Poppy
Johnny kept a good stock around the house: zucchini and carrots and bell pepper in the fridge, all the spices a girl could ask for, plenty of garlic. I’d already decided what I was going to make when I pulled out the frying pan, humming to myself under my breath.
Stir fry. Spicy stir fry with plenty of chili flakes.
So I toasted the garlic in butter, made sure Johnny had soy sauce, and got to work.
For his part, John did an excellent job sitting patiently…for maybe about ten minutes. He sipped his wine, bopped his knee up and down by the fireplace. Watched me like a hawk. I didn’t know if he was just annoyed that he wasn’t allowed to touch me, or if he was worried I would destroy his kitchen.
“I’m taking very good care of your cooking supplies,” I said. “I promise.”
“I’m sure you are,” he laughed. “Just…I don’t like not helping. Not that kind of husband, I guess.”
I snorted. “Fine,” I said. “You can help—but you have to do it shirtless.”
He didn't even hesitate.
Just set his wine down, reached back and pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, and dropped it on the chair.
I turned back to the stove before he could see my face.
"Okay," he said, coming into the kitchen. "What do you need?"
"Vegetables," I said, pointing at the cutting board. "Zucchini first, then the bell pepper. Matchsticks, not chunks."
He picked up the knife—my knife, technically his knife, the good one I'd already pulled from the block—and got to work without another word.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
He had good knife skills, which I should have expected from a man who cooked the way he cooked, and he did exactly what I asked without editorializing about it.
“My mom is going to love you,” I said, still very intently not looking at him as I toasted the garlic.
He glanced at me. “Good to hear, given I’m probably about her age.”
I shook my head, laughing. “No, actually. I’m the youngest of three and my folks were older when they had us. They’re both mid-sixties now.”
“So I’m not ancient by comparison.”
“You’re really not,” I said. “Plus…my mom would never care about that anyway. She’s kind of chaotic. Probably would tell me you’re too hot to give up and move on.”
He snorted. “And your dad?”
“Complete opposite,” I said. “He’s a software developer. Very shy, has been bewildered by my mother for forty years and shows no sign of stopping.”
“Good models for a marriage.”
Johnny passed over the carrots. I dropped them into the pan and watched them sizzle.
“He’ll google you before you meet them,” I added. “Then he’ll pretend he never did, and he’ll be incredibly embarrassed if you bring it up.”
“Noted.”
He slid the cutting board toward me, all the veggies sliced now just as I’d asked. I kept my eyes on the pan and let my smile grow as he came up behind me and slid his arms around my waist, his lips finding my throat.
“When you said clothes were optional I figured I wasn’t going to be the only one,” he said, playing with the hem of my sweater. “Can I have this?”
I laughed under my breath. “Seems fair.”
I let go of the spatula just long enough for her to pull my sweater over my head, leaving me in the white lace bra I’d had on since that morning. John tilted his head to kiss my neck again, the crook of my shoulder…one hand coming up to cup my breast.
I moaned softly.
“I was going to tell you you’re distracting me, but I guess I did the exact same thing to you at your apartment,” I said.
“Turnabout and all that.”
“Right.”
His other hand moved to the button of my jeans, then slid the zipper down. He didn’t bother taking them off—just slipped his hand beneath my panties and found my pussy.
“I wanna know everything about you,” he said.
“Kind of…hard to cook and get fingered and tell you about myself at the—oh god—at the same time—”
“Try harder.”
"Okay," I gasped. "Okay. Um." I grabbed the spatula again, tried to remember what vegetables were. "I have two older siblings. Sarah and Michael. Sarah's in Denver, she's a pediatric nurse, married to a guy named Tom."
"Mm." His fingers moved and I knocked the spatula against the edge of the pan.
"Michael is in Kansas City, he does—he does something in finance, I've never fully understood it, and he has a three year old named—named Clara who is the funniest person I've ever met—" I broke off, pressing back against him.
"Keep going," he said. His voice was low and completely unhurried, like he had all night, like he wasn't currently taking me apart in his kitchen while I tried to make dinner.
"I'm the youngest by six years," I managed. "My parents didn't plan me."
"No?"
"My mom says I was—" I exhaled hard, gripping the counter with my free hand. "She says I was the universe's idea, not hers."
"I like your mom," he said.
"John—"
"You're doing so well," he said. "Don't stop."
“But it needs to simmer,” I rushed out. “Nothing left to do—”
He moved me to the side enough so I could brace myself on the counter, bending me at the waist.
“Good,” he said. “Hold on then.”
A rush of fumbling hands; my knuckles white on the counter.
Then he was inside me.
I howled, my jeans around my ankles, John Lawson’s cock buried to the hilt, his hands on my breasts. I rocked back against him and took him deep, sobbing in pleasure.
“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes, please—”
"That's it," he growled, his hands tightening on my hips. "Just like that."
"John—"
"I've got you." He thrust deep and held there, his mouth at my ear. "You feel so good. Every single time."
I pressed back against him, chasing it, my hands slipping slightly on the counter.
"Tell me," he said. "What do you want?”
"You," I breathed. "Just you—"
"More specific."
I knew what he was asking. We'd been circling it all week, in the amber light of my bedroom, at the lake, standing in front of this unfinished house while I imagined it built specifically for our three kids.
"I want—" I started.
He thrust again and I lost the sentence entirely.
"Poppy." His voice in my ear, strained. "Tell me."
"I want to have your babies," I said. Breathless. Slightly insane. Completely true. "I want—I want you to put a baby in me, I want—"
He made a sound that wasn't quite a word and his rhythm changed—deeper, more purposeful, his arms coming around me to hold me against him.
"Yeah," he said roughly. "That's what I want too." His lips at my temple. "Going to take such good care of you. You and every one of them."
His hand spread wide across my belly as he fucked me hard and relentless. “Picturing you pregnant in this kitchen…driving me fucking crazy, Poppy.”
“Me too—”
“Wanna start…soon—” He paused. “Soon. Need to put a baby in you—”
“I’ll get off the pill,” I rushed out. God, it was insane and perfect and absolutely right. “Get off the pill this week, take you every night—”
“God yes, fuck.” His rhythm didn't slow. If anything it deepened, his hand still spread flat across my belly, and I felt the full weight of what we were saying settle into the room like something physical. “Off the pill…off the pill, you’d do that?”
"Yes," I said. "Yes, tonight—"
He groaned and his hips drove forward and I lost my train of thought entirely for a moment, my knuckles white on the counter.
"Good girl," he said. "That's exactly right."
"John—"
"Every night," he said. "Every morning when I can. Keep you full of me until it takes." His hand pressed slightly firmer against my stomach. "And then right here—" a pause, his lips at my neck, "—you'll start to show. Right here first."
"Johnny—"
"Tell me you want it," he said. "Tell me again."
"I want it," I gasped. "I want all of it, I want your baby, I want—"
"Yeah." His voice had gone rough and low and completely undone. "Yeah, me too. So much, Poppy—been thinking about it since before I even knew I was thinking about it—"
"Me too—"
"Gonna take such good care of you." His arms wrapped around me fully now, one hand still on my belly, one on my breast, his mouth at my shoulder. "You and every single one of them. Promise you."
I believed him completely.
I came with his name in my mouth and his hands on me and his voice in my ear saying that's it, there you go, I've got you and when he followed me he stayed buried deep and held completely still and I understood exactly what that meant and loved him for it.
We stayed there for a long moment after. Both breathing. His forehead dropped to the back of my neck and he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.
“I think…” I started. “I think the food should be ready.”
He let out a startled laugh—then we were both laughing as he pulled out and turned me in his arms to kiss me deeply, getting me distracted all over again.
“We’re eating naked by the fire,” he said. “Then we’re doing this again.”
I nodded. “I sure hope so.”