Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

  “But, but, but…” Poppy stammered. “We can’t cope with a full booking.”

  “I’ll close the shop and help Derek in the kitchen,” Emma said. “I’ve stood in enough to know my way around.”

  “Thank you, Mum, but,” she peeked upstairs, desperate at their good fortune. “Two floors at lunchtime is too much for me to waitress. We’ll have very unhappy customers.”

  Poppy’s heart sank. Bethan who covered their days off worked in Welshpool on Saturdays and the chances of them rustling up a competent waitress at this short-notice was poor.

  “I can pitch in.” Rosalyn said.

  “You?”

  “Yes, me.” Rosalyn laughed.

  “You? Serve food?”

  “It’s not so ridiculous.”

  “I know waitressing doesn’t seem the most complex job in the world, but serving well…”

  “Couldn’t agree more. I did my time waitressing at university. I might have a wealthy mummy and daddy, but I supported myself those three years. And I made a swift and attentive waitress, if I say so myself.”

  Poppy stood open mouthed.

  “So sling me an apron and take me through your menu, Poppy Jenkins. We’ve got work to do.” And Rosalyn flashed a grin that made Poppy’s heart leap.

  They huddled between Poppy’s beloved cake cabinet and the stainless steel counter of the kitchen. The pair squeezed into the drinks corner as her mother snatched a serving of cake, and further still as Derek passed to and fro restocking the kitchen.

  They stood facing each other, almost breast to boob, with Rosalyn’s ample cleavage heaving a touch higher than Poppy’s.

  They were so close, Poppy could feel Rosalyn exhale on her bosom. In her heightened state, Poppy caught her breath, then to her alarm the inhalation thrust her chest forward. For a moment they touched – an exquisite, electrifying tease of nipple to nipple.

  The thrill danced through her chest, sparkled through her tummy and sent the good news tingling all the way between her legs and she shuddered with excitement.

  Poppy snapped her gaze away from Rosalyn’s chest and stared at the menu pretending she hadn’t noticed their fleeting caress.

  “Menu,” she said. “This is a menu.”

  She peeped at Rosalyn. To Poppy’s relief, her friend seemed too intent on the specials to notice Poppy’s reaction. Rosalyn’s cheeks were rosy and a sheen of perspiration sparkled on her face. The temptation to reach for Rosalyn’s cheek, stroke a finger down her neck and test the line of moisture all the way down her cleavage was insane.

  “Hot.” Poppy gasped.

  Oh no. Alarmed, she shot a glance to Rosalyn. “It’s hot.”

  “You too,” Rosalyn said. “I mean, are you too? It’s hot by the kitchen. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” Poppy coughed. “And a hot day. The sun. Very hot.”

  “And it’s going to get hotter girls,” Derek announced as he flew past with another box of tomatoes.

  Oh god. Now that menu.

  “This is today’s lunch menu,” Poppy said again. “Although until midday we serve cakes, drinks and breakfast sandwiches.”

  “So lots of baps, buns and muffins,” Rosalyn suggested.

  For a moment Poppy’s brain stalled on Rosalyn’s muffin and baps then tripped over her buns. A tumbleweed blew through her mind and sometime later the noise of the café intruded.

  “That’s right, yes,” she stuttered, not knowing how long she’d been staring agog. “And the coffee machine’s here.”

  Poppy squeezed by, mercifully without brushing up against Rosalyn, and leaned under the machine. Proud of her manoeuvre under trying conditions she grabbed two round cups and spun around.

  “Big cups,” she said with gusto, and came to a halt in front of Rosalyn’s chest – one large round vessel per ample white breast. “I mean we use big cups,” Poppy said distraught and her eyes shot as wide as the accompanying saucers.

  “Jugs?” Rosalyn said. “I mean, where are the milk jugs?”

  Poppy thought she saw Rosalyn colour, but she was mid-manoeuvre averting her own gaze and didn’t dare check.

  “Yes. Sugar.” Poppy pointed to both items at the end of the counter. They stared in the general direction of the sweet stuff and troublesome jugs, Poppy not daring to open her mouth again.

  “You might want to turn that down,” her mother said. Emma’s head popped over the cake counter and she pointed to the steam wand which whistled at the end of the coffee machine. “It’s getting steamy in here.”

  “I’m going for some air.” “I’ll check the customers.” “Good idea.”

  And Poppy and Rosalyn went their separate ways.

  Despite Poppy’s distracted introduction to the running of the café, Rosalyn took to it like a seasoned pro. She managed the second floor while Poppy serviced the first and time flew by in a happy whirlwind of customer orders and reorders.

  But every time they passed the kitchen, every single time, Poppy fevered over Rosalyn’s figure. And every accidental touch when they leaned over the counter, fingers stroking arms, thighs brushing against thighs, Poppy felt the thrill of it through her whole body.

  All afternoon, Poppy’s face flushed. Rosalyn too, Poppy noticed, had a distinctive healthy radiance. Thank goodness for the warm weather. Perhaps in the sunshine Rosalyn would dismiss Poppy’s aroused appearance as the same heat as her own.

  Rosalyn had never looked more alluring. There was something about her, especially when Poppy drew near. Her complexion glowed, her eyes were dark, her lips deepest red. She laughed and chatted to customers with charm and Poppy found herself gazing in admiration.

  “Are you ok? Do you need help on this floor?” Rosalyn asked. They’d converged again at the kitchen counter.

  Poppy shook herself out of her reverie. “I’m good. Thanks.” Poppy smiled with heart-felt gratitude, before, yet again, dropping her gaze and not so furtively exploring Rosalyn’s body.

  “Oh,” she said. She snapped her eyes to Rosalyn’s. “You’re undone.”

  Rosalyn lifted her arms, three plates balanced between them, and spied her shirt. It had succumbed to her heaving breasts and burst open. She turned to put the plates back, but the counter was already full with another order.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  It was wonderful. Two buttons had pinged apart and Rosalyn’s lacy bra was visible to all. Everything that lay beneath peeped through beautifully and Poppy blinked, the deep red nipples of Rosalyn Thorn forever seared into her consciousness.

  “It’s. Um. Quite. Very. Revealing.”

  “Do me up,” Rosalyn whispered hoarsely, “before I drop these plates.”

  “What?” Poppy panicked.

  “Please do me up.” Rosalyn looked away to check no-one could see her exposed.

  Poppy stared at Rosalyn’s chest, two nipples capturing her attention once again. She raised her hands then froze. How could she do this without touching Rosalyn?

  She leaned in and, with a precision movement, pinched the button and its opposite hem between her fingers and thumbs. She just had to coax Rosalyn’s breasts together and her shirt would be joined again.

  A simple task perhaps, but not when Poppy’s head swirled at the sight of such a cleavage, not with Rosalyn’s scent rising with every breath, not when her bosoms heaved higher and higher. Was it Poppy’s imagination or did her chest rise and fall ever quicker?

  The more Poppy stroked the material tighter, and the closer her examination, the harder the task seemed to become. She blushed at the intimate challenge and glanced up at Rosalyn. Good fortune shone upon her. Rosalyn was turned away biting her lip. The plates must be taxing her strength.

  Poppy abandoned all care. She stroked her fingers across Rosalyn’s breasts, and with a good handful in each palm squeezed the mounds into an exquisite kiss and hooked up the buttons.

  “There,” Poppy gasped. “Done it.”

  Rosalyn quivered and almost dropped the plates.
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  “Thank you,” she stuttered. “I… better…put these down…take them to the customer.”

  “Yes,” Poppy said, trying to hide her blazing face. “They must be getting heavy”.

  “Yes.” Rosalyn gulped. “That. Like. Something.” And she flew into the café to deliver the plates.

  Chapter 26.

  The day had been electrifying. Her mother and Derek had surpassed themselves and Rosalyn had tended to the customers with consummate professionalism, flirting with everyone from a bullish pair of young men to a table of four octogenarian women who were by far the bigger handful.

  Compliments rained in for the comfort of the establishment and refreshing style of food and Poppy didn’t stop beaming all day. And more than one glowing comment was left about the charming proprietor with the sunshine smile.

  As Poppy closed the door behind the last customer, Derek and Emma long gone after the lunchtime service, she congratulated herself on maintaining decorum in the face of considerable temptation and the alluring presence of Rosalyn.

  It had been close though. She clutched at her chest as she remembered the tantalising glimpse of Rosalyn’s breasts. Poppy closed her eyes and felt for her locket by force of habit. But her fingers encountered bare skin. It had gone.

  She looked around the floor of the shop, scanning every corner, but there was no sign. She sprinted up the stairs and searched the first-floor dining area and loos and gave a frantic scan of the kitchen. Every surface was covered with dirty crockery, pots and pans. It could be in one of a hundred places, including several sacks of rubbish outside, or down three plugholes. But she’d also served the top floor during Rosalyn’s break.

  Rosalyn was clearing upstairs, wiping tables and collecting plates, and Poppy padded up the spiral staircase hoping to peep over the floor without Rosalyn noticing.

  The rattle of activity ceased before Poppy reached the top. She hesitated. No plates crashed, no table spray puffed, there wasn’t even a shuffle from Rosalyn. Poppy climbed one quiet step at a time until the floor flashed into view.

  Rosalyn knelt in the far corner, turning an object over in her hands with great care. A chain flowed through her fingers as she examined it. The necklace.

  Rosalyn stared at the jewellery frozen in her hands. Her thumbs were poised ready to prise the locket apart, but she remained rigid as if unable to face it. With a sudden flourish, Rosalyn’s fingers became fluid and she opened the locket. She exhaled a great breath, maybe of surprise, perhaps relief.

  She would find no picture. No recent sweetheart. Not even a photograph of Poppy’s family. It contained just the faint print from Rosalyn’s finger all those years ago. It had never faded.

  Rosalyn gently squeezed the locket shut and clasped it in her hand as if cherished. She stood, and Poppy, regretting her spying, pretended haste and jogged up to the floor.

  Rosalyn flushed when she saw her.

  “Your necklace,” she said. “It was here.”

  She avoided Poppy’s eyes, clearly affected by what she’d found. She seemed as vulnerable and genuine as the day she’d gifted the necklace to Poppy.

  “I’m glad you never sold it or threw it away.” A dejected laugh escaped her. “I think I would have.” The look she gave Poppy was an image of a hundred thoughts and feelings. “I’m relieved you kept it. For whatever reason.”

  She stepped closer, awkward and bashful, the veneer of confident Rosalyn Thorn gone.

  “Here,” she whispered and held up the silver chain.

  Her features were softened by her vulnerability and Poppy’s heart melted, finding Rosalyn as beautiful as when she exuded charismatic assurance. Poppy doubted she’d ever find anyone as attractive. There was something about Rosalyn in every mood that tickled Poppy’s desire or pulled at her heart.

  Poppy lifted her long hair so Rosalyn could lay the chain around her neck. She closed her eyes, fearful of meeting Rosalyn’s gaze as she leaned closer, her face sultry and close to her own.

  The locket felt cool and thrilling on her chest as Rosalyn draped the jewellery. The pendant tickled as it rose and fell, up and down her cleavage as Rosalyn adjusted the clasp. Rosalyn’s fingers stroked around her neck as she lay the chain straight, and Poppy’s skin tingled alert with the attention.

  “Nearly there,” Rosalyn whispered.

  She stroked the chinks in the chain smooth, all the way from Poppy’s neck, light over her collar bone, and slowly, ever so slowly, down the curve of her breast to the beloved locket.

  The trail of Rosalyn’s fingers sent sparks deep inside; the thrill of the attention made her breasts crave more and without thinking Poppy gasped with the pleasure.

  She froze. Her reaction had been unequivocal. This time Poppy’s physical response was impossible to hide. Her face flushed and her chest rose and fell with fearful excitement.

  Poppy kept her eyes shut tight, unable to bear Rosalyn’s disapproval. It would surely be written all over her face.

  She felt Rosalyn’s finger move and Poppy imagined Rosalyn’s hand lifting away, but it didn’t. It lingered. It trailed further. It savoured. Soft fingers explored Poppy’s cleavage and gently spread across her breast.

  Poppy panted in shallow, enthralled breaths as Rosalyn’s fingertip circled her nipple. Even through the cotton of her dress it must have been obvious Poppy’s reaction was full and instant. Her nipple pinched in ecstasy and a hum of pleasure coursed through her body.

  With the lightest of touches, Rosalyn unbuttoned the front of Poppy’s dress and slipped her hand beneath the cup of her bra. Smooth fingers stroked in circles around her nipple, then teased with a delicate pulsing pinch the very enjoyable side of firm.

  Poppy stood immobilised, unaware of anything other than the exquisite caress of her breasts. She panted, in thrall to Rosalyn’s touch, her mouth open and wordless. The whole of her body thrilled with the sensation and yet pined to submit to the caresses.

  For a moment, Rosalyn’s touch wavered and Poppy feared she might stop. But warm lips slipped around hers in a kiss and ignited her full passion.

  Every part of her body flooded with desire. Her lips devoured Rosalyn’s. Her hands feverishly explored Rosalyn’s body, tearing at her shirt, slipping her bra from her shoulders, trembling as her fingers encountered the naked skin of those coveted breasts. As she cupped her fingers around Rosalyn’s bosom, their fullness stroking her palms, she groaned and began to give at the knees.

  She felt herself being guided back, unable to offer any resistance and wishing none. She leaned back on the padded bench, her head reclined and her body open to Rosalyn’s desire. She felt the air suddenly kiss her exposed breasts and her underwear slide down her legs.

  Rosalyn was still for a moment, but Poppy could feel her close and intimate presence – the dabbing kiss of her breasts against hers as she panted, the tickle of her thighs between Poppy’s, her breath on Poppy’s chest as she gasped. The delicate torment was ravishing.

  Then two soft fingers stroked slowly between her legs.

  She tensed and gasped and gasped again at the ease with which they slipped in her moisture. They found their target quickly and teased at her lips. Rosalyn stroked her quickly, Poppy tensing with every touch. Again and again, a little deeper and another level of pleasure, until Poppy could stand it no longer and pushed against her hand and Rosalyn’s fingers slipped inside.

  They gasped at the same time. The sensation of Rosalyn filling her made arousal complete and desire consumed every part of Poppy’s body.

  She luxuriated in the waves of pleasure as Rosalyn eased inside her, and tipped her further still when Rosalyn’s thumb circled her clitoris. The closer she touched the more Poppy tensed. She arched into Rosalyn with every stroke. If she could have spoken she would have begged Rosalyn to indulge her where she craved.

  Then Rosalyn touched her, with one, then another, and another deliberate stroke. Poppy could do nothing but cry out. She threw her arms around Rosalyn’s naked back, almost afr
aid of how far the arousal would take her and at the same time desperate for Rosalyn’s passionate consummation.

  She was dazed, uncoordinated and helpless, on the verge of blacking out with intense gratification, when her fingers found their bearings – Rosalyn’s smooth rounded hips, the tender curve in the crease of her leg, the swollen heat between her lips.

  Rosalyn moaned and tensed as Poppy found her need too and slipped her fingers over her. They panted in unison, tensing and pleading, touching and devouring until the tension exploded within them and consumed every part of Poppy’s consciousness.

  They were still. Poppy was only aware of the rasp of her breath and Rosalyn gasping above her. Their encounter had been so unexpected and explosive Poppy was disoriented. She surfaced from the darkness of intense passion as the sun breached her eyelids. She blinked her eyes open and felt self-conscious in the harsh daylight, naked and exposed before Rosalyn.

  Rosalyn stared at her, shocked.

  “Oh Poppy,” she whispered. “That was… I wasn’t expecting that. Good god, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  Poppy shuffled, uncomfortable at her words.

  Before Rosalyn could say more, her phone buzzed on the floor and rang out a call. They both startled and glanced at the offending object. Sam, the suave boss, shone from the screen.

  “Not now,” Rosalyn spat, and she batted the phone away. It slid across the floor boards and continued its jarring interruption from the corner of the room.

  Rosalyn stared at Poppy in panic. “I didn’t think you liked me. Not like that. I wasn’t sure if you liked me in any way.”

  The phone rang incessantly. All Poppy could think of was the intimate, knowing look of the man calling.

  “Oh god, now I’m confused.” Rosalyn pressed her fingers into her brow. “I really didn’t think you liked me that way.”

  The phone clanged on, the image of Sam flashing in Poppy’s head with every ring. His presence loomed large in the room.

  “Poppy, I never thought…“ Rosalyn searched her face.