Poppy

“You ever take time for fun, Poppy?” The voice comes out of nowhere. Figures Gator owns a haunted library. Instinctively, I turn and throw an armload of anything I can reach. I did not sign up for ghostly encounters of the paranormal kind, thank you very much.

And then I realize it’s just Gator.

He snags the map book out of the air. The library’s mostly dark, it’s late, and he’s big. And somehow, seeing him all wrapped up in darkness and shadow just makes me realize how attractive he is. He’s all hard lines and black ink, controlled power sauntering toward me in a slow, steady rush. My heartbeat pounds in my ears (and somewhere way farther south and between my legs) as he just keeps on coming, and all the chemistry that I’ve been denying comes rushing to the forefront. It’s like someone just turned on the biggest tap of them all, and now I’m drowning in sensation. Totally not fair.

“I scare you?” He reaches around me to set the book back on the table. Thank God I didn’t ruin it. He sets a hand down on top of the cover, leaning on it like it’s not an antique and the most detailed collection of maps of this area of the bayou that I’ve ever seen. The man treats it like a coaster. Probably sets his beer on it too.

“Not at all,” I lie. “That was just my seventh inning stretch. A little warm up so I don’t get all kinked up from bending over the table.”

“Kink, huh?” His other arm comes down around me, pinning me in place. I’m pretty sure this isn’t good. When I try to back up, it’s impossible. My butt’s jammed against the edge of the table, and my front… well let’s just say that my front is up against something even harder and less forgiving. A different kind of wood, if you will. Apparently, Gator really, really gets off on scaring me. When I exhale, my glasses steam up.

I’d like to pretend it didn’t happen, but now Gator’s surrounded by a ghostly white mist that doesn’t quite hide the smirk on his face. He totally knows.

Gator reaches down and eases them off my nose. “You don’t need these.”

“I’m working.”

His mouth pulls tight as if he’s really not happy with my answer. But since he’s not the one under deadline here, I slap my hand on his chest and shove. Not too hard—but just enough to make my point. He’s in my space. He needs to move.

Unfortunately for me, Gator does what Gator wants.

“Take a break.” He wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me onto the table.

“No.” Getting into a pissing contest with Gator is stupid. I studied wolves one summer in Montana, and sometimes he reminds me of the pack alpha I followed once.

“Oui.” The man knows how to make his point, though. Somehow his hands end up on my inner thighs, and he simply makes room for himself, parting my legs and opening me wide. Then he steps up against me. I’m wearing my oldest flannel pajama bottoms. They’re super-soft and have the cutest little bow right above my crotch. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about them or the matching pink T-shirt. Hell, I’m even wearing a perfectly respectable yoga bra underneath the top because I’m not going to run around someone else’s house half-dressed. I’m more kid sister than Victoria’s Secret Angel, but Gator stares at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. His world.

One hand cups my butt and yanks me forward until I’m straddling the present he’s got in his pants for me. This is… wrong. So wrong. So good. His other hand cups my face, traces my cheek, slides into my hair, and pulls my head back until we’re staring at each other, eye to eye.

“You got something to say to me now?”

“Move.” I shove harder on his chest.

He growls something, but he doesn’t sound mad. He sounds… amused. His hand tilts my head back, working my ponytail like it’s a leash or the line connecting us.

“I don’t think so, baby girl.” He runs his hand down my neck and over my T-shirt. My nipples perk up, damn them. They’re totally ready for this kind of break. “These want me to stay right where I am.”

He leans in, his mouth finding my neck. Swear to God, he inhales me, his nose and lips rubbing over my skin, tasting the spot where my pulse goes mad. For him. His finger traces a nipple, teasing me, and I whimper.

“Don’t play with me.”

“Never.” That one word undoes me, or maybe it’s the way he says it in a rough, low voice as if he’s truly all in and he means it so very much. “You want to say no, say no. But don’t tell me what I’m doing here, you feel me?”

One big finger dips lower, tracing that stupid pink bow.

“You worry too much.”

“And you’re the Fix-It King?”

A smile lights up his mouth, easing the harsh lines. “I’ll make you feel better—promise you that, babe. Lean back.”

I hesitate. It’s one thing to fantasize about him taking charge and issuing sexy orders—and another altogether to actually do it. It makes me kind of anxious, if I’m being honest. I can’t be anything like the kind of women he’s used to.

“You want me to help you?”

His eyes are smiling now. Maybe I am enough. Or maybe his sexual experience isn’t quite as dirty as I imagine. Except I have a great imagination, and I’ve seen the girls who hang around the motorcycle club. They’re not vanilla—at all. They’re long legs, come-fuck-me-heels, and zero inhibitions.

“Please.” Such a cop out, but I’m not—I won’t ask. Not this time. Not ever. Nathan played games like that and I didn’t like them. Of course, at the end I didn’t like him.

“Don’t think about him,” Gator growls. He pushes me down onto the table, but one hand cups the back of my head so that my landing’s gentle. I like that.

I can do this.

He runs his fingers over the inside of my thighs, pushing me wider. And I must be distracted because somehow he’s touching me and we’re kissing and then I’m completely bare from the waist down. My panties have vanished like the man is magic.

This is…

This…

He doesn’t kiss my mouth again. He doesn’t touch my breasts. He just sinks to his knees on the floor, grabs my butt, and drags me to his mouth. I’m wide open and way too bare. He growls my name, and I don’t have enough breath left to be ashamed or to worry about what he might be seeing or if I’m pretty enough down there. I’ve never looked; perhaps I should have. Perhaps…

If he’s right about my worrying too much, perhaps he’s right about other things. Like the dirty, wicked, teasing promises he’s been making. I let go, shoving the map book away and letting him pull my legs over his shoulders. He makes me feel so many things.

He brushes his mouth over my pussy, and I hear him suck in a long breath with a groan.

“I’m gonna taste you, babe.”

He doesn’t ask; he just does.

He circles my clit with his finger.

“Right now,” he says.

“Okay,” I breathe.

And then he does it.

He drags his tongue down my wet slit, and I arch up. Warm, strong hands anchor me, keeping me still for the next wicked pass. He’s the one calling the shots here, and all I can do is let go. He’s nothing like Nathan. He’s taking charge, but he’s not looking to hurt me or control me. He just wants to make me come, and since that’s what I need to do, this can work.

His next pass is even better, his tongue driving me from real-happy territory to the about-to-come-and-see-stars zone. His big hands never let go, cradling me, keeping me safe and pinned down so I can’t fly off and never come back. He licks and sucks, and heat explodes through me. It’s incredible and I don’t want him to ever stop.

Ever.

“Tell me you want this.”

As if he can’t tell? The man is a tease, and I totally mean to tell him so. Except instead I just go with the truth.

“I do.” I give him the words without thinking, and worse, I mean them. My face sets itself on fire because what if he thinks I meant something else? A wedding-y, let’s-have-strings something else?

“Me too,” he says, and he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he gets closer.

He kisses me as if he has all night and all day, as if however long it takes for me to come is more than fine by him. He takes me whole, his mouth working my folds. He licks my center, his tongue circling my clit and then lower until he’s fucking me with his mouth, his tongue driving in and out of me. It’s too good. Almost frightening. He controls my body effortlessly, and I’m not sure I’m down for that. He licks me until I’m coming, his name on my lips, my heels digging into his shoulders hard.

This isn’t about me or even about him. Not anymore.

This is about us.

“Tell me to stay.”

He growls his demand and I—panic. He’s certainly made it clear that he wants something from me and since I’m still running filter-free, I ask him what, exactly, that is.

“You.” That’s it. A one-word response that shouldn’t make me wet, shouldn’t make me shiver—or dream. Gator is my No Way Man. He’s everything that’s bad for me. He’s too aggressive, too take-charge, too alpha. He’s like the Bad Boy 2.0 model and he comes with a White Knight Rescue mode. Although Bad Boy seems to trump White Knight… as his follow up words prove.

“I want to fuck you,” he says.

I shouldn’t find that so sexy. It’s definitely not romantic. A few things become clear. One? I’ve still got a thing for take-charge men. Two? Gator isn’t looking for a relationship. He scares me and attracts me and I just can’t stop thinking about him. He’s so perfectly dominant. Take-charge. With him, I wouldn’t have to think or worry about what comes next. All I’d have to do is feel. And what Gator makes me feel? Is wickedly good. But that aura of danger that hangs around him… he’s far more lethal than my ex-professor.

I launch myself off the table, scattering books and papers as I go. My girl parts throb in outraged denial, but they’re SOL tonight. I can’t do this.

I can’t do him.