Chapter 38 Nightcap
Nightcap
Jack
Poppy knocks against me on the stairs, not because she’s drunk—we finished off Sal’s stash of rum ages ago and switched to
water—but because she’s trying to walk backward, climb into my arms, and kiss me all at once. Her eagerness reminds me of
Gator when I break out a tin of sardines, and it makes me smile. I haven’t stopped smiling all night, in fact.
“Whoa,” I say, grabbing her so she won’t topple down to the landing. “Let’s not end up in the ER again.”
“The ER wasn’t that bad,” she says. I manage to scoop her into my arms. “You kissed me in the ER.”
“I’ll kiss you as many times as you want.”
“Mmm.” She cups my jaw, a smile curving her perfect lips, and kisses me. I push open the door to my old bedroom.
“When Ki and I went to get stuff to make the restaurant décor better, I saw this room.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Did you leave anything behind? Old cookbooks? Embarrassing fashion choices? Porn?” She starts poking at the half-filled bookcase
underneath the window as if she expects to find a stash of Playboy.
“I took it all.” I clear my throat. “I’m sure he used this as a guest bedroom.”
“Did it look just like this, minus all your nerdy cooking stuff and your obviously massive collection of nudie magazines?”
I roll my eyes, dragging her back into the cradle of my body. She struggles, but then I kiss her neck, and she decides this
is the better place to be. I recline on the bed with her in my arms. She smells like sugar and rum and rosemary. The weight
of her against me grounds me too, right here, the background hum of overactive energy receding for now.
“Yes,” I admit. It’s all the same, from the paintings on the walls to the blanket on the bed.
“Then he kept it like this. For you. Ask Kiara, I’m sure she’ll tell you that.”
Sometimes, Poppy’s perceptiveness startles me. Like now. Her eyes are particularly brilliant in the soft lamp light, ocean-deep
and full of happiness.
She puts her palms on my chest, spreading her fingers, and arches up for a chaste kiss. I cup her bottom with both hands and
kiss her deeper. Her navy-blue leggings, so tight they might as well be painted on, have been a torturous tease all night.
Long ago she took out her braids, leaving her hair wavy and free.
Possessiveness flares in my chest. I want to mark every inch of her, from the backs of her elbows to the insides of her knees
to the pointed tip of her nose. I want to kiss between each delicate finger and toe and suck marks into every soft place.
I want to learn what makes her gasp and shiver and claw at me for more. There’s so much of her I haven’t mapped yet, and despite
how late it is, I’m aching to get started right away.
I pull off my shirt, tossing it somewhere on the floor, and tug at her sweater. She’s wearing one of her pretty bras underneath,
trimmed with lace and a sweet little bow.
She traces along my collarbone. “Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“With, um . . . I was wondering if you ever . . .” There’s something in her expression I don’t like. A hesitation. A question.
Her mouth opens. Closes. “Never mind.”
I frown. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” She tugs on my arm until I get the hint and switch positions with her. “It was just a stupid thought.”
She sits on my thighs, pressing kisses to my chest, my stomach, and lower. I watch hungrily as she takes off her bra. Her
nipples harden in the cool air, two perfect rosebuds. Outside, rain continues to fall in steady sheets, the wind whipping
the palms near the window. She unbuttons my jeans, freeing me.
Any thoughts of pushing her for an answer evaporate the moment her tongue circles the tip of my length.
She hums, teasing before she takes it farther into her mouth. The vibrations rachet up the pleasure. I tangle both hands in
her hair, long and loose and so fucking pretty, and tug.
She gasps around her mouthful. Her eyes flick to mine.
“Oh, Princess,” I say, voice low, raw. “That’s it, you feel so good.”
She sucks harder, taking me in deeper. It requires effort not to snap my hips. I pull her hair instead, skin prickling as
I see the way it relaxes her. I fucking love how she needs it a little rough, just like me. One of her hands slides up, massaging
my sac.
“Fuck.”
She grins around me.
Before long, I’m getting close, balls drawn up tight. I let my hips rock up, fucking into her mouth. She takes it, revels
in it, digs her fingernails into my thighs hard enough to sting.
“You want to taste me?” My words are the barest whisper, tinged with steel. She nods. “Then keep those gorgeous eyes on me.”
One, two, three more thrusts, then I spill into her mouth with a grunt. She swallows messily, spit and come coating her lips,
her chin. My body relaxes, limbs loosening, but I sit up, taking her with me. She wipes her hand across her mouth. Licks her
lips.
“A little salty, Chef,” she says.
“Brat,” I tease. She hits my chest, grinning.
I slide her soaked panties down, dragging her over my bare thigh.
She whimpers at the contact with my skin.
I kiss her deeply, tongue tangling with hers, tasting myself.
I squeeze her ass with both hands, the way I was dying to do all evening, and urge her to rock in my lap.
She makes a low sound as she presses even closer.
The tips of her breasts brush my chest hair, making both of us shiver.
“Good girl.” I feel her arousal, the warm slickness making it easy to grind her on my thigh. She looks stunning like this,
every bit the debauched princess. “I’m dying to get inside you, sweetheart. But I need a moment. Think you can come on my
face?”
She nods frantically, lurching forward to kiss me. “Please.”
She’s trembling as I lay her on the bed. Her hair is flung over the pillow like corn silk. My breath catches. I never brought
a girl back to this bedroom, never even imagined myself finding this kind of connection with someone.
But she’s here with me. We’re wound together, and I don’t want to let go.
I lean down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss. My hands stroke her soft skin, cupping her breasts; I drag my lips down
to suck on her nipples. She arches into me with a breathy whimper.
I smile against her skin. “I’ve wanted to taste you again so fucking badly.” My lips skim lower, tongue dipping into her belly
button. I nudge her legs apart, wide, and kiss the top of her sex. At the sight of her blonde hair, a little darker here,
against the deep pink flush of her skin, my cock twitches painfully. “Watching you writhe on my tongue as I catalogue every
note.”
She buries her hands in my hair, whining. She’s absolutely soaked, so turned on even the barest touches make her jolt. I press
my face against her, beard scraping along her delicate skin as I lick and suck and taste. She’s a feast, all for me. She’s
salty, and a touch sweet, with a rich note that’s purely her. I slide my hands under her bottom, angling her so I can fuck
her on my tongue. She rewards me with a shout. A beautiful sound. It’s clear she’s not feeling the least bit self-conscious,
even with our friends in other rooms of the house.
“I’ve tasted nearly everything,” I murmur against her skin. “The best champagne. Caviar. Fruit off the tree, fish off the
boat.” I’m rambling, but I don’t care. Not when I’m lost in the heaven that’s between Poppy’s thighs. “White truffle. Foie
gras. Kobe beef. Saffron.”
“Jack.” She’s laughing.
“Nothing compares to this.” I pause, flicking my gaze upward, and sure enough, she’s looking at me. At the sight of her, I’m breathless; there’s no space between my ribs for air. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. She strokes my hair away from my forehead. “That might win the award for cheesiest
dirty talk ever.”
“I accept.” I circle around her clit with the tip of my tongue, then suck until I hear her cry out. “Happily.”
As I continue to taste her, I slide two fingers into her, crooking them at an angle that has her jerking on my hair. She goes
over the edge so easily after that, shaking underneath me as she cries my name. It’s not long before I’m hard again, straining
to feel her from the inside.
“I need you,” I whisper, kissing her inner thigh. “Tell me I can have you, Poppy.”
She strokes the back of my head. “Of course you can.”
The next moments are quiet, minus our gasping breath. I coax along her seam until her slick coats her, each touch of my fingers
setting off shivers. Her nails dig into my skin, pinpricks of pleasure-pain. She spreads her legs, urging me to sink into
her, and I nearly rip apart the condom in my haste. She laughs breathlessly. I shake my head as she helps me, guiding my length
to her sweet, slick core.
She’s looking at me, lips parted softly, eyes so trusting, as I join our bodies together. She lifts her hips to meet mine
with each thrust, wanting me deep, moans falling from her mouth like jewels. I rake my lips over hers, hoarding the evidence
of her pleasure with pride.
It’s torture to pull out completely, but I do in order to angle us on our sides, her body held in my embrace. I urge one of
her legs up toward her chest, keeping my hand on her knee, while my other hand circles her clit. I pepper her neck and shoulder
with rough kisses. My beard drags against her heated skin. The whimper that escapes her makes me hot all over again. I groan
as I sink into her from this new angle, as languid as the slide into the deep end of a pool. My finger glides around her clit,
her pretty curls, and lower, rubbing the place where we’re joined together.
“Jack.” Her back arches against my front. “Don’t stop.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted.” I bite the freckled curve of her shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”
“More.” The word tumbles out of her without hesitation. Pride surges through me. “More, harder—please—”
As I continue to thrust, I wiggle my finger in next to my cock, stretching her even farther. She sobs, her breath catching.
“Too much?”
“More.” Her voice is high, but steady.
I move my finger in time with my hips, getting it good and slick before pressing it against that other, even more intimate
place. She tenses, but I whisper praise to her until my finger slips in, inch by slow inch. Filled in both holes, she relaxes.
It’s nearly enough to make me come on the spot, the feel of her pliant body. My Poppy. My sweet fucking girl. A tidal wave
of possessiveness crashes over me, painful in its intensity.
“Good?” I whisper roughly.
She nods frantically.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? Just like this?”
“Yes. Fuck. Oh, Jack, yes . . .” She clamps tightly around my cock—and the finger teasing her bottom. I let out a shaky breath,
fighting to keep my rhythm. She’s too perfect. Too sweet and filthy, all at once.
My mind startles me with the image of her filled with my seed, tits swollen, belly gently curved. It’s not a question of desire,
or even a question of need. It’s something in my bones, yearning for that connection, that claim. I want to knock her up,
and for the whole damn world to know that she’s mine.
I thrust so hard, the bed shakes. She meets each movement eagerly, not holding back even the slightest whimper. I bury my
face in the crook of her neck with a pant. I can’t say a damn thing about what I’m thinking. It’s too fucking intense.
But true.
I’ve never thought of the future and happiness in the same breath.
Especially not when it comes to a woman and the urge to make her mine, to see her with my child, to create something so fiercely special with her.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been happy in my life until right now, and I’m terrified beyond reason to lose it.
I can’t tell her any of that.
So, I swallow what’s on the tip of my tongue and guide us over the edge.