Johnny
I got another email on Monday.
Sophie Bloom was reaching out about a data breach, wanted to let me know that it was already handled but that she was doing her due diligence. My profile had, apparently, been run for an unauthorized report. My personal information had been used and shared.
I emailed her back and told her I was sure she would handle it.
And for the first time, I started to wonder what this would look like once we started telling people.
Because the thing was…I knew Poppy loved her job. She loved love. Loved being part of bringing people together. It was what made her so bright, made her the woman I wanted.
But she could lose her job because of me.
Lose everything.
I texted her while she was still at work, and I didn't get a response until nine. She told me she'd been busy with late consults at the office, that Sophie hadn't mentioned anything to her.
When she asked me if we could meet early, I didn't hesitate to say yes.
I pulled my bike around to the alley behind her place, climbed the same stairs I'd watched her go up that first day after we met at The Perch. I'd barely even knocked when the door swung open and she reached out to pull me inside, scanning for anyone who might be watching.
I didn't think anyone at Bloom was the type to do surveillance…but I was starting to have my doubts.
“Sorry,” Poppy muttered, walking away from me toward the kitchen. “I'm just…ugh. I don't want anyone to see us—”
She had a bottle of white wine on the counter, something cheap, and she poured a glass too full. Her cheeks were flushed; this wasn't her first glass.
“Do you want some?” she asked.
I shook my head, walking inside slowly, my helmet tucked under my arm.
“Nah, I'm good.” I paused. “You really think she's keeping an eye on you?”
“More like—” Poppy paused. “She just knows things. She always knows things and it’s kind of terrifying.”
“She does sell herself as understanding people,” I shrugged.
“And that’s so cool when you’re not trying to keep secrets from her.” Poppy groaned and gulped down some wine. I moved toward her—carefully set my helmet on the counter top in her small kitchen, then took the wine out of her hands.
She let me. Effortless, just…falling into me, looking up at me.
I took her face in my hands.
“The answer is simple,” I said. “You get in trouble…I take the heat.”
She shook her head. “But I started all of this.”
“Actually, your co-worker started all of this,” I said. “Jasper…?”
She let out a short laugh despite herself. "Jasper," she confirmed.
"Right." I stroked my thumb across her cheekbone. "So the way I see it, the culpable parties are Jasper, who ran an unauthorized report, and me, who asked the assistant to dinner after receiving said report. You were just—the person the report was about."
"I sent the email," she said. "I set up the meeting."
I gazed into her eyes…searched for what was really going on here.
“And you don’t want to be dishonest with her,” I said. “Because it’s not right.”
“Not just that,” she said. “Also—you spent too many years taking the fall for someone else. I won’t let you take the fall for me.”
I couldn’t help but kiss her.
I mean…fuck, I already wanted to. The moment I’d walked in I’d noticed that she was wearing these too-short shorts with unicorns on them, that they were almost certainly the ‘stupid shorts’ from the other night, and they did in fact look good, and I wanted to fucking tear them off of her—
But it was more than that.
It was the fact that she understood what I’d done…that she saw it as brave instead of stupid.
I kissed her slow, one hand still on her jaw, the other finding her waist and pulling her in.
She melted into it immediately—both hands on my chest, her whole body leaning into mine like she'd been waiting for it since the moment I'd walked through the door. Which she probably had. Which I had too, if I was honest with myself.
I pulled back just enough to look at her.
She was watching me with those green eyes, a little breathless, her lipgloss gone, and I thought about all four of those dates I'd gone on through Bloom.
Good women. Accomplished, interesting, nothing wrong with any of them.
And every single one of them had looked at the ten years like a thing to get past. Something to file away under difficult history and move forward from.
Poppy looked at it like it was part of the architecture.
You spent too many years taking the fall for someone else. Like she understood that it wasn't just something that happened to me—that it was a choice, and that my time inside had made me, and that she cared about the person that time shaped.
Nobody had ever said that to me before. Not like that.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing," I said. "Just—you."
She tipped her head slightly. "Me what?"
I slid my hand from her jaw into her hair, tilted her face up.
"You see me," I said. "That's all."
Her expression went soft and affectionate, a soft smile on her face, and that was the moment I stopped thinking about Tuesday.
"Poppy," I said.
"Yeah."
"Is your roommate home?"
Her breath caught. "No."
But—
“How many glasses of wine have you had?” I asked.
“I just opened it. That was my second—”
I kissed her again hard, leaving her breathless.
“Good,” I said. “Because when I fuck you the first time, I don’t want you drunk.”
The moment stood still.
Then she launched herself into my arms.
She kissed me now, taking what she wanted, whimpering against my lips and tugging on my jacket. I shed it on the kitchen floor, let her undress me as she started to guide me to her bedroom.
“I’ve been wanting this—” she was saying between kisses.
“I know, baby—”
“Wanting it so long—”
"I know." I walked her backward down the hall, hands on her waist, letting her set the pace. "I've got you."
Her bedroom door was already open. Small room, warm, exactly what I'd expected — books stacked on the nightstand, a lamp with a scarf over it casting everything amber, the bed unmade in the way of someone who'd gotten up in a hurry that morning.
It smelled like her. That warm sweet thing I'd been noticing across her desk for two years.
I walked her back to the bed and sat her down on the edge of it and stepped back just enough to look at her.
She looked up at me, chest rising and falling, those green eyes dark, her red hair loose around her shoulders.
The unicorn shorts.
A purple t-shirt shirt with University of Kansas Anthropology emblazoned across her perfect breasts.
I reached down and took the hem of the t-shirt in both hands.
"Arms up," I said.
She raised her arms and I pulled it over her head and dropped it on the floor and just…stopped.
No bra. Just her, in the amber light, watching me with those eyes.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hi," I said.
I knelt down and kissed her again, but only briefly. I wanted to look. I cupped her breasts in my hands, too big for me to hold them completely, pushed them up slightly so I could better see the freckles dusting every inch of her.
“You…” I kissed the top of one breast. “Are fucking perfect.” The other.
She watched me the whole time, never closing her eyes. I met her gaze again and moved my hands to roll her nipples between my fingers.
“Where are your toys?” I asked.
She swallowed hard. “Bedside table.”
“You like when I touch you here?”
She nodded.
Fuck, I was hard as a fucking rock.
“You’re gonna grab the dildo from the other night and fuck yourself with it while I get to know these perfect tits,” I said. “I’m big. Need you ready.”
She reached for the nightstand without hesitating, which I liked.
No shyness about it–she knew what she wanted and she went and got it, and there was something about that directness that made me want to take my time with her even more.
I kept my hands on her while she got herself ready, not rushing her, not rushing myself.
Set the dildo beside her. A condom with it, because she was prepared like that.
Then she went for her shorts.
“Let me,” I said with a lazy smile. “I have been dying to take these stupid shorts off you since last night.”
Her breath hitched when my fingers found the waistband of the shorts…then I dragged them down, over her wide hips, her thick thighs. God, she was perfect. Every inch of her was fucking perfect, and I was going to spend the rest of my life worshiping this perfect body.
I kissed the tops of her thighs then.
Didn’t touch her pussy yet, even though it was perfect and wet and pink and covered in a thatch of red curls.
“Now,” I said, picking up the dildo. “Fuck yourself, baby.”
She took it from me, her hand a little unsteady.
I sat back on my heels and watched.
She pressed the tip of it against herself and I watched her body open around it—slow, just the first inch, her breath catching.
She was tight. She'd need time, which was fine.
We had time. I had all the time in the world suddenly, all the patience I'd built over years of barrels and early mornings and doing things right, and I was going to use every bit of it on her.
"Slow," I said quietly. I wanted to watch.
She went slow.
Another inch, and the sound she made was involuntary and low and went straight through me.
Her thighs fell open a little wider. I could see exactly where the toy disappeared into her, could see the way her body stretched around it, the wetness coating it when she pulled back slightly before pressing deeper.
"God," she breathed.
"Keep going," I said.
She did—gradual, working herself open, her hips tilting up instinctively to find the angle she needed. Her free hand fisted in the sheets. I watched her stomach tighten, watched her chest rise and fall faster, watched a fresh slick of arousal gather on her inner thigh.
I put my hands on her thighs and squeezed just enough to remind her I was there, that this was just the beginning.
“Eyes on me,” I said.
She found my eyes and held them, and I held hers, and she pushed the toy the rest of the way in.
"There," I said. "That's it."