Chapter 16
Poppy left the boutique by six, when Bianca closed on Tuesday nights. Bianca said they stayed open until eight on Thursdays and Fridays when more women were apt to want to shop, with the weekend in front of them. As she drove home to Brandon’s she reflected on how she wasn’t even choosing her work hours any longer. And it was okay.
The front door of the house smelled like polished wood from the Southern sun hitting it all afternoon. She placed her palm on the smooth oak, impressed by the heat that wafted off. When she entered the foyer the woodsy scent was immediately replaced by a delicious aroma from the kitchen.
“I hope you like steak.” Brandon stood at the island stovetop, whisking something in a salad bowl while two steaks sizzled on the stove’s grill plate.
“I do, but I don’t expect you to cook for me.” She placed her bag and laptop carrier on a stool and stood across the island from him. They’d made do with convenience food and if anyone did cook for both of them, it was her. She felt it was a good way to pay him back for occupying his guest room.
“My pleasure. I forgot how much I enjoy doing this.” His eyes remained downcast, focused on the sauce or dressing he was making. He dipped a finger into the bowl and lifted it up, licking it. “Needs more mustard.”
He reached over to a jar of European-style mustard and scooped out a teaspoonful. Only then did his gaze meet hers, and she jumped at the crackle of sexual tension.
“I, um, never made homemade dressing.” He’d caught her ogling him. Again.
“Everything’s better homemade, Poppy.” He grinned and she picked up a potholder that was near her and threw it at him. Par for her lack of athletic prowess, the padded square landed in the salad bowl. Brandon was splattered with yellow drops.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Fruitless words as laughter bubbled along her chest cavity, up her throat, and she burst out in a fit of giggles.
Brandon said nothing as he calmly dabbed at his white T-shirt, his forearms, and dropped the dishcloth into the sink. When he turned back toward her, she watched his face, which at first glance was a work of ambivalent detachment.
Too late she recognized the sparks of heat in his eyes, the same warning she had whenever he was about to get sexy with her. He was around the island in one fluid motion and she turned, poised to flee.
From what? What are you running from?
Familiar arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back up against his front, her ass shaping around his erection. Brandon’s breath was hot on her throat as he kissed the side of it, chuckling like a tiger holding a rabbit. She was that easy, that ready, that fucking hot for him.
“I’ve wanted this all day.” His hand pushing her skirt up from behind, his fingers grasping her ass. She wriggled to give him better access, reached for her waistband and shoved her skirt down, revealing her lacy black thong.
“Jesus, Poppy. You’re beautiful.” His tone lost its teasing and flirty tone, the raspy staccatos matching the tremors running over the skin of her belly and thighs.
His touch was her hot beignet with sprinkled sugar. She’d never get enough. Before her heart rate was out of control, her resistance melted by his touch, she pushed his hands and arms off her waist and turned to face him. Lagoon-blue eyes half-lidded with his need gave away how turned on he was. As did the rock-hard erection she unbuttoned his jeans to get to.
“Poppy.” He put his forehead on hers, his plea clear. He needed the relief he’d so willingly given her, so many times. Her fingertips traced along his lower abs to the hair that grew in a perfect line to his groin, where she let her fingers enjoy playing in the springy, coarse curls. With a last shove downward, his jeans and boxers fell to his ankles and his cock burst free from its enclosure.
His groans were music and the only affirmations she needed as she lowered to her knees, the cold kitchen floor hard and certain against her skin. Poppy was full of need but instead of needing Brandon inside her—she trusted this would come later—she was compelled to please him, to send him where he’d flung her. To the place where daily worries and once-in-a-lifetime catastrophes melted away and all that mattered was touch and feel.
Poppy breathed in his purely Brandon scent, musky with a twinge of salt, as if he’d been born of the bayou and had always been here, waiting for her. When she took him in her mouth his legs tensed and his hands went to her head where he ran his fingers through her orgasm-tousled locks. She sucked and licked, using her tongue to convey her own need for his release, while her hands cupped him and pressed him in the most intimate places. His climax hit him as hard as hers had, judging from the animalistic cry he let out as his cock stiffened for the last time before release. She caressed and cared for him with her mouth as his spasms continued, until his breathing let go of the frantic hitches and his cock reflected complete satisfaction.
“Poppy.” He hauled her against him by her upper arms and buried his head in the crook of her neck, his arms loosely around her waist. “You’re killing me.”
“What? Wasn’t that what you wanted?” She bit back a laugh and waited for him to acknowledge her teasing. Instead he cupped her jaw with his hand and lifted her face to his, seeking something in her gaze she wasn’t sure she had to give him. Wanted to give him. Could afford to share.
Had she ever felt this organically connected to another man? This had never been the feeling around Will. Sexy, pleasurable, sure. But knowing it would never be as good as this ever again with anyone else? No. Brandon was her first.
The thought jolted through her as she stood in his arms. Brandon wasn’t a random rebound hookup.
Holy hell.
* * * *
“You’re an amazing woman, Poppy Kaminsky. Where did you come from?” Brandon whispered to her, not wanting to let go of her waist. This was a first for him. He’d just had the blowjob of his life and his dick was already indicating it wasn’t enough. He wanted Poppy in bed, all night long.
He felt her stiffen, and braced himself for her recriminations. Poppy had made it clear she was on a man hiatus and that their shared chemistry was part of her post-breakup rehab. She didn’t want commitment and he was sounding like a whimpering, needy toddler.
Son of a bitch.
“Hey, relax. I’m not getting too serious here, don’t worry.”
Her eyes came back to his and where he expected relief he saw another emotion, a reaction that he wasn’t seeking but inspired elation deep inside his chest.
Disappointment.
Could it be possible that Poppy had changed her mind, that she wanted more out of this? He mentally shook his head. Neither of them wanted a serious relationship, they’d said as much more than once. And they were each entrenched in their geographical areas. He didn’t see either of them moving. Although New York City held a different connotation for him when he pictured being with Poppy on the streets, in a café, in a fancy restaurant. On a bed in her loft apartment.
“I know you’re not serious.” She pushed on his chest and he let his arms drop. “I’m just getting a lot of things in order with work right now. I’m distracted.”
“You’re telling me that you were making lists in your head while blowing me?”
She smiled. “I am multitalented but no, I wasn’t thinking about anything but you.”
He hated himself for being so selfish but he knew he had to move now, before Poppy started thinking about anything else too deeply. He leaned in and kissed her full on the lips. With any other woman it would be a sensual way of saying thanks for such a hot sex session. With Poppy it quickly turned into a prelude for more when she opened her mouth fully to him, seeking out his tongue as he licked along her lower lip.
“Keep it that way. No thinking until we’re done.” He lifted her into his arms and wanted to pummel his chest like a freaking moron, he felt so much more alive, so capable around her.
“Um, Brandon?”
“Yeah?” He had them around the island, headed for his bedroom.
“You might want to take the steaks off the grill and turn the stove off. Unless you think we’ll only be a minute?”
* * * *
Five minutes later, he settled her on the clean sheets he’d put on this morning, two days before his housekeeper was scheduled to do it as part of her regular routine. He hadn’t been thinking he and Poppy would end up here again for sure, but just in case.
“Your sheets smell like lavender.” She stretched out on the mattress, her livid blond hair reflecting golden streaks in the fading daylight. “We need to close the blinds.”
“No one can see us but the alligators, honey.” He quickly got rid of his shirt and took his time peeling her black thong off. “Jesus, do you own any plain underwear?”
She didn’t answer but instead got her top off, her breasts spilling over the demitasse cups of a pink-on-black bra. Brandon’s cock forgot about the epic orgasm Poppy had just wrought from him and was ready to go, aching for the release only Poppy’s pussy gave him.
“You’re beautiful.” He licked her breasts along the edges of her bra, keeping his weight on his forearms and knees. God, he could be inside her in one slick thrust. It would be so slippery, Poppy’s arousal evident in the way her walls clenched around him.
Not yet.
“Brandon, please. Don’t wait.” She writhed and bucked her hips in small, deep circles. “I need you.”
“How?”
“Inside. Now. Do you want me to beg?”
Yes.
“Hang on. What’s the hurry? The house isn’t going to burn down.”
He licked his way down her abdomen, loving the dips and curves into her belly button and alongside her silky hips. His teeth couldn’t help but nip at her hip bones, protruding above her adorably slightly rounded tummy. “I love that you’re a real woman, Poppy. So sexy. So voluptuous. Open up for me, babe.” His hands reached up for her breasts as he settled between her legs, where he deeply inhaled her intense arousal before he teased her with his tongue. Her wet folds were lusciously swollen and she tasted of sex, yes, but more, woman.
His woman.
“Brandon.” His name was never spoken like this before. As if her entire survival depended on him.
“Enjoy it, Poppy.” He delighted in her gasps, the way she grew incredibly still, how her pussy started throwing off spasms before the orgasm fully hit her, when she cried out loud enough to wake the baby egrets incubating in eggs out in the bayou. How she sat up halfway and gave him a bemused look.
“I have no idea how you do that, but oh my God, Brandon.” She flopped back down and he licked her again, until she was on the edge, ready to come in the way only Poppy could. Fully and with no distractions. He quickly raised to his knees and donned a condom.
Only when Poppy met his gaze with her flaming whiskey eyes did he thrust into her. He’d planned to go slow, to cycle his pumping with his pelvic circles, just like so many women he’d been with enjoyed. But planning wasn’t something that worked with Poppy in his life. He became a man, an animal he didn’t recognize or maybe knew too well. The primal beast that he and his guy friends joked about but he never let loose, always kept a tight leash on.
There was nothing but freedom with Poppy as he thrust again and again, harder, faster. Her words and gasps encouraged him and with one final shove he jumped off the edge of his control into complete release.
* * * *
“This tastes pretty good for cold steak.” Poppy was ravenous after their bedroom gymnastics. She reminded herself that she had to think of what they were doing as nothing more. Why torture herself?
“I know something that tastes a lot better.” Brandon’s voice echoed in the large kitchen as they sat on barstools at the granite counter. His smug smirk would be an affront from any other man.
She waved her fork at him. “You don’t have to say that. We’re buddies, remember?”
He grunted and chewed on a huge chunk of rib eye, lazily holding his glass of red wine as he studied her. “One thing you must have figured out about me already is that I don’t say anything just for the hell of it. You’re a beautiful woman, Poppy.”
“Thank you.” She took a small sip of her wine. “I’m not used to talking afterwards.”
“About sex? I think this is the second-most fun thing about having great sex.”
“Kind of like a debrief?” She snorted. “So that I’ll do better next time?”
“So that I’ll know what you enjoyed most and I can make next time the stuff of your dreams.”
She steeled herself to meet his eyes but he’d already moved on, cutting off another piece of steak with casual ease.
“I’m hoping tomorrow will be the last interview or presentation I have to do for this contract. Are you up for a practice session after we’re done eating?”
“Absolutely.” Supporting Brandon as he prepped for the San Sofia contract was comfortable, familiar ground.
Unlike the tangible connection between them. Poppy couldn’t ignore it any longer. To a Yankee with a heart that had been shattered like hers, however, her relationship with Brandon was the equivalent of wading barefoot into the muddy, snake- and alligator-infested bayou waters.