Chapter 24
ASK ME AGAIN, DALLAS.
Poppy
As I stand in the middle of my living room, I look around with a smile on my face.
There’s nothing that tickles my brain more than seeing my home put together and clean at the end of the night.
The puzzle I finished last night is boxed back up and tucked away in the small TV stand I have, the kitchen counters are wiped clean, and the pillows are fluffed.
Reaching into the drawer on the end table, I pull out the lighter to light my favorite candle from Stella Candle Co.
, called Main Street, that I stocked up on during their recent holiday collection launch.
A creamy, peppermint mocha scent fills the space, and I’ve never felt happier.
Looking at the time, I see that it’s still early, but getting darker out. I turn on the table lamp to its dim setting for ambiance. First, I pull out my notepad and pen and make a list of what I need to get done tomorrow.
1. 30 minute yoga session
2. organize closet and put away laundry
3. lesson plans for the week
Now that that’s out of the way, I decide to rummage through the boxes of puzzles to start a new one for the night. I only have one left that I haven’t done before, so I add: order a new puzzle to the list.
A knock on the door startles me, because I’m not expecting company.
I never am, really.
When I open it, I find Dallas standing on the other side.
His eyes down to the wooden boards of my porch before they slowly meet mine.
He’s dressed for comfort in a pair of light gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal that hugs every muscle on his body.
I hug the cardigan I’m wearing over my tank top tighter, because my body is fully aware of him standing there, but I can’t find words to come out of my mouth.
I want to ask what he’s doing here.
I want to ask if he’s okay.
I want to ask if he can kiss me again.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yep. I’m sorry, I’m just a little shocked you’re standing here.”
His lips turn up into a smirk.
“I mean, I’m not sorry,” I say quickly, knowing exactly what that face means.
“Yes, you are,” he says, side-stepping me as he makes his way into my house. Normally, this would drive me nuts, but not with him. I want him here. “And it’s okay. I sort of dropped by unannounced here. But I brought you something.”
“You did?”
I look down at his extended hand, and he has a puzzle for me.
One thousand pieces of a baseball themed puzzle.
On the bottom are a few fans facing a field, and players scattered across it.
But that’s not what draws me to it the most. There are mountains in the background.
Beautiful mountains paint the sky behind it, and the box is titled Field of Dreams.
“You got this for me?”
“I saw it at the General Store yesterday when I was there. I immediately thought of you,” he smiles, looking down at the puzzle still in his hands. “So I had to get it for you.”
My heart stumbles in my chest—no, it flutters—as if it’s forgotten how to properly beat in a regular rhythm, because Dallas thought of me. He remembered, or noticed, or whatever. Either way, he saw me and the things that bring me the most joy and got it for me.
I take the box in my hand, it’s nothing but a cardboard box, but it’s also someone whispering my name in a silent room. Something that may seem minor to someone feels so loud to me.
Because he remembered.
“Dallas,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on the box, afraid I might cry if I look at him.
“Poppy, what is it?”
I shake my head, the tear escapes on its own, and I want to wipe it away, but I don’t want him to know that a silly puzzle has made me this emotional.
Instead, I turn my face away from him, but he stops me.
My chin between his fingers, urging me to look up at him.
My eyes are closed, keeping everything put together so he doesn’t see me.
But he does.
Dallas sees all of me.
I open my eyes, and there’s a serious expression on his face. His fingers don’t leave my chin, holding me in place. “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”
“You can’t?”
He shakes his head. “You’ve been the first thought in my head when I wake up and brew my morning coffee, and the last thought I have before my head hits the pillow at night. Most of the time, I find myself thinking about you without meaning to.”
I swallow, but everything feels thick in my throat at his admission. “Is that why you’re here? Wait, where is Sage?”
“I dropped her off with her mom for the night earlier today,” he pauses, assessing my features. “And that’s part of the reason why I’m here.”
Silence stretches between us with his answer, except for the pounding in my chest. His eyes bore into mine, and my body heats with the intensity of his stare. The air is thick with tension, like a lightning bolt waiting for its chance to strike.
Then it hits me, he’s waiting for me.
He’s giving me the control I desperately crave.
“Kiss me, Dallas.”
“Thank fuck,” he practically growls.
He erases the space between us and crashes his lips to mine.
It’s not soft or careful this time. My fingers grip his shirt as his lips part, stealing every breath I’m willing to give him.
My body melts into him, and I feel the kiss down every part of me, making my knees feel weak.
He angles my head at just the right amount to deepen the kiss, making me feel like I’m being pulled underwater.
My control slips. I no longer think, I just feel.
I welcome it, love it, need it.
When I moan into his mouth, he pulls back. I’m breathless and dazed. My lips feel swollen in the best way, and I feel as undone as he looks.
He looks at my face up and down in silence before moving my head to the side, tugging my cardigan to the side, and peppering kisses down the pulse of my neck.
My body relaxes in a way it’s never relaxed before.
I quite literally melt where I stand, but he holds me in place, taking his time exploring my skin.
I want this, I think on repeat.
I reach up, running my fingers through the light scruff of his jaw, and he lifts his head again to face me.
“I’m here because I can’t stop fucking thinking about you—about this,” he says breathlessly, thumb grazing the pulse his lips were just on. “Since I kissed you, your taste has lingered on my tongue. It’s all I can think about at night, alone, in bed.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my nerves on high alert because even though I’m inexperienced, I know what he means with each word out of his mouth.
His fingertips trail the same pulse his thumb was stroking; no doubt, he can feel how fast it’s beating. Then he trails them along my collarbone, forcing my eyes to flutter closed as he continues down the side of my breasts and my stomach.
“Can I touch you, Poppy?”
“You don’t want this,” I breathe out, my inner mind fighting with the desire I’m feeling. “Trust me.”
He pulls his hand away from the hem of my leggings, back up to my face as if he still needs his hands on me in some way, shape, or form.
He doesn’t say anything, he just kisses me again. Softer this time—tentative and careful. Like I’m a glass doll that he’s afraid he’s going to break. I guess, metaphorically, I am. I know Dallas has the power to break me, but there’s also no denying that I want him to.
I can already hear the voice in my head telling me his response, Seriously? You’re still a virgin at twenty-five?
There’s that lingering fear that he’s never going to look at me the same again.
But I’m tired of hiding it.
“I’m an inexperienced virgin, Dallas,” I admit. “When I tell you that you don’t want this, that’s what I mean.”
I want to curl into a ball at my own admission, knowing something as huge as that has the power to make him walk away.
He could be the one to step away any second now and walk right out the door.
I fight to stay where I stand, though, not letting him know that saying that out loud makes me feel weak.
But it also makes me feel strong and powerful.
This is a truth I’ve carried with me quietly for years, and now I’m telling Dallas. Not because I owe him, or anyone, an explanation, but because I respect myself.
“Oh, but I do,” he finally says, shocking me to my core.
Taking another step into me to close whatever space I put between us, he presses his body into mine, and our bodies fuse like glue.
“I told you I wanted to take care of you, and that’s what I intend to do.
I don’t care that you’re inexperienced, and it’s not something you should be ashamed of.
I won’t push you into it either. Never.”
I release the breath I’ve been holding since I said the words out loud.
His hips jerk forward, and the feel of him hard against my stomach forces a moan out of me. Virgin be damned, because I do want him to touch me.
“Ask me again, Dallas,” I practically pant out.
He grins, and his fingers trail the same path they did moments ago. “Can I touch you, Poppy?”
“Please.”
“Mmm. You ask so nicely.”
In the slowest speed imaginable, he reaches for the opening of my cardigan to expose my tank top underneath.
The cold air seeps through the light fabric, and I feel my nipples harden from just his eyes on me.
His hands move to cup my breasts, and it’s an out-of-body experience having him touch me this way.
My breath catches in my throat as he gently massages them before grazing his fingers over my nipples, tweaking the hard peaks through the fabric.
A growl rumbles through his chest as his lips find my neck again. He doesn’t stop playing with my nipples, and I swear, the build-up of sensations between my legs is too strong.
It’s too much.