A tremor shook Poppy’s body and her breathing faltered. She didn’t want to acknowledge what they had, for some reason. Given the opportunity, he’d break down those walls.
Her gaze jumped from a point on his chest to a spot on his cheek, but never to his eyes.
“Look at me.” He tapped her chin with his knuckles.
She sucked in a breath, as if preparing herself for a monumental task, and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. A mixture of emotions flitted across her face, some of which he could discern. Her dilated eyes, her heavier breathing, all spoke of lust. The tightness in her face was something else. Anger, possibly stubbornness about whatever judgment she’d passed on him.
Damien knew he should talk to her, reason with her rationally. Poppy was an intelligent, educated woman, and there wasn’t a thing he could do to show her how wrong she was about him. But words eluded him as their gazes locked.
Was it as intense for her as it was for him?
If he were a gambler, Damien would wager that it was.
She wouldn’t hate him so much if she felt any less than he did when they stared into each other’s eyes.
“I want you to turn around and bend over that table.” That was not what he’d meant to say.
Poppy tilted her head to one side and her gaze narrowed the slightest bit.
Shit.
She turned in place, a slightly exaggerated sway to her hips, and bent forward, placing her elbows on the stainless steel table.
Damien’s mouth went dry.
She’d complied with his request.
What did that mean?
Poppy glanced over her shoulder at him, a dare in her gaze.
He grasped her hips and slid his palms down over her panties to the bare skin of her thighs. She squirmed as he reached the top of the stockings. If he remembered correctly, the back of her thighs were highly ticklish. He’d have to take advantage of that some other time, if given the opportunity.
Damien stroked back up her legs and grasped the hem of her panties, pulling the fabric up to expose each round globe. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, more to gauge her reaction than to restrain or support her. Contact was key at this point, keeping that connection between them alive.
He slid his right palm across her ass. The plans he’d had for her, for them, were a vivid storyboard in his head.
In this moment, it was just the two of them. The onlookers ceased to exist, the music faded from his mind, the case he’d been working on didn’t matter, even the too-cool air didn’t bother him. Everything about Poppy took up all his concentration. She was the focal point of his world, his very reason for breathing.
Damien brought his hand up and smacked her soundly on one cheek, then the other. She rocked forward on the balls of her feet and grunted, but made no other response. Her heels canted her ass up at the perfect angle. He caressed the abused flesh, feeling the heat rise off her.
Poppy shifted her feet, widening her stance a little.
The lady wants more.
He’d give it to her.
Damien administered short swats to her upper thighs. She wiggled in place and, for the first time, he heard her groan and possibly curse him under her breath. They were under some kind of spell, where neither could speak and the energy coursing between them was a language all its own. Every movement of her body, the way she danced in place when a blow fell, the dance of her knees, the unconscious undulation of her body, it all spoke to him in a way that words could not. Not with the misunderstanding between them.
His hand stung, parts of it going numb as he continued to rain blows down on her ass. The heat was intense now, and she growled and groaned, whimpering as he pushed her to the limits of her body.
While it was common for people to speak wistfully of subspace, Damien was well acquainted with topspace. It was a similar state of mind, in which adrenaline narrowed his focus to himself and his sub.
He could feel the tremors shaking Poppy’s body physically, because his arm was around her waist, but it made something inside of him quake. He didn’t understand it, but he knew the moment they reached the brink.
Damien grasped her long hair and hauled Poppy upright. She cried out, wrapping her hand around his wrist as he brought their bodies into alignment, hugging her close.
She stared into his eyes. Desire was there, but she was also tense.
He didn’t expect a quick spanking and some chemistry to put them on the right track, but she couldn’t ignore him either.
Damien eased his hold on her hair and kissed her brow. She relaxed a tiny bit, resting her chin on his shoulder.
“Come with me.” He patted her hip and didn’t miss how she jumped at the touch. He couldn’t help grinning as he grabbed her bag and wrapped an arm around her waist. She’d have something to remember him by for days.
He guided them through the crowd, to a sofa that wasn’t in use. Dropping the bag on the floor, he sat and patted his lap.
“Sit.”
Poppy wrinkled her nose. For a moment he thought she’d refuse his order, but she kicked off her shoes and sat, with her legs curled up under her. She leaned against his side, her knees resting on his thighs.
For now, it was enough.
He tucked her chin under his head and cradled her, holding her as tight as he dared.
He knew Poppy was one woman who couldn’t be caged, collared, or controlled without her permission, and he was ready for the challenge.
Poppy inhaled his scent, steeping in the memory of their first time together, and squeezed her eyes shut. She’d known the moment she glimpsed him tonight that trouble was on its way.
And she’d wanted it.
The spanking was appropriate. It was almost a self-flagellation, punishment for seeing her demise and reaching for it. Like Eve with the apple, some women couldn’t say no to temptation. When temptation was a six-foot-plus package of muscle and man with a sinful voice and a powerfully charismatic personality, she didn’t know who could resist it. Wherever this was going, she’d have to remember she walked into it knowing full well this was a bad idea.
“There are bottles of water in my bag. Hand it to me?” Her throat and mouth were parched.
Damien leaned over and grabbed the bag and hoisted it into his lap.
“In here?” He tugged the main zipper open and retrieved a bottle, twisting the cap off and holding it for her to drink.
Poppy tried to take the bottle from him, but he pulled it away, his brows drawing down into a stern line. She frowned. Was he being serious?
Damien brought the bottle back to her lips.
Why fight it?
She canted her head back and drank as he tipped the bottle up. She gulped down several mouthfuls, grateful for the chilled liquid.
Doms, always taking care of their girls. Is he going to wipe my nose, too?
Poppy sputtered and chuckled at the thought, water dripping on her and Damien.
“Hey, I don’t need a shower.” Damien quickly capped the bottle, frowning at her, but there was no ire in his gaze.
“Sorry.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, then.” Damien wrapped his arms around her and cuddled her closer.
Poppy blinked at him.
That was too easy.
“So … should I be worried you’re stalking me?” She watched his face carefully, but there was no need.
“I know how this looks.” Damien sighed and his expression grew tense. The muscle in his jaw jumped and he rubbed his face.
His gaze landed on her face and her breathing stopped. Under the blanket of subspace, she was spared moments like this, but now that she’d returned to her senses, there was no defense against him. No wonder he was a cop. With a glance, he made her feel like an animal in the crosshairs; his entire focus was on her, body, heart, and mind.
“If I make you feel uncomfortable, tell me to leave and you’ll never see me again. I’m not stalk
ing you. Did I want to find you? Hell, yes.” He stroked her arm and his tone grew gentle. “Sweetness, you’re one in a million. A guy would be crazy to just let you walk away.”
“You did.” Poppy wanted to shove the words back in her mouth the moment she said them. Way to sound like a spiteful woman, idiot.
Damien nodded. “I did, because that’s what I thought was the best decision at the time. I had two strong drives going against each other, and I made what I thought was the right choice.”
He’d left her to do good things she believed in. It was past time for her to let go of the bitterness. She’d forgiven him. Holding on to it just made her ridiculous.
Poppy smoothed her hand over his chest. “I know. But I would have understood.”
“I don’t think I could have communicated at the time.” He chuckled and brushed her cheek with his fingers. “You clearly don’t understand that leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve done.”
A tremor snaked through her core. There was something special, something unique between them, and she’d prayed it wasn’t just her who felt it. Staring into his golden-brown eyes, she knew it affected both of them.
Damien cupped her cheek and lowered his face. He gave her enough time to turn away, but she didn’t.
Their lips touched, and for a moment, the crowd, the music, the dungeon, all faded away and all she could feel, all she could think about, was this man. She grabbed his shirt and leaned into the kiss. He nipped her lower lip and arousal flooded her pussy.
More.
Poppy wiggled her way onto his lap. Maybe he’d had the right idea earlier after all.
Damien kissed his way down her neck and across her chest, and plumped her breasts with his hands. Her nipples tightened to hard peaks, sensitized to his touch even through the material.
His fingers brushed over her mound. The flimsy lace-and-silk panties weren’t much of a barrier, and his heat seeped into her as he teased her mound and the crease of her thigh. She leaned forward, brushing her breasts against his chest and trailing kisses over his brow.
The way he stared at her, the heat behind his gaze, the tightly coiled control, it all wove a spell over her that no one else had ever managed. She wanted to serve him, do as he asked and earn the right to call him her sir. With one play session and a little spanking, he’d dug his hooks so far into her that she couldn’t let go of him.
Poppy gripped his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his. Their lips danced, moving together in concert, tasting and teasing.
His finger slipped past the hem of her panties, pushing them to the side. The tips of his fingers passed through her folds. Their lips stilled, frozen in the moment, while he found her entrance and thrust into her pussy.
Damien began to move, in and out, with a single thick finger. It wasn’t his cock—that she could feel against her thigh—but it was him. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, not caring if she left marks. He’d left marks on her soul, and anything she did would fade in days.
He curled his fingers inside her channel, rubbing that secret bundle of nerves while his thumb circled her clit, over and over again. She gasped and threw her head back, swiveling her hips as sensation zipped through her body. He chuckled and thrust again, rubbing her G-spot as he went. She groaned and curled her toes against the backs of his calves.
She wanted his cock, but his talented fingers were playing her as if he were a master conductor. He pumped her with one hand while the other tugged the bra cup down, exposing her right breast. She leaned forward and he kissed the peak.
Her body reacted as he directed her to the finale. A giant crescendo struck her, an orgasm rushing through her body as if on beat. She dug her nails in harder, and moaned as pleasure carried her away. He continued to stroke her through the orgasm, until she relaxed against him, spent for the moment.
Damien directed her to sit across his lap, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She sucked in a breath as reality wrapped back around them. She rubbed her cheek against the soft knit of his shirt, and tried to ignore the niggling thought that allowing this to go on wasn’t a good idea. But being with him felt right. What did she want?
He pressed a kiss to her temple while stroking her back.
“I’m not big on public dungeons. What do you say we go back to my place and continue this in private?” he asked.
Lord, she wanted to say yes. Her pussy, her heart, they’d agree to whatever this man had to offer, but last time she’d blindly agreed, she’d wound up alone, with no answers and a bucket of hurt.
Poppy lifted her head from his shoulder and met his gaze. How badly she wanted to say yes, to spend a whole night in his arms.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.
“You don’t trust me?” he asked. The tic at his jaw was back. Clearly the idea bothered him.
“I don’t know you well enough to trust you, and the last time I extended you that courtesy, you left. I’m not holding that against you, but I’m not a woman who makes the same mistake twice. I don’t think going anywhere with you is a good idea.” Somehow she got through all of her words, even though all she wanted to do was unzip his pants and touch the hard cock she’d felt.
His gaze narrowed and he grimaced.
Someone’s not used to being told no. “Okay. So we hang out here. I can do that.” He reached for her hand, engulfing it in his. He didn’t pull her over, just held her, and even that tiniest connection felt significant. “I didn’t want to leave you that night.”
“I know.” He’d said as much already, but it didn’t change the fact that he had left.
“Will you forgive me?”
“I have, but forgiveness doesn’t earn trust.”
Poppy laid her head against the back of the couch and studied him. Where was this going? What did he want from her? They were questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask, because she knew the answers would frighten her.
Emilio glanced up and down the street of the sleepy subdivision swathed in darkness punctuated only by streetlamps and the occasional car. Valentina had bitched about keeping the property, but he’d told her to shut the fuck up. Having one place no one in his crew knew about had seemed like overkill, but now he was glad for the hidey-hole.
He’d spent over a week out cold from the gunshots and an infection. The wounds still ached, but he couldn’t sit around on his ass anymore. The damage was done. He knew Valdez and Morales were in custody, and so far he couldn’t get in touch with the rest of their network. It was one big shit storm that had hit the fan. He was lucky enough to have gotten out of there.
Emilio strode up the walk, his gaze searching the flower bed.
He picked up a faux stone and slid a compartment open. The key was still there.
A sense of unease settled over him. The presence of the key didn’t mean anything. Valentina had one in her purse, so she wouldn’t have needed it to get into the house.
His crew might have abandoned him, the DEA scum might have wiped out his supplier, but his woman was faithful. She would be waiting for him.
The door squeaked as it swung inward, the house pitch black inside. He stepped in and closed the door, flipping the deadbolt behind him.
“Valentina?” he called.
Not a sound.
“Valentina, you here?”
There was no answer.
Emilio pulled a flashlight from his pocket and began searching the house, room by room, but all he found were a few pieces of furniture covered in sheets and dust. It looked as if nothing had been disturbed since the last time he’d swung by to check on things.
Where was Valentina?
Chapter Twelve
Poppy checked books in mechanically, scanning the barcodes, and chastised students for creased pages, reminding others about fines. Monday felt as if a fog had rolled in and the whole world was out of focus. Her mind was still living in Saturday, while her body had rolled right ahead into work mode.
“Miss? Miss, you okay
?”
Poppy blinked at the student leaning over the circulation desk, peering at her. Poppy shook her head, unable to recall the girl’s name. She could have been any one of the black girls, her hair tightly braided and her clothing slightly worse for wear. There were close to nine hundred students at the high school, and it was impossible to know them all, but Poppy tried. So many of them came from broken families and bad situations; just giving them a hug or listening to them made a huge difference.
“Yes, just a case of the Mondays.” She smiled. “What can I help you with?”
“Just need to check this out, Miss.” The girl bit her lip and handed over a worn copy of the third Harry Potter book and, for a moment, the fog parted.
“Have you read the series before?” Poppy took the girl’s ID, scanned it and the book. Her student card had LaToya Marshall printed in bold letters next to her picture. She looked like a sweet girl, if a bit shy.
“No, Miss.” LaToya shook her head.
“This one might be my favorite in the series. I remember when the books were still coming out, I’d go wait in line at midnight to get the first copy.” Poppy smiled, remembering the excitement, the thrill that turning each page had given her as she cheered the characters on.
“Thank you, Miss.”
LaToya smiled and her face changed, as if she’d parted the curtains and let out an inner glow. Poppy winked and promised herself to commit LaToya’s face to memory. Poppy had some Harry Potter bookmarks at home she could give to the girl.
The bell rang and LaToya scurried off for class, leaving Poppy with a few blissful moments to herself. She shifted in her seat and jumped, a pain shooting down her leg.
Damn bruise.
Most of the soreness had faded, thanks to an Epsom salt bath, but there were a few deep tissue bruises. When she sat a certain way or bumped into the shelves, well, the words she wanted to say weren’t suitable for school grounds.
Poppy itched to grab her cell phone, but didn’t. She didn’t know how she felt about Damien, even after spending all day Sunday thinking about him … and her, together. He’d been very forthright about his interest, which both thrilled and terrified her. She hated playing cat-and-mouse games, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that Damien had some sort of ulterior motive.
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