Chapter 10 #2
“My point is that you have a lot to work through, a lot to process. And that it’s okay, I get it.
Take as much time as you need,” Ruby heard him say.
Thom was not only not diving in, he was also encouraging Poppy to take her time.
Did that mean that he was willing to lose his chance of having sex with her? That Poppy’s feelings came first?
It sure sounded like it. It also sounded like Thom would rather lose Poppy than hurt her, and that her happiness was more important to him than his needs.
Was this really happening? Were there really men like this? Then her God-given cynicism kicked in. Ruby narrowed her eyes. Yeah, sure. Give it a few days, max a week. Men always said the right things—right up until they stopped. Or left.
“What if I don’t get there?” Poppy asked.
In the low light, Ruby saw the tension in his jaw, in the tight cords of his neck. The way his shoulders slumped when he replied, his words low, but intense. “Then you don’t get there, Pops.”
He still wasn’t pushing for more. That was new … and Ruby wasn’t a fan of new, of people not reacting the way she expected them to.
She tapped her finger against her lips, thinking. Was she right in assuming that Thom wasn’t fighting Poppy? That he was fighting himself, fighting to put her before his need to have her? Was that stupidity or strength?
He wasn’t trying to win the war of sex or dominance or power. He was, as much as he could, trying to protect Poppy, choosing what was best for her and her happiness. And he was paying the price of that choice.
And Ruby really didn’t know how to process that. Or how to deal with it.
It was so much easier to believe all men were bastards.
Poppy
Yep, she’d had a sex dream last night. One where Thom pleasured her to the point of insanity, pulling back before she tipped over. Leaving her, when she woke up, horny, irritable, and on edge.
So irritable, horny, and on edge, that even a bit of alone time in the shower hadn’t helped the cause. In fact, it just made everything worse because the robotic, weak orgasm just highlighted how much pleasure Thom had given her in that dark theater last night.
Sitting on the edge of her bed in her childhood bedroom, sunlight pouring in from her sash window, Poppy stared down at her bare feet, trying to untangle her thoughts.
She’d lost control last night, fallen into him and what he was doing to her, oblivious to everyone and anything.
She’d lost herself in the heat, in his mouth, his clever hands.
Her heart started pounding as she recalled how he made her feel.
But on the way home, her brain had switched back on, and she’d slammed on the brakes. Not because she didn’t want him. But because she did. Terrifyingly, recklessly, crazily.
And that was what shook her to her core.
She’d run from her wedding because she wasn’t being authentic.
To be someone her parents could be proud of—could love—had meant being Benji’s fiancée, working in a job they thought was right for her, being the good, sensible daughter.
Making safe choices. But last night, with Thom, she’d shrugged off people-pleaser Poppy and embraced her wild side.
In that theater, with Thom, she’d been impulsive, thrill-seeking, demanding, messy, hungry. Free.
She’d been Poppy unrestrained. The thing was, she didn’t know how to embrace being Poppy 2.
0. She lifted her head and looked out the window, taking in the bright sunshine and gorgeous day.
No matter what had happened last night, she still had to go downstairs and face Thom.
Standing up, she walked to her door and yanked it open to find Felony lying across the doorway.
He rolled over, exposing his tummy, and she instantly dropped to her haunches to give him a rub. “How’s your owner this morning, Fel?” she asked him. “Is he good?”
Felony blinked up at her.
“Should I mention last night to him? Say that we got carried away?” she whispered. “Or just pretend it never happened?”
Felony didn’t answer her, the unhelpful creature. When she thought she’d given His Lordship the love he deserved, she stood up, walked to the stairs and made the slowest descent in history.
She needed something more than coffee and less than cocaine. Hopefully, Thom would be working on the house somewhere, and she could sip her morning juice in peace while she found the courage to face him this morning.
Thom, because this was her life, stood in front of the coffee machine, barefoot and dressed in a pair of sleeping shorts and a faded, oft-washed soft blue T-shirt.
Sunlight coming in from the massive window behind him turned his hair a deep, dark shade of auburn and picked up lighter flecks in his stubble.
Why did his shoulders look broader this morning, and his bicep, when he lifted his hand to scratch his neck, bulge bigger?
He looked like he belonged in this kitchen, in this house.
He smacked the start button on the coffee machine with the side of his hand and gripped the counter on which it stood, dropping his head as if praying it would work faster.
Thom seemed to need coffee more than she did, and that was saying something.
Then, as if sensing her, he half turned, his smile easy and warm, as if nothing momentous had happened between them last night.
“Hey. Want coffee?” When she nodded, he told her to take a seat. Pulling her feet, bare like his, up onto the seat, she wondered what he’d say next. Would he talk about last night? Ask her whether she’d changed her mind? Kiss her? Demand to know what she was thinking?
God, she hoped not.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, she rested her cheek on her knee and watched as he reached for another cup and placed two dirty cups in the dishwasher. The coffee machine hissed and spluttered, the only sound in the room until Thom spoke again. “Was Fel upstairs with you?”
“Yeah, I gave him a belly rub and left him up there.”
Thom nodded, pulled the cup from the machine and shoved another one under the spout. By her reckoning, she’d have a cup of coffee in front of her in forty-five seconds. She could wait that long, right?
Thom placed the cup in front of her, and she noticed he’d added milk. He drank his coffee black.
It was such a small gesture, giving her the cup he’d made for himself, but something inside of her cracked open.
Because he was treating her as he had yesterday and the day before.
As his friend, his housemate, as someone he’d known forever and cared for for just as long.
As if what he’d given her last night didn’t require payback, or even overthinking.
Definitely as if she didn’t owe him a damn thing.
She waited, just in case, he’d say something critical or loaded, but then she realized she was judging him by Benji’s standards. And those had been, let’s be honest, pretty damn low.
“What do you feel like for breakfast?” Thom asked, running his hand over her head before heading back to the coffee machine. “We’re out of eggs. And bread.”
Neither of them was good at remembering to pick up groceries. “Are there any options left?”
“We could go into town and see if we can snag a table at the Night Owl Diner. I feel like waffles and chicken.”
Her mouth started to water. She did, too. But not now.
Later.
Because, suddenly, everything became so damn clear. It was like someone had yanked open her mental shutters, and her mind flooded with natural light. She didn’t care if sleeping with Thom would be messy or complicated. Whether it was a good idea.
Or not.
She genuinely, authentically, absolutely wanted him. This time, not because she wanted his or anyone else’s approval, not because she felt unmoored and a little lost. Not because she’d run to this place to find herself.
But because she flat-out desired him. Wanted what he could give her, in this moment and in his arms. Because this was a choice made from nothing more than a primal urge to be with this man and damn the consequences.
Feeling like her heart was trying to break her ribs apart, and that her lungs would never take another full breath, she ran a finger around the mug. “Thom?”
Yeah, her voice was wavering, but how could it not? She was taking the first step, reaching out for something she truly wanted, and this was, for her, momentous.
“Mmm?”
She swallowed, trying to find the right words. “How much do you want that cup of coffee?”
Maybe it was because he was a smart guy, maybe it was because he knew her so well, but he immediately stilled, and his eyes slammed into hers. His gaze pinned her to the chair. “Is something else on offer, Poppy?”
She nodded, stood up to walk over to him, and placed her hand on his pec before sliding her hand up to curl around his muscled neck.
He kept his hands at his sides, allowing her this moment to think about what she was doing, to retreat if she needed to.
And somehow, she knew, still knew, that if she backed away—she wasn’t going to—he’d still be there. The same as he was before.
She stood on her tiptoes and lightly, so lightly, kissed the side of his mouth. “Me, Thom. I’m on offer. Want to take me up on it?”
Thom
Fuck yes.
Thom didn’t—couldn’t—think. His feet moved of their own accord, his hand whipped out to grab her hips, and his mouth slammed onto hers.
The taste of toothpaste, minty and fresh, washed over his tongue, quickly followed by the taste of Poppy, hot, sweet, and brave.
Was that a squeak of surprise he heard, a snorted laugh?
But he didn’t stop to check; he wanted his tongue in her mouth, her breasts flattened against his chest, her riding his cock.
Naked. They had too many clothes on.
Poppy seemed to feel the same because she pushed her hands up and under his T-shirt, pulling it over his head so that she could explore his chest, run her hands over his shoulders and back, across his stomach.