoughts swirling in her mind.
“I said I meant to ask you the other day,” I say again.
“Yeah, what’s that?” She looks up at me, her face a mask of unreadable emotions.
“You talked about music therapy for kids, but you didn”t say what instrument you play.”
Her lips curl into a smile. Her eyes twinkle as she gets up from the couch. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
I feel a magnetic pull as she walks past me, prompting me to disregard my instinct to leave and instead, I follow her down the hall.
I stay silent, my hands buried deep in my pockets, my eyes tracing the curves of her body.
She heads to the third door on the right and holds it open for me to enter. As I enter her bedroom, my eyes land on a keyboard on the left side of the room. Yet, it”s the wooden guitar that commands my full attention. Its polished surface catches the light. Its strings shimmer in anticipation, as if silently yearning to be played.
The bedroom walls come alive with vibrant, larger-than-life posters of bands, adding an electric energy to the room. Nirvana, Radiohead, The Cure, The Smashing Pumpkins just to name a few. Each poster fights for your attention. You can feel the rock energy in the air like the music from these legendary bands is still pulsating in the room. Standing in this space, one can’t help but feel a surge of excitement, a connection to the music that transcends time.
As I look to the left, I see a bunch of vinyl records, all neatly stacked on three shelves. Without hesitation, I make a beeline towards them, eager to explore the treasures they hold.
The album covers are super eye-catching with their vibrant colors and glossy finish. As I reach out to grab one, I”m filled with anticipation of the melodies they contain. I’m in awe. This collection of classic records is not only worth a small fortune but also a treasure trove for all musicians. To indulge in the nostalgia of these rock classics, with their melodic tunes and infectious guitar riffs.
“Where did you get all these?” I ask, pulling out a Led Zeppelin album. I get a tingly feeling in my fingers as I run my hand over the album’s jacket.
“They were my dad’s,” Poppy says, standing beside me.
“Do you listen to them?” I ask while flipping through a few more albums.
“Yeah, sometimes. Especially when I”m angry with my mom. I pump up the volume to annoy the shit out of her.”
“What did your dad do to make your mom so mad?” I grab a handful of vinyls and make my way over to the bed. Putting them on the bed next to me, I grab one and flip it over to see the song list on the back.
When I look up, I see Poppy still standing over where I left her.
“My dad was never home. He spent most of his time on the road chasing his dream. Playing at different venues all over the country. Nothing too fancy, just a couple thousand people, you know.” She moves over and sits next to me, watching as I check out another song list on the back of a record. “It was mainly clubs and hotels that had live bands. He was hoping to be discovered. He would have given anything to be the next big thing.” She gazes down at the floor, a smile gracing her lips. “I never saw him perform. My mother would never take me. But I remember when he would come home after a gig.” Poppy turns her head and looks at me. “There was this one day that instead of taking me to school, we hopped on a train and headed to the city. He took me out to lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe. I’d never seen anything like it. He shared stories with me about the various legends immortalized on the walls. And how much he wanted to be like them.”
“So, how come your dad left?”
The room falls silent for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. She shifts her gaze from me, and I glimpse sorrow flickering in her eyes, casting a shadow over her face.
“My mom is the reason. I think she despised that my father was rarely at home. As he chased his dreams, she shouldered the weight of raising me alone. But that day when he took me to The Hard Rock Cafe, little did I know that would be the last time I’d ever see him. When mom found out I’d skipped school and where my dad had taken me instead, she totally lost it. Even though she sent me to my room, I could still hear the yelling. She told him to leave and never come back. That she was sick to death of always having to do everything herself, while he effortlessly became the fun parent. But the real problem was that he was never a husband to her when he constantly fucked any groupie that looked at him. I was just nine years old and had no clue what a groupie was until I searched it online.”
“So after that, you never saw him again.”
“No,” she shakes her head. I see the tears forming in her eyes. I reach out and intertwine my fingers in hers.
“Did he ever try to make contact?”
“Yes.” She swallows, then lets go of my hand.
Bending down, she searches for something under her bed. Then, she pulls out a round lid box as she settles back on her heels. Opening the lid reveals a collection of photographs, birthday cards, and scraps of paper adorned with music lyrics. There are guitar picks and sheeted music, all remnants of her past life. Each tiny treasure holds a story, a precious moment frozen in time. With a sad smile, she rummages through the box.
She grabs a photo and hands it to me. It’s a younger version of Poppy, around five or six, sitting in her father’s lap. He bears a striking resemblance to her, with his blonde hair and similar features. His arms surround her, embracing her with love and protection as he teaches her how to play the guitar. The radiant smiles on their faces unveil the undeniable bond they share.
But what truly stands out to me in the photo is the guitar. It”s the same one I spotted when I walked into the room.
Amidst the assortment of memories, Poppy grabs a birthday card and holds it out for me to take.
“I haven’t heard from him since he sent this. I wouldn’t have even known he sent anything if I hadn’t found it in the trash can. Honestly, I thought he had forgotten my birthday, but my mom kept it from me. I got really mad at her for trying to keep it a secret. The following year, I didn’t hear from him at all. I’m not sure if he forgot to send it or if my mom just threw it away.”
I open the birthday card and read the message written inside.
To my beautiful Princess,
Hope you have a magnificent day!
I wish I could be there with you today, but I can”t because the band has picked up a few gigs.
I hope you like the package I sent.
I”ll see you soon, I promise.
Keep playing that song we worked on and promise to keep doing what you love.
I love you more than anything in this world.
Never forget that. And never forget how special you are.
Love you, Princess, with all my heart and I”ll see you soon.
Love always,
Dad
His words bring a smile to my face as I read them, feeling the warmth and love behind them.
I can”t help but notice that he refers to her as ”Princess” as well. Is that the real reason why she was so mad at me when I first called her that? Her dad used it as a term of endearment, but I use it to call her a spoilt brat.
I hand her the card, observing the way her face transforms into a smile as she opens it, savoring every word written on the page. With utmost care, she returns it to its cherished spot inside the memory box. With a gentle sigh, she closes the lid, then slides the box beneath her bed, the weight of the world hidden away once more.
“What was the gift your dad mentioned?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“I do not know. I never got it. My mom refuses to tell me what she did with it.”
I stay silent for a moment as she stands and settles herself on the bed beside me. Standing up, I grab the handful of vinyls and walk back over to return them to the shelf.
“So what song were you and your dad practicing?” I ask while placing the records back onto the shelf.
“It was just something he was working on back then. While he played the guitar, I was on the keyboard.”
There is something about this side of Poppy that pulls me in without hesitation. Listening to her sharp tongue and clever comebacks is something I truly enjoy. But recently, now that I”ve had the chance to witness her vulnerable side, I feel a deeper connection with her. As a means of self-protection, she pushes people away, guarding herself from the pain she once felt when her father left. I can relate. I’ve never been the same after my mom passed away and my dad turned against me.
“Did you keep practicing?” I plop back onto the bed.
“Yeah, I did, but it was a total waste of time because he never came back.”
“Show me,” I add, jutting my chin toward the keyboard.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? I’ve already heard you sing. Now I want to see you play.”
She locks eyes with me, and I can see the hint of unease as she nervously licks her bottom lip. I’ve never seen this side of her before. She”s always composed, never breaking a sweat, even when dealing with the mean bitches at school when they give her a hard time.
“Come on, Princess. I played for you last night.”
She ponders for a few seconds, then gets up and heads towards the keyboard. Her face is pale as if she’s on the verge of vomiting. She goes around to the front of the keyboard, takes a big breath, and powers it on.
I flop onto the bed, lying on my side, resting my head on my hand to watch her.
“I haven’t played it for some time, so I might be a bit out of practice.”
When I don”t say anything, she returns her attention back to the keyboard. I know I can be insensitive sometimes, but I”m not the type to offer comforting words.
With her eyes fixed on the keyboard, her fingers move gracefully, creating a beautiful melody that fills the room. As if in a trance, I sit up, utterly captivated by her mere presence. And then, she starts to sing.
Her seductive tone resonates, blending with the slow, enchanting melody. Damn, this girl and that damn fucking voice. Her mother is really a despicable woman, trying to keep her from pursuing her passion when she has this much talent. I’m sure her father recognized it. Just like me as I sit here, watching her infuse every ounce of her being into the song. Her energy is palpable in every breath that she takes. It”s like her music has come to life.
I don”t move a muscle, just keep my eyes locked on her until she hits that final note.
As the room falls silent, the sound of her voice lingers in my ear like a haunting melody.
The way she sings gives each note so much life, filling the room with a magnetic vibe. Poppy has the power to make any song come alive with that voice.
She hasn”t looked my way once since finishing the song, and I haven”t said shit because I”m fucking blown away by what I just witnessed. She turns off the keyboard, and with her head down, eyes glued to the floor, she walks back to the bed.
Like some creepy stalker, I can’t take my eyes off her. Her performance has left me breathless and craving for more. Poppy fucking Reeves is a mystery I wanna unravel. Why isn”t she sharing this talent with the world?
As she sits on the side of the bed, I sit up and simply gaze at her.
“Poppy…” I pause, unsure of what to say. I yearn to tell her that Ace and I frequent the nearby music scene, checking out the competition. But no one can top how she loses herself in her lyrics.
Yet, I refrain from mentioning it, because she probably won’t believe me, anyway. How can I give Poppy a compliment without it getting awkward? Maybe those mean bitches at school make her doubt herself. Plus, I”m not the kind of person who goes gaga over telling someone how amazing they are.
“Don”t utter a single word. I told you I’m out of practice.” Her eyes lift, and I see the sense of doubt that lingers within.
“It wasn’t rusty at all, Princess.”
Even if I wanted to sing her praises, I wouldn”t know how to articulate the awe-inspiring spectacle I had just witnessed. So instead I go with, “Did you find out if your dad completed that song? Like have you looked online?”
“Yeah, I’ve looked online, but nothing has turned up. We were so close to it being finished, just needed one more verse and it would”ve been done.”
I”m looking at her and inching closer. This chick has touched my black heart in a way that no one else ever has, and I can”t help but wonder if it’s because of our shared love for music.
Is that the reason Poppy makes me go against all the rules I’ve vowed to follow, but now I want to abandon them in a heartbeat? The girl who lives two doors down from me, and I just found out about her. This girl”s singing always hits me right in the feels. Without thinking, I reach out and softly caress her face with my hand.
At my touch, she leans in and closes her eyes. It’s as if there’s a touch of magic in the way she responds to me. Out of all the girls I”ve fucked over the years, she”s the only one who ignites such a powerful response within me. This girl has really gotten under my skin. She”s able to bring out emotions I never even knew I had.
Just as I lean in to kiss her, my phone vibrates and snaps me back to reality before our lips meet. I quickly sit up, thankful for the interruption that reminds me I keep breaking my no-kissing rule. I reach into my pocket to grab my phone.
Ace: I’m out the front of your house.
As I”m typing my reply, I notice Poppy leaving the bedroom.
Xander: Be out in a sec.
I stand up and stash my phone in my pocket, feeling super grateful that Ace interrupted me from making the dumbest move of my life. If I kissed her, she might get clingy, and that”s not what I want.
As I head back to the main room, I see Poppy grabbing the remote and pointing it at the TV. She ignores me completely as she settles on the couch and watches the TV.
”Catch you later,” I say, heading for the door.
”Yeah, whatever,” she says, her eyes fixed on the TV, refusing to make eye contact.
Grasping the doorknob, I feel the weight of guilt as her heartbreaking story about her dad lingers in my mind. She bared her soul and confided in me. And I”m just walking away, leaving her alone in an ocean of sadness. I force myself to keep moving, ignoring the urge to glance back because I can”t admit I”m sort of into her.
I shut the door and dash across the yard, effortlessly jumping over the little fence. And then it hits me. How the fuck am I going to explain to Ace why I was at Poppy’s house?
As I head to the passenger”s side door, I feel Ace staring at me through the front windshield. Climbing into the car, the interior light illuminates his face, revealing his intense eyes locked onto mine.
“You’ve gotta be fucking her.”
“No way. Fuck off, asshole. I already told you she”s not my type. I was just saying thanks again for the guitar.”
“With your dick?”
As soon as I close the car door, the light inside goes off.
“You think I”d get a hard-on from Poppy Reeves?” I laugh out loud and immediately feel a pang of guilt for the way I’m talking about her. But I did it because I didn”t want him to catch on to what is happening to me and because I can’t even wrap my head around what the hell is going on with me.
“Well, if you didn’t fuck then why is there a wet stain?”
Shit, I totally forgot about that. He would”ve seen the wet spot from the car”s headlights beaming down on me when I walked up to him.
“What are you checking out my dick now?”
“Fuck off. Just admit you banged her.”
“Just drive, asshole,” I say, settling into the passenger’s seat.