“Oh Joe, Joe, Joe.”
He was close but not there. She was still shuddering as he flipped her on to her back, pushed her knees to her chest and sank inside her. Joe was aware of something happening at his back, his damn wings coming out and then the tips moved to where their bodies joined and he was fucking her with his wings too. Shit. Caressing himself and Poppy at the same time and Joe was suddenly deeper and Poppy was letting out these little screams. Fuck. He felt it all over his body, the rising tide of release heightened by the feathers.
Joe banged into Poppy, grunting and growling, slamming into her while she yelled his name. He thought his head was going to explode and then the ball of sensation left his brain, rippled down his spine, circled his stomach and seized his balls. Finally, his cock had what it wanted and Joe gave Poppy everything he had. He felt every pulse of his seed surging into her. Joe wanted to be part of her forever.
Bodies tangled, they collapsed on the damp sheet, folded themselves and Joe’s wings into each other’s embrace and held tight. Joe couldn’t let her go. He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“I love you,” he whispered. “A million times I love you.”
“I love you even though you’ve worn me out. Did I feel feathers?”
“Might have done.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Close your eyes and sleep then.”
Panic flared in her eyes. “No. I don’t want to sleep.”
They lay with their heads on one pillow, mouths so close they breathed each other’s air.
“We’re so sweaty,” she muttered. “We need a shower.”
Joe’s wings folded so fast he almost knocked Poppy off the bed. She reached over to feel between his shoulder blades.
“Maybe you’re not supposed to wet them,” she said.
“More like there’s no room for you, me and wings in your shower.”
Poppy pushed herself up and pulled at his hand. “Let’s check.”
She hugged Joe under the torrent of water as he tipped his face to the flow. Poppy slid down his body to his feet and soaped every toe, running her hands along his instep, through the hairs on his lower legs, up his strong muscular thighs and got snagged on his butt. Poppy loved Joe’s backside, so tight and trim and just delicious. She pushed him face first into the tiles and elbowed his knees apart. When her mouth touched the back of his balls Joe clenched, groaned and then relaxed again. The naughtiness turned her on, the forbidden pleasure in licking his butt making her toes curl. Poppy’s thumbs caressed his hipbones as she buried her face deeper in the cleft of his backside. The muscles of his thighs tensed as she teased her way to his anus.
“Poppy, what the…oh God.”
Her tongue circled, licked and pressed until she slid a little way inside. Even above the falling water, she could hear Joe gasping and groaning. When his knees began to shake, Poppy replaced her tongue with her finger, gave an insistent nudge and slid up to her knuckle. She stood and reached for Joe’s cock with her other hand, squeezing and pumping and slipped another finger into his ass, curling both to reach his prostate.
“Oh fuck, fuck, Poppy. How come you try this just when we have to part? Oh God, Jesus Christ, fuck.”
He came in her hand, hips jerking so violently her fingers slipped out of his backside. She loved the feel of his cock, the way it stiffened and pulsed as his cum spurted. Poppy was amazed he had any left. Maybe it had something to do with angels having great sex. She sighed and pressed her forehead against his back. No point thinking about that.
Poppy was dimly aware of Joe lifting her, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to bed. He dried her body, kissing each place after he’d wiped the water away. Determined not to close her eyes, not to look at the clock, Poppy stared at Joe’s dark eyes. Towel tossed to the floor, Joe wrapped her in his arms.
“Did I freak you out?” she asked.
“I’m utterly traumatized.”
“What else haven’t we done yet?” she whispered.
“Oh God, Poppy.” He kissed her forehead.
“All the things I wanted to do with you aren’t going to happen now. No holidays in the sun, no skiing, no—all we have is this and I want to do everything.”
“Whatever you like.”
“I’ll go and get the horny guy from downstairs and we can have a threesome.”
Joe glared. “Whatever you like except that.”
“How about the woman from upstairs?”
He stayed quiet but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Poppy laughed. “I’m so tired. I have to close my eyes.” She bit back a sob. “I don’t want to.”
Joe kissed her nose. “How about if I stay awake and let you sleep for half an hour.”
“Promise not to go.”
“Promise.”
“Swear.”
“I swear.”
Joe watched her while she slept and fell more in love with her as each minute passed. The pain of having to leave behind his reason for existing bit deep into his heart. Joe felt fortunate he’d had this chance to say goodbye, to set things right between them. When Desiree had appeared and he’d thought—why me? now he was glad it had been him. If he’d gone on in the same way, he’d have lost Poppy anyway.
She opened her bright eyes, gasped and smiled. Joe’s mouth watered and his dick went stone-hard in an instant. Poppy leaned forward and gave him a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss and Joe tugged her against him. He lifted her thigh over his leg and slid into her. One slow push until he was buried inside her and they were sighing. Joe wanted to make this slow, to sustain the rapture, elongate the sensations, make this perfect for Poppy because he’d never touch her again.
No choice over coming for Poppy, as Joe drew back and thrust, she came, wringing his cock with the intensity of her orgasm, tempting Joe to ride the wave with her, yet he hung back, paddled for calmer waters while Poppy tossed in the wild surf beneath him. Joe gritted his teeth and forced himself to wait. When the simmering around his cock died away, he pulled out.
“Ooh God,” Poppy groaned. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to kill me.”
A bad part of Joe’s brain considered that. If he fucked her to death, would he get to keep her in the afterlife? Or would that be enough to send him to hell? Her hands were reaching for him. One squeeze from Poppy’s fingers and he’d spurt all over her stomach. Joe turned her round, pressed his stomach to her back and eased into her.
He pushed, every nerve in his cock ultra-receptive so the sensations echoed throughout his body. Joe wasn’t just making love with his dick but with all of him. Poppy cried and panted beneath him, her hands fisting the sheets.
“Joe. Joe.”
She kept repeating his name and though Joe thought he was as deep as he could get, her voice pulled him deeper. He couldn’t stop. No point having harsh words with his reproductive organs because they weren’t listening. His body was out of his control, driving into her, Poppy’s hot, wet sheath gripping him. He was coming. He could feel it in the tips of his toes, shimmers of pleasure rising inexorably to his groin.
“Poppy, come with me,” he gasped.
He was asking for more than sex. Joe wanted Poppy with him forever and ever, but sex was all he could have. Any moment, he was going to combust—slam, ignite—slam, detonate—slam. Then he did. Joe saw stars explode, felt every pulsing jet of his seed spurt into Poppy as she spasmed around him.
As soon as Joe could move, he pulled out of her and eased her legs straight. Poppy reached out to wrap her arms around him. He pressed his face into her hair. He wanted to tell her to never let him go but that was the one thing she had to do. Joe ran his hand down Poppy’s cheek and watched her eyes close. Maybe telling her that he loved her wasn’t his most important gift. Joe wanted Poppy to remember him, but he didn’t want her to give up on life while she clung to his memory. Joe wanted her to be happy, to enjoy every moment of every day, even if it meant doing that with someone else
.
I set you free. My love. My life. Remember me but don’t be sad.
He kissed each cheek, her nose, her forehead and her lips.
“I love you, Poppy. Be happy.”
* * * * *
Poppy stretched in bed, moved her limbs like a wriggling starfish and didn’t come into contact with Joe. Her eyes flashed open. She didn’t call him because she knew he’d gone. Poppy turned her head and her cheek hit something. She pushed herself up and stared. On Joe’s pillow lay a single white feather. Poppy picked it up and kissed it with trembling lips. Joe had gone, not just from the bed, but from her life. When he’d told her he loved her, he’d earned his white wings. Forget hiding in the shower, Poppy curled in a ball and let the tears fall.
Chapter Fourteen
Poppy sat on the train, staring through the rain splattered window as the countryside flashed by. Life couldn’t be much shittier. Joe had been gone for ten days. He hadn’t even made an appearance as a self-induced, bad-tempered hallucination though he’d lurked in her dreams. Poppy had got on with her life, gone to work, eaten, gone to bed, but something had died inside her, a spark extinguished, her heart empty. She’d accepted Joe wasn’t coming back but found it hard to accept life without him.
It was difficult not to be sad. She wanted to remember all the good things and feel happy, not live her life remembering what she’d lost, but she missed him so much. The white feather brought comfort. When she touched it, warmth seeped into her because she thought about how much Joe had loved her, how he’d finally let the words out of his heart. Poppy kept the feather with her. Always.
When she’d found the typed letter in her mail box three days ago, she hadn’t been sure of the best thing to do. Joe’s relative had written asking her to bring Joe’s ashes to Nottingham on Saturday afternoon. There was no phone number to call and talk to him and Poppy couldn’t decipher the signature. His writing was awful. The guy was probably a doctor. He didn’t know Joe because she remembered Joe saying he didn’t think he had any relations in Nottingham. Poppy wondered what interest the man had in Joe’s ashes. She considered lying, saying she’d already disposed of them, but curiosity about the guy pulled her north. Did he look like Joe? Graham? Godzilla?
Poppy stepped out of the train station into a wet city, clutching the bag containing the red plastic urn and wondering if she could persuade him to let her help scatter the remains. She’d already decided what she’d like to do with them since she couldn’t afford to send Joe into space. Poppy wanted to sprinkle tiny bits of him in unusual places—drop a handful of Joe through the railings at Buckingham Palace, a bit more of him between the goal posts at Chelsea football stadium, a spoonful in the grounds of the Tower of London, from which Joe would never get out, Poppy thought with a smile, and maybe shoot him out of a cannon which would be the nearest she’d get to sending him into space. This dark horse of a relation would probably want to dump him in a boring graveyard.
She followed the instructions in the guy’s letter and walked from the station to Maid Marian Way, not caring that the rain soaked her. She pressed the buzzer at the entrance of the block before she could change her mind, and the door swung open.
Poppy stared at her reflection in the polished walls of the elevator as she went up to the fifth floor. Drowned rat about covered it. She dragged her fingers through her hair and it made not a jot of difference. Maybe she was going to have the ashes snatched from her and the door slammed in her face. She might not even get a cup of tea. Poppy clutched the bag tighter.
Her finger hovered over the bell outside his apartment. Music played inside. She listened and then gave a snort of laughter. It was the tune from Strictly Ballroom—”Time After Time”, a song about being lost, being found, falling and being caught. She could hear the occupier of the apartment singing along. She already knew this guy was nothing like Joe. He’d have died rather than listen to this.
Poppy waited until the song ended and then pressed the buzzer. “Come in,” shouted a muffled voice from inside.
She pushed open the door. The smell of new paint hit her at once. New oatmeal carpet too, with balls of fluff dotting the surface. Cardboard boxes littered the hall, some open, some taped shut.
“I’m in here,” the voice called.
Reluctant to dirty the carpet, Poppy slipped off her sodden coat and shoes, left them in a neat pile on the mat, picked up her bag and followed the voice. She didn’t know why her heart had begun to pound, but it had, a fast and furious tattoo in her head and her throat. She turned a corner and went into a lounge. A tall man stood with his back to the window. Slim hips, dark hair, familiar sexy smile. No gray face.
Poppy gasped and blinked. She shook so hard, she dropped the bag. The urn fell open and the contents spilled on the floor. Poppy stared at the cascade of multicolored jelly beans. Blinked and they were still there. She felt her pocket, slipped a finger inside. The feather wasn’t there. She checked every pocket. Nothing. Poppy still stared at the urn.
“Hello.” Oh God, his voice.
She dragged her gaze from the scattered candy and was rewarded by a slow smile. Poppy opened her mouth and then shut it again.
“Find me a butterscotch one,” he said. “And don’t try to palm me off with pineapple.”
Poppy bent down and her trembling fingers selected a yellow jelly bean. He stood with his mouth open and she threw it. The candy sailed miles to the side, right out of the window.
“You missed,” he said.
“That’s okay. It was banana flavored.”
He grinned. Poppy looked around the room. His couch, his TV, his collection of DVDs, his revolting mini-fridge, his dried up plant that he refused to accept was dead. She gulped back a whimper. Oh God. Her knees began to shake. “Pick a man’s name. Any name you like.”
He’d moved. He stood right next to her. His smell. Poppy felt her pocket again. Still no feather.
“I’m waiting.”
Stunned and stuttering, she blurted out, “What? I don’t know. Lestat?”
“I’m not going to be called Lestat. Try again.”
“Rumpelstiltskin?”
“No. Third time lucky.”
“Greg?”
He wrinkled his brow. “Greg it is.” A smile lit up his face. “Hi there. I’m Greg, Joe’s long-lost twin.” He reached out to shake her hand.
Poppy couldn’t move. Her head threatened to explode. Was she going mad? She took a step back. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “You’re Joe and you’re not Joe? These are all Joe’s things. Joe didn’t have a twin.”
He looked up at the ceiling and glared. “See, Desiree. I told you.” He looked back at Poppy. “It’s okay, Pop. They let me come back. I’m alive again. I’m not a seeker, not an angel. I’m—”
“Joe.” The word burst out of her mouth.
Joe reached out and his hands curled her to him, pulling her into his arms. Poppy couldn’t breathe. Maybe she was the dead one. Maybe everything after she’d thrown herself off the roof was a dream.
“Poppy, breathe,” he said.
She was lying in the hospital in a coma, imagining all this because it couldn’t possibly be true.
“Breathe or I’ll tickle you.”
She took a huge gulp and pressed her face to his chest. “Joe,” she whispered, her hands roaming his back, keeping him near.
“Greg, not Joe. Now you’ve chosen my name, G’s going to fix history and all the records and create a Greg in the mind and memory of everyone who matters.”
“No. I want you to be Joe,” Poppy said.
“Right. Well, I think I’ll leave you to argue with G about that.”
She let him keep holding her for a moment, then pulled back, felt for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his.
“Come with me.” Poppy tugged him out of the apartment, over to the lift.
“Where are we going? We’re not wearing shoes.”
Poppy clutched his hand tighter and once they reached the
ground floor, she rushed through the main doors out onto the street.
“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she shouted. “I can feel you.”
She clutched his strong hand in hers and his thumb brushed her palm. Poppy caught hold of his other hand and pulled him from under the overhang into the rain, spinning in a circle. She held her head up to the gray sky and let the rain hit her face, cold, refreshing, renewing.
A middle-aged man went past, gawping at them, holding up the collar of his coat against the downpour.
Poppy jumped in front of him. “Excuse me. Can you see us?”
“Yes, get out of my bloody way.”
“Poppy.” Joe tugged at her but she held her ground, moved and blocked the man’s path.
“Would you touch him, please?”
The guy stopped and looked at her. “I’d rather touch you.”
“You don’t fancy me?” Joe stepped forward.
The man bolted.
“Come back and touch him,” Poppy yelled.
“Poppy, he could see me. He didn’t need to touch me. Thank God he didn’t want to. I just—”
She flung herself into his arms and kissed him. Poppy pressed her lips against Joe’s and he sighed into her mouth.
“Poppy, oh fuck I can’t believe it.”
Her tongue tickled the inside of his mouth and he groaned as he pulled her tighter against his hips. Poppy wanted to crawl inside him. Every cell in her body throbbed with need for him, her head ached, her heart hurt, her hands tingled. Joe held her closer, wrapping an arm across her back.
“You take my breath away,” he said. “I love you so much, I can’t breathe.”
Poppy struggled to control her breathing as they stood staring into each other’s eyes with the rain beating at their faces. It really was Joe.
“I’m wet,” Poppy whispered.
Joe’s mouth twitched. “Wet and hot, I’m surprised you’re not steaming.”
Poppy looked at the door of the building. “We should go back inside.”
Power of Love Page 14