by M. Leighton
I sit down, running a hand through my hair. I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t. Simone showed her hand tonight. Now I know her game, what she’s capable of. That gives me an edge.
I debate the wisdom of telling Poppy what happened, both tonight and that morning in her bed. I quickly reject the idea, though. It would only upset her and that’s the last thing I want to do.
So I’ll have to wait. Wait and see what Simone does. Chances are, based on the type of personality I think she is, she’ll try to manipulate me with them. The thing is, I’ll be ready. I’m not the easy target she thinks I am.
Women like her think they have the upper hand on all men because they’re beautiful and because we think with our little heads ninety percent of the time. What she hasn’t planned for is a man who has so many good reasons to resist her.
And I do.
If she’d bothered to ask, I could’ve guaranteed her she’ll never get to me. But she’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I just have to keep her from messing things up for a little while longer.
Eight, nine, and ten o’clock pass and I still haven’t heard from Poppy. I’ve texted several times, all with no reply. I even called the diner and they said she left at six thirty, a full half an hour before I even showed up at her door.
I worked for a while. Dug around in an unsavory website. Made very little progress. I don’t know if that was because all roads seem to lead to another, hidden portal deeper in the web that I can’t access yet, or if it was because my mind was on something else. Someone else. Either way, I gave up over an hour ago.
I pace the floor, reminding myself to keep calm. That’s the best thing I can do for both of us. It’s habit to wonder about worst-case scenarios, though. That’s partly occupational hazard and partly because I’ve lived through two of the worst worst-case scenarios a man can suffer.
I check my watch again. If she hasn’t responded by eleven, I’ll go back to her apartment.
I hate to be “that guy,” but hell! I’m worried about her. She can make of it what she wants.
At fifteen minutes to eleven, a soft knock sounds at my door. The hair on the back of my neck bristles. Poppy’s never been here before and I’ve never told her where I live. And no one else knows. I haven’t made friends here. I have no interest in them. So who’s paying me a visit at this time of night? Uninvited and unannounced?
I walk to the door, my right hand sliding into the space behind the coat rack, fingers curling around the butt of the gun I keep there. I look through the peephole. My fingers relax. I exhale in a mixture of irritation and relief then I swing open the door.
Poppy is standing on the other side of the threshold, her purse clamped tightly between her arm and her side, one thumb hooked through the strap. Her eyes are big and golden and apologetic.
I want to snap questions at her. Where have you been? Why haven’t you answered your phone? Why the hell would you put me through this?
But I don’t.
I say nothing. I stand and wait for her to speak.
“Can I come in?” Her tone is tentative.
I nod and step back, giving her room to pass. I close the door behind her, leaning up against it and crossing my arms over my chest.
Yes, I’m mad. Hell yes , I’m mad and I don’t give a shit if she knows it.
She takes a few steps into my apartment and then turns to face me, bowing her head slightly and tucking a few strands of silky hair behind her ear. “I, um, I’m so sorry I missed you tonight. I couldn’t…I was…I didn’t think you’d worry.”
Didn’t think I’d worry?
What a load of bullshit.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” is my only response, terse though it is.
“So you were worried about me?”
Anger rips through me.
“Was I worried about you? Was I worried about you? Jesus H. Christ, of course I was worried about you! What kind of an asshole do you think I am?”
“I-I don’t think you’re an asshole. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I just…I just…I’m surprised.”
“Why would you be surprised that I’d care enough to worry about you when you tell me to meet you and then you disappear without a trace for four and a half hours?”
She shrugs, uncomfortable with confrontation obviously. “I don’t know, I just…” She finally sighs loudly and gets some of her spunk back. “Maybe I don’t know where I stand with you.”
“Why wouldn’t you know where you stand with me?”
“You don’t make it easy, you know. You’re very secretive, we never talk about anything important, like your job or your past or things that matter to you. You keep me at arm’s length, even when it comes to…to…sexual stuff. What am I supposed to make of that? Huh? How am I supposed to know how you feel about me? Unlike you, I’m not a mindreader.”
I push away from the wall and don’t stop walking until I’m in her face. “Every time I touch you, every time I kiss you, every time we’re together, I show you how I feel.”
“Then maybe I’m just not experienced enough to read between the lines, because I still don’t know what the hell is going on with you!”
Her eyes flash with honey-gold fire. I want to kiss her and bury myself in her and shake the living shit out of her all at once.
I curl my fingers into fists and I hang on to the anger for as long as I can.
“Speaking of being not forthcoming, how did you know where to find me? How did you know where I live?”
I figured she’d back down at that, but it seems I’ve pushed a sensitive button by keeping all my secrets and she’s had enough. Her chin juts out and up, and she squares her shoulders, answering boldly, “I followed you home one night. After you left my apartment.”
Quite honestly, I’m shocked. Either my skills are getting dull or she’s turned my damn brain to mush. I had no idea she followed me.
“Why on earth would you do that? Why not just ask?”
“Because I’m afraid to ask questions. I’m afraid you’ll get all withdrawn and crawl back inside that shell you live in.” Poppy straightens her spine, coming to her full height, and she fires back at me with all she’s got. “But since we’re on the subject, who are you? Who lives like this?”
She turns a circle, taking in my sparsely-furnished apartment with its single black sofa in the living room, a small television on a crate in front of it and a lamp sitting on the floor in the corner.
And my coat rack. At least I have a coat rack.
“All you have to do is ask!” I reiterate, railing back at her, the last remaining threads of my patience unraveling faster than I can breathe.
“Fine! I will,” she offers, the flash in her eyes a challenge. “Maybe I’ll grill you about your past, about your job, about whoever it is you lost and can’t get over. Maybe I’ll ask you a thousand questions, and maybe you’ll answer them. Or maybe you won’t.” Her voice drops down, her ire receding. “Maybe you won’t answer any of them and I’ll never see you again. And maybe that’s more than I can live with because maybe, just maybe, I’m falling in love with you.”
Her chest rises and falls as rapidly as my pulse thumps. Her glassy eyes are brimming with emotion and her chin trembles with the depth of it. I notice everything about her from the way her fury smells, hot and musky, to the fact that her shoes don’t match. I take it all in, but only one thing matters.
She’s falling in love with me.
That’s all I needed to hear.
“Look at me. Don’t you know me when I look at you, can’t you feel this when you look at me ?
Her lips part. Her eyes search mine.
I know the instant she sees me, really sees me.
One moment we’re standing toe to toe, spitting venom at each other. The next, my hands are in her hair and all I can think about is how sweet her mouth tastes when I haven’t seen her all day.
And that I love her, too.
More than I thought I could.
Poppy
W hoever he is, wherever he came from, whatever he’s been through, I know Noah. Deep down, I know him.
He’s right—I can feel it.
I can feel him.
Like two lost souls who have known each other for eternity and been separated for almost as long, we come together. We fight for every kiss, every touch. We grip and grab. We cling and scratch. We are fire and passion and tongues and hands. A tangle of everything we’ve waited for, a twist of all we’ve wanted.
Noah unleashed. That’s how I will forever remember these moments. He isn’t holding anything back. This is who he is, what he is, and I am what he wants.
His hands are rough yet careful, fisting in my blouse and yanking until the buttons fly across the room like tiny, round missiles.
His mouth is urgent yet artful, teeth gently biting, lips wildly sucking, tongue always teasing.
And his body…it strains toward mine. I can feel it in every ripped muscle, every taut tendon.
Unbridled passion almost becomes too much when I feel the clamp of Noah’s hot mouth on my nipple. My bra is pushed down on one side, baring one breast to him. His head is bent and he’s devouring me.
And I can’t think past it. Can’t pull oxygen into my tight lungs.
Noah sucks at the sensitive peak, flicking his tongue over it until my knees buckle. One instant I’m standing, the next, his arms are wrapped securely around me, supporting my weight as easily as if I were a doll.
He holds me with one arm while he pulls the satin cup from the other side, sucking hungrily at that one, too. Lava pours through me, flooding my panties, singeing my core.
“Noah, God!” I moan, threading my fingers into his hair, pulling out the wildness, calling for the beast. We’ve waited too long to be gentle. This time, he will be the hurricane, tearing my world apart, piece by delicious piece.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I fumble with his shirt, trying to pull it up enough that I can feel skin. Hot, smooth skin. He growls in approval, leaning away only long enough to shrug out of it and let me tug it over his head.
Then he is back at me, kissing, licking, driving me mad with want.
I feel one hand at my waistband, flicking confidently at the button and then tearing at the zipper. He pushes them down one hip, my panties following closely behind then he bends enough to pull them down my leg and off my foot.
Then I’m open to him. His tongue invades my mouth at the exact moment his invades my body. I’m ready. So very ready.
He makes a guttural, animal sound that grumbles in his chest, echoing through his mouth and into mine. I gasp, swallowing it whole, like he’s swallowing me whole.
His fingers leave me for the space of a few seconds. I know what he’s after and I lend my hand to help, pushing at his jeans until they’ve cleared the firm, round curve of his butt.
Then, in one smooth movement, Noah lifts me, my legs going around his waist, my pants flying off and landing somewhere that I could care less about, and he’s prodding at my entrance.
All I can think about is getting him inside me, of what it will feel like to finally have him filling me up.
But Noah pauses.
His warm breath is absent.
There is no sound to be heard.
My very heart stops in my chest to count—one one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three.
He stares down into my face, into my eyes, memorizing, promising, taking something that’s been his all along, and then he presses slowly, excruciatingly up into me.
“Oh God, oh God!” I whisper, unable to make any more sound.
I gulp, shivering, the pleasure is so intense. I want to close my eyes, to savor the sensations—all of them—but I can’t look away. I feel like I never could.
Noah eases us forward, toward the wall, bracing me there so he can slip out halfway and thrust in deeper, harder.
And then…and then the animal comes back.
With a grunt, Noah buries his face in my neck. I feel first his lips, then his tongue, then his teeth seconds before he withdraws again and plunges up into me a second time.
I feel him…everywhere. There is no space inside me, there is no space outside me that he is not touching, that he is not thrilling, that he is not loving.
“Poppy,” he murmurs. And that is all I hear.
I break apart.
In that moment, I hear nothing but the beat of my own heart, pounding in my ears, and the sound of my own breathing, huffing against Noah’s shoulder.
I quiver and squeeze around him, and I know the moment it’s too much for him. With a cry that sounds almost painful, he grinds up into me and then pulls sharply out. Neither of us thought of protection.
“Uhhhh, God!” he groans, leaning heavily against me. “Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he repeats, his tone breathy.
I’m wheezing, too, still making my way down from the mountaintop.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Pant, pant, pant. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t wear anything.”
“I’m clean if that’s what you’re worried about.”
At that, Noah lifts his head. “No, it’s not that at all. I just…I shouldn’t have… That was irresponsible. And disrespectful to you.”
I smile. “It’s okay. We can do better next time.”
I don’t tell him that I have no regrets, that I’d do it again and again, and I’d never change one thing.
A crooked grin, something else that I’ve never seen on him, pulls at one corner of his mouth. It gives him a boyish look, charming in a totally different way, but equally devastating. “That sounds like a great idea.”
I squeal when her jerks me away from the wall and shuffles us both across the living room and into what I assume is his bedroom. It’s a room with a bed, so unless he has two, this is where he sleeps at night. Where he’s going to make love to me again.
And hopefully again and again.
Maybe this is where he’ll open up to me and share with me what’s in the bedroom of his heart, of his soul.
That’s my last thought as he lays me gently on the cool coverlet and stands back to strip his half-off pants from his legs.
I don’t have to ask if he’s already ready to go again. I can see for myself how perfectly, beautifully ready he is.
A chill spreads across my bare chest and down over the skin of my stomach. I shudder involuntarily.
“Are you cold?” he asks, frowning, instantly concerned.
My heart swells. My God, he’s wonderful!
“No,” I tell him quietly. “I just want you.”
Noah bends to the side, opening a drawer in the nightstand and pulling out a small foil package. I watch, rapt, as he takes out the condom and rolls it down over that long, strong gorgeous piece of man.
“Then you’ve got me,” he says, dropping to his knees between my spread legs. “But first…”
I don’t form another coherent thought for the rest of the night.
And twice the next morning.
14
Noah
I feel like the luckiest man on the planet when I find out that Poppy is off for the day. Right off the bat, I can think of a half dozen things I’d like for us to do.
But when I go with her to her place so she can shower and change, all those plans go sailing out the window. One look at her tight, round ass as she’s stepping into the shower and I’m a goner. Instead, we spend the day christening her apartment and speeding through the condoms I brought. Those plus the ones Poppy found in the drawer of Simone’s bedside table. The box hadn’t even been opened.
It’s as we’re lying exhausted, side by side in bed, that I finally get to ask about the mysterious roomate.
“I’ll have to get a box of condoms from the store and put them back before she gets home,” she says absently.
“So she has a lot of…suitors I’m guessing?”
Poppy shrugs. �
��Not really. When we were in high school she did, but these days, she doesn’t bring many guys home. She must have her eye on someone, though. She’s made a few comments about some hot guy she met. Evidently he’s the one playing hard to get. That’s a sure-fire way to get Simone’s attention.”
I cringe and my stomach draws into a knot. I hope to hell the guy isn’t me. I change the subject. “What does she do? You’ve never said.”
“She’s an exotic dancer. A damn good one, too.”
“Your best friend is a stripper ?”
“No, a dancer. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one.”
Poppy playfully slaps my arm. “Be nice. There’s a lot more to Simone than you’d think. You’ll see what I mean when you meet her. She’s got a big heart. And she’s very protective. I’d hate to be the person who got on the wrong side of her.”
I shift uncomfortably. “Have you two always been close?”
“Yes. Since the moment we met. We’re very different. Actually, we’re pretty much opposites in almost every way, I’d say. I think that’s why we get along so well. I’ve always wanted to be more like her, though. Simone isn’t afraid of anything. And she’s smart. Very smart.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, too.”
“I know I’m smart. But not Simone smart. She’s witty and clever. Good with people, good with numbers. She’s a computer whiz and I don’t think she’s ever met an electronic she couldn’t sweet talk. There’s very little she can’t do.” She turns her head on the pillow to grin at me. “She’s devious, too. I’ve always kind of envied that. She’s like a maniacal genius. She can think of the best ways to prank people. If she ever wanted to be mean about it…really mean … Wow! I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.”
Great.
“She sounds like Dr. Evil.”
That earns me a laugh.