Chapter 30 Coq Au Vin
Coq Au Vin
Jack
“I know Douglas won’t like it.” I tilt my head to the side to keep my phone wedged between my ear and shoulder as I stir the
stew I’m making. “But it would stick it to Jimmy.”
Across the line, Hazel sighs. “Fine. I’ll come down. I was getting the itch to move on anyway.”
“Sweet. Thank you.”
“You’re lucky I like you, Hartman.”
I pump my fist silently. I know I should’ve stopped dragging my feet and asked Hazel about this the moment Poppy and I committed
to Fable, but I couldn’t make myself do it. Sending in tons of paperwork and handling a million phone calls to get the licenses
and permits up to date was rough enough, even with help from Herman and Poppy. “I’ll bring you with me to Green Street when
it’s all set up. Promise.”
After we say goodbye, I toss my phone on the counter, my ears straining for the sound of Poppy climbing onto the boat. On
the couch, curled against my jacket, Gator blinks at me, that typical judgmental look in his bright eyes.
“What?” I tell him. “We have to eat. What am I supposed to do, not cook dinner?”
He keeps staring. His whiskers twitch.
“I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a date.”
A yawn, as if to say, Sure, human. Enjoy telling yourself that.
“We’re stranded on a desert island together. Metaphorically speaking. This boat is like our shelter.” I can’t believe I’m
babbling to the cat. I’m worse than Poppy when she gets going on a random topic. “Obviously I’m going to share my resources
with her. I’m not going to let her starve.”
He gets up, stretching, his tail in the air, and kneads my jacket with his paws before settling down again. Facing away from
me.
I turn to the stove. Great. Dismissed by the cat.
I’m not lying, though. This isn’t a date. We’ve shared plenty of meals. Just yesterday, we devoured a plate of steak and scallops
together.
“Okay, yes,” I call over my shoulder. “You win. I’ve never cooked for her before. Not like this.” I scowl as I taste the stew again. Coq au vin, a French classic. It needs a another grind of
pepper.
I haven’t touched Poppy since I came in my pants like a fucking teenager. It’s annoying, the way my body perks up when she’s
nearby. I’m a hound on the scent, anticipating my reward. I want to taste her like I’ve never wanted to taste anything or
anyone before.
I clear my throat at the memory of her taking a scallop into her mouth directly from my fingers. The way she licked her lips
after was so erotic, it should be illegal. Why didn’t I take her right there on the kitchen floor?
Right. Chester bustling in with the revised cocktail menu.
I finally hear her footsteps on the stairs, and then she’s in the cabin, all breathless sunshine and rambling energy. She’s
already talking a mile a minute.
“I love spending time with Ki,” she gushes. Gator leaps off the couch, wanting her to scratch him under the chin. She kneels
to greet him. “She has a way better sense of humor than you. What are you cooking?”
“Coq au vin.”
She looks up at me with a blink. “Isn’t that recipe pretty involved? It needs to be marinated first, right?”
“Wasn’t that much work.” I clear my throat, all too aware of the heat pricking my nape. Not a date. Desert island. “Did you figure out what was missing from the dining room?”
“Yeah. I’m going to swap out the art tomorrow. Bring in a few other things that used to be at the Sailfish.” She looks up
at me, still giving Gator pets. “Is that okay? I want Sal’s memory to have more of a presence.”
“You’re front of house.”
“But are you okay with it?”
“Yeah.” I give the pan of chicken, mushrooms, and Burgundy wine a vigorous swirl. “Sal would like it.”
“Good.” She joins me at the stove, stealing a roasted potato from the pan cooling beside it. Her hand cups my cheek, patting
once. “This smells amazing.”
There’s a little color on her face. I let my gaze wander, cataloguing the flush, the freckles. Her eyes remind me of blueberry
jam. I’ve gone too long without saying anything, stiff as I resist the urge to knock us both onto the floor so I can devour
her. She raises her eyebrows, a breathless giggle hitching in her throat at my stare.
“I called Hazel,” I finally force out. “Got her onboard.”
“Oh, awesome! I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You’ll like her.” I shift my attention back to the stove; it’s that or pulling her flush to my body and sucking on her earlobe.
She’s wearing her pearl studs again. “I wasn’t expecting you to be gone so long.”
“Oh, yeah, I helped Ki pick out an outfit for—um, something. Also, she told me—”
“Taste this,” I say abruptly.
She reaches for the tasting spoon I’m holding out, coating the back with sauce and licking in a cute, cautious way that reminds
me of a kitten. She makes a noise of pleasure, handing me back the spoon.
“It needs something,” I add.
She goes in for another taste. “Pepper.”
I nod. I wish I could taste it on her tongue. Damn her and her no kissing rule.
“Fix it so we can eat,” she says.
“It can keep.” I barely have the presence of mind to turn off the stove before I yank her into my arms. “This can’t.”
Her laughter sends Gator racing for the relative privacy of the bedroom.
I’m aiming for the couch, but she’s wriggling like a fish on a line, so we don’t quite get there.
We end up on the floor by the table, tugging off each other’s clothes.
I nearly kiss her again, because my self-control is hanging on by a fucking thread, but I manage to bury my face against the crook of her neck instead.
I greedily breathe in the warm, female scent of her.
I give her neck a lick. She tastes like sweat and rosemary and something sweeter, something uniquely her.
“Jack.” Her fingers catch in my hair. It sends violent shivers down my spine. “Oh—”
I lick one of the rosy tips of her breasts, kneading the other with my hand. She bucks her hips against mine. I hiss at the
contact; I’m aching already, balls drawn tight. As I lavish her tits with attention, she squirms, gasping with each new sensation.
I drag my mouth lower, swirling my tongue in her belly button, letting my beard scrape over the delicate skin of her inner
thighs. She widens her legs at the barest nudge of my hand.
There’s a downy patch of blonde curls at the top of her folds, but otherwise she’s smooth, her skin flushed and wet. I drag
my finger down the heated flesh. When I blow gently, she whines, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“I th-thought you wanted to savor it.”
“Oh, I fucking will.” I kiss her thigh, lifting my gaze to trail over the expanse of her body. Her hands keep working through
my hair. “No covering up those pretty noises, sweetheart. This comes with conditions.”
“Jack,” she whines.
“If you want to come, I need to hear you.”
I lick her seam from top to bottom. Her foot jerks against my side. I tease her center with my tongue, groaning at her rich,
salty taste. The world narrows to a tiny point. All that matters is this, right now. And more than anything, I want to take
my time.
At the first touch of my tongue against the swollen bud of her clitoris, she jerks as if shocked.
I chuckle against her skin, knowing the vibrations are hitting her core.
She jerks, pulls my hair, begs. I tease her until she’s trembling, one minute sucking on her clit, the next ignoring it completely in favor of fucking her with my tongue.
My cock, trapped between my body and the wood floor, twitches with each helpless noise that spills from her throat.
“That’s it.” I stroke down her leg as she shakes, right on the edge of coming. I don’t give her the satisfaction, waiting
instead until she’s practically pushing her pussy into my face before going back down on her. “That’s my girl. You know what
I can give you.”
“Jack please.” Her voice breaks. “Don’t stop, I need more—”
“You taste incredible.” I find her clit again, teasing it with my teeth. I’m lost in her: the heat of her skin, the helpless
noises escaping her lips. “Go on and scream, Poppy. Be a good girl and let me hear you.”
That final push must unlock something in her. She lets out a sharp cry, although she clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle
it, writhing underneath me like a mermaid caught in a net. She jerks my hair sharply as the orgasm overtakes her. I soothe
her with laps and licks and kisses. I rest my chin on her thigh, admiring how thoroughly she’s been taken apart. Her belly
rises and falls as she catches her breath. She’s pink from her cheeks all the way down to the valley between her breasts.
A stripe of sunlight illuminates one brilliant blue eye, while the other is cast in shadow. Her perfect bow of a mouth is
quivering. She looks startled, almost accusatory. My stomach’s knotted up tight, every inch of my body aching to sink into
her heat. Still, I force myself to wait for her reaction.
“That was . . .” Her voice fades.
I smile at her lazily. “I warned you.”
“No man has ever wanted to spend that much time between my legs.” She flings that out like an arrow.
“All night wouldn’t be enough. All week. All year.” She flushes, turning her head to the side. Her golden hair falls over
her face. “Why’d you cover your mouth, pretty girl?”
I wasn’t expecting this hesitation, this quiet. It’s so un-Poppy-like. Not long ago, she was ready to hook up with a random
townie at a bar. She’s brash, confident, and headstrong. And yet in bed, it’s like a switch flicks, and she curls in on herself.
It’s not that I mind the submissiveness—in fact, I love it—but I can sense her holding back. She’s keeping too much inside,
cracking but not breaking. Letting me have my way, but not allowing herself to fully enjoy it.
“Take me,” she says instead. She half sits up, reaching for my cock and giving it a slow stroke. I groan, enjoying her explorations. She’s a quick study, noticing what I like and repeating it with more pressure. Fluid beads at the tip, and she licks it as gently as she did the tasting spoon.
My breath stutters in my chest. “Sweetheart.”
In response, she takes me a little deeper. I sink into the sensation, eyes falling shut. She hums around me, her fingers working
up my length to massage my sac.
As tempting as her mouth is, I can’t let another moment pass without feeling her deep. I know if I’m face-to-face with her,
I’ll be hard pressed not to kiss her, to plunder her mouth with each thrust, so I turn her over, instead, my hand firm on
her back to hold her in place. She gives a little gasp of surprise, looking over her shoulder at me.
I palm the warm curve of her bottom. At the barest pressure of my knee, she spreads her legs wider, arching her back beautifully.
My breath is ragged. I squeeze myself tightly, so I don’t spill too soon. “Wait here while I get a condom.”
A hitched moan is her only reply.
She’s exactly where I left her when I return. The rush of possessiveness I feel should terrify me, but I ignore it in favor
of basking in its glow. She shivers as I trail my fingertips down her spine, noting each notch and dip. I kiss them before
easing into her like I would a hot bath. She’s tight, but slick, and each slide sends us reeling in a fresh wave of pleasure.
“What a good girl,” I whisper against her delicate ear. I bite the lobe, sucking on her pearl stud earring. She shudders beneath
me. I thrust shallowly. “You like being told what to do, Poppy?”
“Jack.” She moans, low in her throat, as I spread her folds, rubbing her clit with my calloused fingertips. “Don’t tease.”
“Not teasing.” I move with more purpose. She’s clenched around me like a vise. “You’re a quiet little thing like this, you
know that? Why? It doesn’t add up.”
Several more thrusts, as deep as I can press, my groin flush with her delectable bottom. When I pinch her, she finally reaches
back, her nails digging into my tattooed forearm. I groan, low in my throat. Forget kissing; I need to see her eyes.
She huffs as I flip her, indignation flaring over her face. “You’re manhandling me.”
I gather her wrists together and hold them over her head, tightly enough she’d have to work to free herself. I ease into her
again; a slow, painful glide that takes a considerable amount of my rapidly fraying self-control. Despite the pinch of her
eyebrows, she digs her heels against my lower back, drawing me ever closer.
“You love it,” I murmur. Her eyes hold a kaleidoscope of blue. Sky blue and navy and cobalt and robin’s egg and everything
in between. “You should be chanting my name right now.”
“Someone’s confident.”
“You’re clenched around me like a steel trap, darling.” I let the words wash over her lips, so near to a kiss, yet so far.
“And yet you’re holding back. Tell me why.”
“Seriously?” she blurts. “That’s not fair.”
I stop mid-thrust. “What’s not fair?”
She worries her lip, shaking her head. “Never mind.”
“Never mind what?”
“Just keep going.” Her heel grinds against my spine, egging me on.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She pulls her hands away from my grasp. “You can’t ask those kinds of things of me and still keep secrets.”
“What secret—”
“Kiara told me you were in foster care.” Her voice is clipped. Her eyes, framed by lovely long lashes, take on a hurt edge.
“That she and her dad took you in. You didn’t think that might be something I’d like to know?”
Her words hit me like a slap. As they sink in, it feels as though I’m leaving my body, viewing the scene from somewhere else.
“It’s not—it’s no one’s business.”
“I thought we were friends!” The moment stretches out impossibly, painfully. I could laugh, it’s so absurd. Friends. Friends
fucking each other on the floor. Friends demanding things of each other that we have no right to know.
I curl a hand around the generous curve of her hip. It’s torture to slide out of her while I’m still stiff. “My past has nothing
to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this, and you know it. No wonder you’re so worried about screwing up; you’re grieving the closest thing you had to—”
“Stop,” I interject swiftly.
She sits up, blonde waves tumbling in every direction, her breasts swaying tantalizingly. Part of me wants to shake her, and
yet a greater part aches to finish what we started. My mind spins as I gather my clothes.
“What are you doing?”
I stalk to the bedroom. I finish myself off in a matter of seconds, my mind cruelly, eagerly, offering up images of Poppy
arching against me, her fingers in my hair. Once I’m set to rights, I shove my feet into boots and grab my keys. Poppy’s still
on the floor, but she’s wrapped in a blanket now, a sullen angel with all that streaming spun-gold hair.
I grab my keys. “I’m going out.”
“Are you serious? Jack.”
“Don’t mistake sex for intimacy, Princess.”
My heart is beating so hard, it’s nearly painful. She looks small on the floor, and sad, and I hate myself as I climb the
stairs to the deck.