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Julian
"If you wanted me to move tonight, you should have thought twice about feeding me so much meat," Poppy groans, leaning back in her chair. Her small hand rests on her stomach. The dim, warm light of the packed New York City steak restaurant casts shadows on her long, auburn hair.
All my brain hears is 'feeding meat,' and my desire flares up once again. Despite my best efforts to behave like a respectable gentleman throughout the date, avoiding the temptation of taking her in the backseat of my car has been a challenge, especially with her earlier promise of letting me do anything tonight. My mind teems with visions of having her in my bed—her lips parted, eyes wide in awe, nails digging into my shoulder as I make love to her. I just want her safe and in my arms.
The restaurant is buzzing, renowned as the city's top steakhouse, usually requiring a six-month wait for a reservation. However, thanks to Kent's connections, we secured a table. Leaning forward, elbows on the table, I whisper so only she can hear, "You don't have to move, Pumpkin. I'll do all the work." I lean back, watching her cheeks blush a deep crimson, a vivid contrast to the restaurant's dark ambiance.
“Challenge accepted.” She jokes.“But seriously, I’m not sure I can stand from the table.”
I look down at the small circular table and envision her laid out on it. My cock might just break my zipper.
"Oh, no, you don't," Poppy giggles, catching my thoughts.
"I know exactly what you're thinking."
"And what's that?" I tease as I lean forward and rest my head in my hand, my index finger tapping my cheek.
"Men think rudimentary. You want sex, I can’t move, so one plus one in your mind means we’ll just do it on the table.” She brings the glass to her lips, smirking at it as she takes a sip.“Problem solved, right?”
I hold her gaze, my eyes revealing my true desires. The ambient lighting casts a soft glow on Poppy's beautiful face. I blink, capturing this moment mentally as if it were a photograph. I can't wait to capture more moments with her—a lifetime of memories.
"Remember, I grew up with brothers but also with Harper," she says, a playful note in her voice that draws a smile from me.
"So Harper gets the credit for helping you decipher the male mind," I muse, inhaling deeply as the subtle scent of aged wine fills the air.
She takes a sip of her wine again, her eyes looking up as she remembers something that makes her smile, "Sadly, yes. Do you think Harper and I are bad now? This is our refined version. Imagine us in high school."
"Your poor parents," I joke, but then I immediately regret bringing them up.
Her smile briefly loses its strength, and she delicately places her wine glass back on the table, its clink muted against the soft murmur of conversations around us. For a fleeting moment, silence envelopes her, a thoughtful pause before her eyes lock onto mine. "You can bring them up, Jules. I have a lot of good memories I want to share with you. It’s not just about the bad ones."
Leaning forward, I navigate the miniature landmine of our dinner table—a maze of glasses, an arsenal of silverware, and the small vase with flowers that seem to capture the very essence of her, alongside the candle that flickers like the heartbeat of the city outside. Finally, our hands meet and lock together in a clasp that feels like a vow. "I want to grow old with you, Poppy." The words aren't just spoken; they're felt, a raw and unscripted truth emerging from the core of me.
She chews on her bottom lip, a gesture that's become a tell, signaling the whirlwind of thoughts she's sorting through. The candlelight dances across her features, casting shadows that play in the depths of her eyes.
"I want that, too," Poppy whispers back, her voice a soft echo. "But,"—I know that tone, she’s about to make a joke—"I don't know my ring size. And if you ask Harper to help you pick out an engagement ring, she'll probably think you're talking about a cock ring."
A snort escapes my lips. God, I love this woman. I squeeze her hand tighter and then look at her ring finger. Suddenly, I want a ring on it, a claim that she’s mine and that she's off limits. I know she was joking about engagement rings, but I like the idea. I like it a lot.
"Seriously, you think I’m joking, Jules. But remember, men and Harper alike think straightforwardly. Harper will hear‘engagement’and jump to sexual innuendos, then‘ring,’and before you know it, you'll have a receipt for a cock ring purchase," Poppy grabs her wine and hides her giggle with her next sip.
"So, don't ask Harper for ring advice," I nod, "Let's just get it straight from the horse's mouth then?" I level her with a stare. Her hand freezes with the glass against her lips.
"Are you calling me a horse, Julian?" She grins as she tilts her head, showcasing her long, slender neck.
I lick my lips. "What kind of ring do you want, Poppy?" I ask seriously as a huge smile spreads across my face. This wasn't planned, but with Poppy, nothing ever is. It's spontaneous, natural, and, hey, this is something I should know because it’s bound to happen eventually.
When she hesitates, I prompt, "Did I scare you?"
She shakes her head.
"I need words, Pumpkin."
She sets the glass down, and I notice the tremble in her fingers. "I guess this is the point in our relationship where we discuss our future," she admits.
"Does that scare you?"
She shrugs, "Yes and no. I’m excited…"
