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Poppy is worth it.
I'm hard 24/7 when I see her. I feel like a teenager who can barely keep it in his pants. My hand is sore from the number of times I've jerked off to the memory of her when I'm alone.
It's torture.
She wants me to take the lead and initiate. I love that; that's what turns me on. But I'm careful to gauge her feelings, sensitive to the signs of fear that sometimes flicker in her eyes. At first, I thought it was excitement when her breaths became more shallow and her heart rate quickened. Then I realized she was scared; her eyes grew distant like they were lost in a fog, and the tips of her fingers trembled and sunk into my flesh.
When I slowed down, she snapped out of it. Each night, I test those boundaries, bringing her to the edge of her fear and showing her I won't hurt her. And each night, I see our progression. During this trip, I go to sleep and wake up with her in my arms. Her hair is a silken, tangled mess all over my shoulder as we cuddle.
I don't cuddle; I never have, but as I'm learning, things with Poppy are different. Maybe making me wait is all part of her plan: drive me wild, turn me into a man who crawls on his knees and begs for anything.
This brings me to my next problem: how do I keep it this way? Once we return to Texas, there is no way I will kiss her goodnight at her door and then leave. I want her in my bed, in my arms, where I know she is safe.
I think I'll ask her to move in with me on the plane ride home.
I’ll say it, mentally, that is, because I don’t want to scare her by blurting out, Move in with me, woman, because I'm falling in love with you. I feel like a caveman that wants to throw you over my shoulder and shout to the world to stay the fuck away, or I'll kill them.
Is that too subtle?
I’m falling in love.
It feels fucking fantastic.
It's more than just her effortless beauty that draws me to her, a beauty she wears so unassumingly. It’s all the little things she does that make me smile as I watch her. She carries around a label printer in her bag. I didn't even know such things existed. But it's something she loves; her excitement when she opens the app to design a label is adorable. When she thinks something is secretly funny, her nose twitches slightly when she tries to hide her smile.
She thinks she's a decent baker, but that's usually when the mix comes straight from a box. One evening, she ambitiously printed out a recipe for red velvet cupcakes from scratch – my girl does have a sweet tooth, after all. Those cupcakes managed to make my charred burger taste like a gourmet meal from a five-star restaurant. I didn't have the heart to tell her, of course. Noticing her disappointment, I offered to help with icing while she tackled the dishes. I slathered so much cream cheese icing on them that they were more icing than cupcake – a mountain of cream cheese frosting with a hint of tragically overdone red velvet beneath. It drowned out everything, which was exactly what I wanted, just to see her smile without a hint of worry. I bravely downed three of them. Most likely, I'm a type two diabetic now from all the sugar, but her smile was worth it.
I think that’s love, eating questionable food but still loving the woman who cooked it.
Did I mentally say ‘loving’? Yeah, I did.
I love you, Poppy, I think, just as our eyes meet.
She looks momentarily puzzled, covering her mouth. "What?" she asks, her hazel eyes wide, beautifully innocent."Do I have something on my face?" She panics slightly, reaching for a napkin.
"No. I'm just wondering how you're managing to swallow this," I say, my voice laced with amusement.
She dramatically gulps. “I’ll swallow anything you give me,” she declares with a sassy edge, then immediately blushes a deep red as she realizes the innuendo. "I didn’t mean it like that! I mean food. The good or bad, I’ll be your taste tester."
I shake my head, trying to contain a deep belly laugh, as the evening breeze carries our laughter over the gentle lapping of the lake's waves.
Fuck it. "I love you," I blurt out, feeling like a complete fool. This isn't how I wanted to tell her. I had planned to wait a few more weeks to avoid pressuring her.
The burger in my hand clatters onto the plate as I hastily wipe my hands on my jeans. Admitting my love over burnt burgers and across a simple table wasn't part of the plan.
"I, uh," I stammer, running a hand through my hair in nervousness. "I love you," I repeat with a helpless shrug. "I didn't want to tell you like this, but—" I stand and start to circle the table, then pause, realizing the intensity of my approach.That’s right, Julian, don’t crowd her more; go sit back down and give her space, you idiot.
I grab my chair and drag it closer to her.
"It's ok," she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands lower slowly, placing her half-eaten burger back on the plate.
'It's ok.' I turn the phrase over in my mind, trying to decipher its meaning. Is that good or bad?
Shit. I might have messed up. Did I push her away?
Chapter 46
Poppy
