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She nods, impressed, before tilting her head to me. “The glass was smashed.”
“I put a fist through it.”
“Why?”
“My scallops were cold.”
Her emerald eyes study me, not able to tell if I’m joking or not. I am, by the way. Kind of. I did indeed punch through the mirror, but not because of fucking scallops. But because dinner was over thirty minutes late.
“Remind me to never cook for you.”
The lightheartedness in her tone makes one of the millions of scars on my heart heal. I’ve seen more terror this week than most see in a lifetime. I’m glad I don’t have to see it in her eyes too.
It allows me to pretend I don’t put the fear of God into her, even if just for today.
I rest my palms on the table for a few moments, doing nothing but watching her work. She dips the fine paintbrush in the stain, before dragging it across the curved ridges with mesmerizing precision. Despite me looming over her, she’s so still.
Studying Poppy work is almost hypnotic. Soothing. But it’s not long before my attention is taken away from her hardworking hands to the neckline of her cotton T-shirt underneath her overalls. Every time she leans closer to the table she reveals more milky skin, more of the curve of her cleavage.
It’s not long, not long at all, until my primal urges take over.
I reach out to grab her wrist, twisting her into me once more. We both ignore the paintbrush clattering to the floor. “I forgot something,” I murmur into the curve of her ear, enjoying how the goosebumps rise to the surface of her skin under my lips.
She gasps. “And what was that?”
I run my hands up the back of her thighs, and when I reach the curve of her ass, I hitch her onto the edge of the work surface. “To frisk search you on arrival. I have to make sure you’re not concealing any tools.”
“I’m innocent,” she chokes out, eyes wild, the hint of a smile turning up her lips.
“Innocent?” I raise an eyebrow and lift her hand to my cheek. “This scar says otherwise.” Then, I dip my head into the crook between her neck and shoulder, nipping along the length of her throat.
She tastes so sweet I want to take a fucking bite out of her. I love how her throat vibrates under my lips, how her pulse throbs faster and faster when I start unbuttoning her overalls.
“I’m not smuggling anything, I swear,” she says, the fire burning in her eyes. She lifts her hips up, helping me slide her overalls off. They fall into a pool of denim on the dusty floor.
“I’m going to strip search you and check every cavity myself to make sure.”
With that, I crush my mouth against hers, my lips hungry for the taste of her tongue and my hands greedy for the touch of her smooth, naked ass. I rip off her bra and panties like a lion readying its prey.
“Get on your hands and knees,” I growl, lightly spanking her soft ass cheek. When her breath hitches in her throat, I lower my tone, a broad sweep of my fist sending paint pots and tools flying across the room. But I gently place the frame she’s working on onto the floor. “I don’t ask twice, China Doll. Hands and knees.Now.”
She does what she’s told this time, flipping over on the table. “Present yourself to me.”
My sweet, innocent Poppy hesitates .”Uh—”
If I weren’t so goddamn horny, I’d laugh. “Spread yourself, baby. Show me your pussy.”
Her hands reach around, her red fingernails pulling her pussy mound apart. I can’t stifle my moan this time; no red-blooded male could. As she pulls apart her milky flesh, her pink pussy lips reveal themselves like a blooming flower. Already, her hole is glistening with anticipation. “Good girl,” I moan. When her knees buckle at my tone, I lean over her, pushing the bulge in my suit pants against her wetness, and lower myself to her ear. “You like being a good girl for me, don’t you, baby?”
“Yes,” she breathes. I love how her skin flusters, the cocktail of excitement and embarrassment turning her pale skin a beautiful shade of red.
“I can’t hear you,” I say sharply, sinking my teeth into her exposed neck.
“Y-yes,” she stammers, louder this time.
Ugh, she’s so fucking hot.
I turn my attention back to her parted lips, lowering myself to my knees to get up close and personal with her sex. “You’re wet for me already, baby,” I murmur, transfixed by the glistening hole. I circle it with my finger, causing a loud moan from Poppy, and then wipe the trickle of excitement running down the inner thigh.
