Chapter 22 #2
“I think they’ll tell the story about a stunning bride, that no one could take their eyes off of as she walked down the aisle.
Whose voice shook when she tried to say her vows.
Maybe they’ll talk about how the groom looked into her eyes before he kissed her, and how when he did it seemed like he wanted to ravage her right then and there. ”
“It’s a good story.” A light twinkles in her dark brown irises, her gaze pinning me in place for a moment before she finally says, “I’m so tired. I should get to bed.”
I nod in agreement. It’s been a long day.
The satin skirt of her dress swishes around her as she walks towards the hall, toward the guest room. I’m glad she’s back here, at my house. She’s made herself right at home, and I can’t help but feel like she belongs.
I follow close behind her, heading toward my room further down the hall. I’m wiped out from the day, but still, all my senses are homed in on her. The pearl pins in her hair, the floral fragrance she’s wearing. The memory of her soft, sweet mouth.
When will I get to kiss her next? After my next event in two days? My heart thumps, beating out two syllables that clang around in my mind.
Too long.
Poppy turns to me, one hand on the doorknob, ready to open it and disappear inside. But she doesn’t.
“Can you help me with my dress?” She asks. “I won’t be able to reach all the buttons.”
I think about how transfixed I was doing those buttons up, how difficult it was for me to keep my mind in line as my fingers grazed the smooth skin of her back. How much more difficult it will be undoing them.
“Sure,” I say, and I trail her into her room.
She’s only stayed here a few nights over the last couple weeks, but already there’s something different about the room.
It’s the way she’s draped her clothes over the chair in the corner, the way she’s brought her wool blanket with her and folded it at the end of the bed. It’s her smell, sweet and floral.
She turns around, standing at the end of the bed, and dipping her head so I have better access to the buttons. I start with the top one, and work my way down, until slowly the white lace of her lingerie is revealed.
Lower, and lower, I undo those delicate buttons. All the way down to the curve of her spine, the two dimples on her lower back.
My whole body is burning, yearning to see more of her, to touch her.
I clear my throat, yanking myself from the thoughts I shouldn’t be having, and step away.
Poppy turns, holding the front of the dress in place. A shy smile graces her lips.
“Thanks,” she says, her eyes roaming over my face and snagging on my lips. She licks her bottom lip and scrapes her teeth over it. I need to leave before I do something utterly stupid.
“You’re welcome,” I say, my voice low as I slip out of her room and into the hall. Her door snicks shut behind me.
I make the last few paces down the hall towards the master bedroom, loosening my tie with one hand, and undoing the first few buttons of my shirt. Despite how cold the weather is outside, my body is on fire.
Pacing around my room, I try to slow my heartbeat.
I came so close to kissing her again. We were alone before, hidden among the pine trees, though I made the excuse that any one of our guests could come around the corner and see us. That our intimate moment was still adding to the image of being a newlywed couple in love.
There isn’t the slightest chance of someone seeing us here.
But the way Poppy looked as she stood there with her dress hanging off her body, I know she was thinking about kissing me again too. Her eyes had lowered to my mouth and lingered there. It was so close I could taste it.
It’s just the heat of the moment, the champagne talking.
I’ve been so careful not to let our kissing go too far. When I kissed her out under the northern lights, I shut it down before either of us got carried away. We both have to keep a tight leash on our emotions, not get swept up in the relationship.
Our marriage might be official on paper, but this isn’t real, and it can’t be. Poppy deserves something real.
She deserves a man who is going to say his vows and mean every damn word with his whole chest. She deserves a man who will kiss her the way she wants to be kissed. The way I kissed her the other night and at our wedding, but forever.
I’m not a forever kind of guy.
I’m still pacing, my body having not gotten the memo that we aren’t going to act on the urge to march right back to her room. I decide I’ll just open my door a crack and see if she’s still up… if our kiss today is keeping her up like it is for me.
The hallway is still dark when I crack the door open, the house quiet and still.
I open the door a little more, and pad out into the hall, listening for signs of life in her room.
Approaching her door, I hold my breath, not wanting to make a sound.
Curiosity gets the better of me as I lean in and listen.
Silence.
And then her doorknob turns, and Poppy appears in front of me. She’s wearing a pale pink, satin nightgown that hangs loose off her frame.
I’ve been too distracted to get changed, and I look dishevelled, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, the top two buttons of my shirt undone and revealing a sliver of my chest. My hair is unkempt from me running my hands through it.
Somehow even in her nightgown, Poppy still looks like my beautiful bride.
“Jett…” she stammers. I try to come up with an explanation for why I’m standing outside her door. Before I can say whatever mediocre excuse I was about to come up with, Poppy’s gaze darts to the side and she whispers, “I couldn’t stop thinking about our…”
“Kiss?” I rasp, cutting her off because the word was sitting right there, on the tip of my tongue. The only thing on my mind.
She nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
Before I can second guess myself anymore, I’ve closed the distance between us, and I’m already kissing her again, firmly, hungrily.
A whimper escapes her as her body melts into my arms, like she’s relieved.
Like waiting for this was as painful for her as it was for me.
I drag her out into the hall, and without stopping, I kiss her as I turn us around and press her into the wall opposite her door.
My hands run up and down her rib cage, slipping along the smooth fabric and finding the dip of her waist. She arches her back to get closer to me, and I nip at her bottom lip, drawing a moan from her throat.
I pull away just long enough to peer into her eyes, shimmering in the moonlight streaming in from the window at the end of the hall.
“Me neither,” I murmur into the inches of space between our lips, before closing it again. My hands find her waist and trail lower, wrapping around her hips, the curve of her ass, and find the backs of her thighs so I can lift her higher.
Her short nightgown hikes up higher around her legs as she wraps them around me, her body writhing between me and the wall as I kiss her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, the soft spot beneath it.
We’re married now, but somehow this feels forbidden.
We’ve known each other forever, but I’m learning who Poppy is for the very first time.
I’ve done this so many times before, but it has never felt like this.
I grind my hips into her and hoist her up so I can use one hand to find the lace gusset of her lingerie. Her hips buck as I find her slit through the thin fabric, and she throws her head back against the wall as I run my thumb along her seam.
Her pleasure is intoxicating, and my length is painfully hard in my dress pants. I could come just watching how her body responds to me, and God I think I’m going to.
Poppy moans again and oh fuck… No, no, no—
I’m coming undone, my release pumping hot and fast into my pants.
My name slips from Poppy’s throat. It comes so naturally that for a moment I almost forgot that this is Poppy’s first time doing anything like this—a sobering reality that brings me careening back down to earth.
We’re just in the heat of the moment, I remind myself again.
Given the chance, I’m sure Poppy would prefer her first time to be under different circumstances.
I let her body slide down the wall as I gently place her on the floor, and stagger back a step into the hall. I take a sharp inhale of breath and pull away from her, praying that in the dark, she can’t see the wet spot blooming on the black fabric of my pants.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I grit out, my voice hoarse, my breathing heavy and ragged. The sliver of moonlight from the window lights up the whites of her eyes, shocked and confused as they search my face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” There’s no hint of hesitancy in her voice. “Are you good?”
I nod, scrubbing a hand down my face.
And then without saying another word, I retreat back down the hall in the direction of my room, keeping myself angled away from her so she doesn’t see the mess I’ve made of myself.
But as my hand lands on my doorknob, I look back at her over my shoulder.
“Goodnight, wife.”