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“Just get out there,” I chide myself. One last look in the mirror gives me all the confidence I need.
“He loves me,” I whisper as I bite back a grin.
Gingerly closing the bathroom door, I start down the long hallway of his Lake Tahoe mansion. The hall, with its rich wooden floors, exudes the warmth and charm of a high-end ski lodge, complete with the soft rustle of plush rugs underfoot and the earthy scent of polished wood. Artwork celebrating the wilderness and mounted antlers intermittently grace the walls.
This decision wasn't made lightly, and I didn’t make it because he said those three life-changing words.
They, whoever those wise people are, say when you know, you know.
I know.
I know I want Julian to be the first man I willingly give myself to.
I know I’m ready to erase my past and rewrite it with cherished moments.
“Yes!” I hear Julian shout from down the hall. The crowd on the TV roars, and the commentator yells touchdown.
Approaching the living room, my heart flutters with nervous anticipation. This room is the heart of the cabin-like luxury, with its large, welcoming leather sofas gathered around a majestic stone fireplace. The fireplace crackles with a life of its own, casting a soft, reassuring light across the room. Outside, the large windows frame a breathtaking scene of mountains.
I pause, taking a moment to gather my thoughts and calm my nerves. "You've got this," I silently encourage myself, my voice a mere whisper in the room's grandeur.
When I enter the living room, I see Julian leaning forward on the caramel leather couch, his fist tight around his beer bottle, body tense, smiling wide as he cheers the TV.
The moment I step into view, his eyes instantly pivot to mine, drawn by an unseen magnetic force that seems to bridge the space between us. His initial smile, warm and welcoming, subtly transforms into an expression of deep, unmistakable lust.
Is there a neon sign above my head that says, Baby, I want to have sex tonight!
It’s not the first night I’ve walked around in these pajamas. Julian himself is wearing a navy T-shirt and grey cotton shorts. But there is something charging the air that tells him I’m ready.
His throat rolls as he swallows, his eyes raking me up and down. He sets his beer down and stands; as he raises, his smile stretches. His intense gaze holds mine in a silent, electrifying connection that sends waves of anticipation coursing through me.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
My steps are slow and hesitant as I close the distance. I’m nervous; I feel like I’m walking a DUI test as I try to make sure my steps are even and I don’t sway.
With each step I take towards him, I notice the almost imperceptible changes in his stance – a readiness, an eagerness, a silent acknowledgment of the chemistry we share. The air hums with tension, thick with unspoken yearnings and whispered promises. The firelight dances across his features, casting him in a play of light and shadow that accentuates the rugged yet refined angles of his face, now softened by a hint of vulnerability as his gaze intensively explores mine.
“Poppy?" he whispers his question, his voice gentle, but his eyes longing.
I pause for a moment, letting the sound of my name on his lips wash over me. I nod without needing to confirm with words that tonight is the night. I’m ready. I take his hand, push up on my toes, which is hard because he’s so tall, and kiss him. It’s gentle, slow, and exploratory at first. It helps build my confidence.
The gentle questioning in his voice quickly fades as his hands reach out, grasping my body with a firm yet tender touch. He lifts me effortlessly, a gesture I've come to understand he deeply enjoys. The worry about his shoulder no longer crosses my mind; his strength is unmistakable, and there's an unspoken understanding that he's well aware of his own limits.
As he holds me close, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of us. The subtle scent of his cologne, mingled with the natural warmth of his skin, envelops me, creating an intoxicating aura.
Can Sephora bottle this? Because I'd buy it, along with every other woman wanting to smell a real man.
I feel like I'm in a Hallmark movie, and I'm finally getting my happy ending.Pun intended.
In his embrace, there's a sense of being utterly cherished yet desired with a raw intensity making my legs squeeze him tighter. The way he holds me, firm yet careful, as if I am something precious and invaluable. As if I’m not the monster that I sometimes see in the mirror.
“Take me to your bed,” I mutter over his lips.
His tongue swirls around mine, his teeth nip and suck, they move from my mouth to my jawline to my neck, back and forth, all over, so hungry, like he's starved.
Well, he is. I've made him wait patiently. But it’s also been torturous for me too. Healing is a slow process that doesn't just involve the individual but also those in your inner circle.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with lust and deep from labored breaths.
