Only now, we get to shag. And I get to explore all of her.
Every. Single. Part.
I thought I was on top of the world before, but I’d been a bloody wanker.
It’s taken a long time, and many hard lessons, to get to where I am. But now that I’m here, I fight every day to keep what I desire most.
Two days ago, we attended her sister’s bridal shower. Poppy finally brought me home to meet her family, and while they were somewhat put off by my boisterous, London personality I think they took to me. Her sister, Tabitha, seemed the most smitten with the fact that I really love Poppy. The two women may not have many similarities anymore, but it’s good to know that she wants to see her little sister happy.
They’d even all sat down as a family and discussed what had happened to Poppy, and what was about to come out about it. Her mother wept, and her sister reached out to hold her hand. Her father looked stricken and said if she needed them to come up for the trial, they would. It was a touching moment, though I have a feeling Poppy will spare them from most of the details in the coming year.
Nicolai DeCallen’s trial date has been set, for five months from now. Every single one of the cases against him have been granted into the Crown Prosecution Service, meaning they have no statute of limitations. In all, there are forty-seven women accusing him of rape and sexual abuse. But none more famous than Poppy, who is being both torn apart and held up on a pedestal in the media. Not that we listen to any of it. For the past two weeks, we’ve gone about our obligations, her campaigns, and my playing. Aside from that, Poppy has started a nonprofit, with some of the other victims, that helps survivors of rape or domestic abuse receive therapy, housing when needed, medical treatment, and so on. The work she’s doing, it’s so bloody admirable. That this woman can get up every morning and help people experiencing the same trauma that sometimes still gives her nightmares—it’s more than most people will ever do with their lives.
And when we’re not at work, we rotate between each other’s flats, cooking dinner together or reading books. Mostly, we spend hours in bed, making up for the time we didn’t make love.
And love it is. The way I feel about Poppy is all-consuming, this humongous ball of emotion that sometimes I can’t even give words to. It’s not just that either, that draws me to her.
I think the reason we were meant to find each other, why we match so well, is that we never found anyone who so perfectly fits us like I do her or she does me. All our lives, we’ve been cast aside or told we don’t belong.
It was only because we were waiting for each other.
She is my perfect fit.
Jude and Aria asked to double date after our match, but before it even started Poppy texted that she wanted to head to Charlton House after. She’s not up for hitting the town much, these days, and I respect that. This too shall pass, but if she needs to batten down the hatches, then I’ll bloody batten them.
As the lift brings us to our penthouse floor, I hold her in my arms, her head lying on my chest. How far we’ve come since that first drunken ride.
“So, where are we staying tonight?” I ask, swinging our conjoined hands as we come to stand in the middle of our two doors.
Poppy grins. “My bed is more comfortable.”
“Yes, but my flat has better snacks,” I counter.
“Or maybe, we should spend the last night of summer in our favorite spot.” Poppy’s smile is devilish.
“The pool,” we say at the same time as we race for the lift.
Poor Mrs. Clemens, her penthouse floor was about to get a lot naughtier. Perhaps I need to do something about our separate living situations.
As the ding of the doors signals our race to the pool, I let Poppy get a little farther ahead, watching as she strips down to her bare, beautiful skin and launches herself into the water.
I thought I’d been half in love with the gorgeous model who’d given me a tongue-lashing in the club those months ago. But I had no idea just how spectacular she really is.
And like the woman I love once said, I’m her lion. I’m going to protect that shine of hers at all costs.
Even if it means jumping bare arsed into a pool to save her from drowning with my very-skilled mouth.
Epilogue
Poppy
Six Months Later
Kingston drops a box on the restored hardwood floors, and something rattles dangerously inside.
“Watch it, would you?” I glare, but my voice carries no scolding.
Immediately, he eats up the space between us, and hoists me into the air. “What you going to do about it, love? Because if you want to spank me, I’m all for it.”
My hands grip his shoulders as I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure that would be a real consequence for you, babe.”
Slowly, he lets me slide down his body until we’re pressed together and his hands flirt above the waist of my jeans. “I’d take it like a man.”
“Yeah well, this woman has about fifteen more boxes to unpack in the kitchen, so why don’t you make yourself useful and tell the moving blokes where to set up the bedroom furniture?”
Kingston’s eyebrows waggle at me, and he plants a quick kiss on my mouth. “I can certainly do that. You know, setting up the bedroom furniture is the first part of my plan to start christening this entire house—”
I slap a hand over his lips. “There are people everywhere, you naughty man.”
He lands a gentle smack on my arse and then lopes off with a smirk on his face. The cheeky, dishy scoundrel.
Turning back to the white and blush kitchen I’ve helped design over the last month, a huge smile perks my face up. Today, we’re moving into our brownstone in Belgravia. After spending a month arguing over whose flat we should stay at on any given night, Kingston had thrown his hands up and suggested we just buy a home together. At first, I told him he was mental. But it had only taken six hours in my bed for him to convince me of just how wonderful living in our own multi-level townhome would be.
And I have to admit, he was right. We bought a three-story townhome on a quiet side street in our favorite neighborhood the week after he convinced me and started work on it right away. A new kitchen, new hardwoods on the second floor, and a claw-foot tub in the master bathroom. We put in an office in one of the spare bedrooms, complete with frames of some of my most iconic campaigns, and a few of Kingston’s framed kits.
Of course, he’d given me design control, but I hadn’t made our home too feminine. It was just enough that I was happy, and so was he.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the movers bring in the giant wood-paneled game table Kingston had in his Charlton House flat. What grown man wants a Foosball table in the middle of the dining room? The man I love, that’s who. I’d outlawed it from the start, but the thing was getting prime real estate in Kingston’s man cave in the basement.
I watch as the man of the house directs traffic, and catches me staring. He saunters away with his hips swinging, and I wonder to myself, not for the first time, how I am so lucky to end up with that jokester?
Although we live in London, approximately ten minutes away from them, we haven’t seen Kingston’s parents since he ordered his father to leave Charlton House. As much as I think my boyfriend is still bitter and traumatized by their behavior, it’s better for him and his mental health that there is no contact.
My family, on the other hand, has been surprisingly supportive. They all came up for the first day of the trial last month, even though I told them it wasn’t necessary. Tabitha held my hand in the courtroom, and although they won’t be here when my testimony is heard in a couple of days, I have the support system I need.
Kingston will be with me every step of the way, and Aria and Jude already assured me they’ll be in the room. Aria told me that if I ever feel myself clamming up, or about to break down, all I need to do is look at her. Tell my story to her.
Since my story came out, when I was named on the list of victims, life has bee
n … unsettled. Although falling in love and starting our life together has happened at the same time this media circus is progressing, providing a nice distraction, it’s always there in the background. The day I’ll have to get on the stand looms over our heads, and I’m ready for it to be over with. Soon enough, we’ll know Nicolai’s fate. I hope he’s sentenced to years rotting away in a cell.
Today is a happy day, though, I try to readjust my mood as I bend down to begin unpacking the next box.
“Why do you have a box labeled ‘Not for Poppy’s Eyes’? What, is there a bunch of kit chaser’s knickers in here or something?” I joke, opening the box anyway as he smirks at me.
“More like stacks of old Playboy mags. I didn’t think you’d want to know about them before I stash them under the mattress.” The teasing tone of his voice is light and comes from somewhere behind me.
Only, when I open the cardboard box, there is one small, velvet box sitting in the middle of it. Instantly, my heart begins to hammer in my chest.
“What is this?” I’m scared to even reach for it, and my eyes go wide when they flick up to meet his.
“Pick it up,” Kingston breathes.
The small jewelry box is a crushed blue velvet and fits in the palm of my hand. Gingerly, I bring it to my chest, too nervous and stunned to do much else.
“Turn around, Poppy.”
When I do, Kingston is on one knee before me. The tears come instantly, and I have to blink them out to clear my vision as they fall down my cheeks.
“I love you. We’re making a life together, but I don’t just want to be roommates, or in a relationship. It seems too insignificant for what you mean to me. So, I want you to be my wife. Please, give me the honor?”
When I first met Kingston, I wanted nothing to do with him. But he changed me. He charmed me. He showed me the true colors inside his soul, while also revealing mine.
I’ve given so many of my firsts to this man. And now I’m going to give him one more.
“Yes. Blimey, yes.” I’m too shocked to say much else.
Kingston is beaming as he slides a princess-cut diamond onto my ring finger and then stands to envelop me. I squeeze him tight, wanting to drink this moment in and never let it go.
“I … I can’t believe you just proposed.” I giggle, pulling back to stare at him.
“I can’t believe I made you speechless.” He gives me a haughty grin.
Pressing my lips to his temple, then cheek, then the tip of his nose, I admonish him. “Don’t count on that happening again.”
“Want to bet?” Kingston’s hands slide down to my waist.
“Oh, you’re on, Phillips.”
It’s going to be a lifetime of challenging each other, and I can hardly wait.
Read the rest of The Rogue Academy series, available now!
The Rogue Academy Series:
The Second Coming
The Lion Heart
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About the Author
Author of romance novels such as The Tenth Girl and Privileged, Carrie Aarons writes books that are just as swoon-worthy as they are sarcastic. A former journalist, she prefers the love stories of her imagination, and the athleisure dress code, much better.
When she isn't writing, Carrie is busy binging reality TV, having a love/hate relationship with cardio, and trying not to burn dinner. She lives in the suburbs of New Jersey with her husband, daughter and Lab/Great Dane rescue.
Please join her readers group, Carrie’s Charmers, to get the latest on new books, as well as talk about reality TV, wine and home decor.
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Also by Carrie Aarons
All of my books are currently enrolled in Kindle Unlimited.
Read the first book in the Rogue Academy series, The Second Coming, which features Jude and Aria!
Standalones:
The Tenth Girl
You’re the One I Don’t Want
Privileged
Elite
Red Card
Down We’ll Come, Baby
As Long As You Hate Me
All the Frogs in Manhattan
Save the Date
Melt
When Stars Burn Out
Ghost in His Eyes
On Thin Ice
Kissed by Reality
The Nash Brothers Series:
Fleeting
Forgiven
Flutter
Falter
The Flipped Series:
Blind Landing
Grasping Air
The Captive Heart Duet:
Lost
Found
The Over the Fence Series:
Pitching to Win
Hitting to Win
Catching to Win
The Lion Heart (Rogue Academy Book 2) Page 20