Chapter Eleven – Poppy

The evening had been a blast, for Charlie at least, and Charlie was all that mattered. George and Poppy had skirted around each other, neither knowing how to act around the other. There were moments when they might be any other married couple at home with their child, and then they would touch, or exchange a look and that world short-circuited, to be replaced by the awkwardness of strangers.

“You look tired out,” Poppy said to Alfie as they cleared the dishes. “You go to bed, and I’ll tidy up.”

“No, get away with you, you should spend time with George and that wee boy of yours,” Alfie said, a Scottish accent slipping into his voice.

“Where are you from, Alfie?” Poppy asked, helping the old man whether he liked it or not.

“Originally from Scotland, but that was another lifetime ago.” He smiled at her fondly. “You are not the only one with secrets in your past. But mine are old, and set in time. But yours...”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Poppy said.

“I don't want you to say anything. But I do want you to do something. For that boy of yours, if nothing else,” Alfie said.

“And that is?” Poppy asked, although she was sure she knew the answer.

“Let him have a mother and a father. A mother and a father who know who they are to each other. Don’t leave him feeling as if he has to choose.”

“I’d never make him choose,” Poppy insisted.

“Sometimes it is not an out and out choice. That is gone from you, since you walked over the threshold into this house. George will never let you go.”

“I kind of figured that out for myself,” Poppy said.

“Then make a go of it. Because Charlie, being the bright boy that he is, will know he has to pick a side. You or his daddy. Don't let the wee bairn have to make a choice.” Alfie finished wiping the countertop down. “You know, the dishes can wait until the morning.”

“I agree,” Poppy began. “Good night, Alfie.”

“Good night, Poppy. Think on what I said.”

“I will.” Alfie left the kitchen, and Poppy put on a fresh pot of coffee while she waited for him to say goodnight to George and Charlie. When she was sure he wouldn’t come back and catch her out, she ran the hot water, added dish soap, and washed all the dishes.

She needed the time to think over what her next move was to be, and it gave George time alone with Charlie. Not the easiest thing to do, when you were used to having sole responsibility for a child. But she didn’t want to be a clingy mom, and she did want Charlie to bond with his daddy.

“Mommy!” Charlie said about half an hour later, when he came into the kitchen with George.

“We thought you had snuck off to bed,” George said, although his expression said he thought she might have snuck off somewhere else.

“Alfie said he would leave the dishes, but I know he likes the kitchen to be clean. I think we tired him out today.” She wiped her hands and set the dish towel back on its hook.

“He’s used to a quiet life, but he likes having you here,” George said.

“And do you? Like having us here?” Charlie asked.

“I do,” George agreed. “It means I get pizza for dinner.”

Charlie giggled as George picked him up. “But now I think it is time for bed.”

“Oh, one more ride on your back?” Charlie asked.

“So is that what you two have been doing?” Poppy asked lightly.

“Daddy makes the best bear,” Charlie announced.

“You mean I’ve lost my job as mommy bear?” Poppy asked, looking sad.

“No! You will always be my mommy bear. You give the best hugs, Daddy gives the best rides!” Charlie looked flushed, his cheeks pink with excitement. At least she hoped that was all it was.

“Let’s get your teeth brushed and into bed,” Poppy said.

Charlie groaned but didn’t complain too much. As George carried him upstairs, he rubbed his eyes, and rested his head on his daddy’s shoulder. By the time they reached his bedroom, his eyes were drooping. Between them they undressed him, and brushed his teeth, before Poppy pulled the covers back and George placed him on the bed.

“Goodnight, Charlie bear,” Poppy whispered, pulling the covers up to his chin and kissing his forehead. She frowned, placing the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Everything all right?” George asked.

“He felt a bit hot, I’m not sure if he’s coming down with something.”

George moved closer to the bed and felt Charlie's cheeks. “Maybe a little hot.”

“I’ll check on him later.” Poppy kissed him again, but Charlie was already asleep.

“Good night, Charlie,” George whispered and kissed him too. It was a tender moment between father and son that made her heart ache. They had missed so much time together, and guilt flared inside her. Alfie was right, she needed to make this work.

Reaching for his hand, she took it in hers, and curled her fingers around his large hand before he could pull away.

George looked at her, questioning her, but she had no idea what her reply was supposed to be. How could she tell him that she ached for him, a deep-seated ache that only he could cure? The same ache that had lived inside her every day since that fateful night. Yet at the same time, she was scared, scared of letting him in, scared of letting him see her past. Scared of laying it bare for him to pick over and confirm what she had always known. When he saw the bad choices she had made, the things she had done for love. He would throw her out of the house, and tell her their son was better off without her.

“I made coffee,” she said feebly.

“I don’t want coffee,” George said.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“What we both want,” he answered.

She swallowed down her panic, but he was right, the whole evening together had been difficult for one reason, and one reason alone. It had nothing to do with trust; it had everything to do with the sexual tension that was stretched taut between them.

“I...” she began, but he placed his fingers on her lips.

“Shh,” he whispered. “No more words.”

Then he bent down and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to his room, leaving her with no doubt as to what he planned to do to her. Her insides tightened, a coil of pleasure, waiting to unfurl.

George stood up, and undressed in front of her. Poppy could not peel her eyes away if she tried, she wanted to drink him in, to compare this reality to the dream that had been on repeat in her head every night since they met. She swallowed down her longing; her dream had not done him justice, or else he had matured over the years, his body sculpted from hard rock, from his chest, down over his stomach, and lower. Poppy was left in no doubt that he wanted her.

He came toward her, predatory and hungry, a flash of green in his eyes reminding her that he was otherworldly. That was another brief lesson Alfie had given her today, he had explained how dragons were the most ancient of shifters, able to change from humans to animals, or in George’s case, mythological creatures.

George hovered over her, his face close to hers. She looked down at his lips, and moistened her own, before looking up into his eyes. Her heart thumped loudly when he fixed her with his mesmerizing stare and then moved, his fingers catching the hem of his overlong T-shirt and pulling it over her head. He dropped the T-shirt to the floor, and then traced the curve of her breast with his fingertips. Damn, he set her world on fire.

Heat pooled between her thighs, a heat she was very aware of, while an ache grew inside her, an ache that only he would be able to erase.

George kissed along the swell of her breasts, his fingers moving to unclasp her bra, freeing her, allowing him to lavish attention on her nipples, which were taut buds of sensitivity that his tongue was put to torture. Poppy arched her back and offered herself to him, her hand fisting his hair as she watched his mouth at work.

Wanting him to experience the same kind of pleasure, she wrapped her hand around his hard length and stroked him, up and down, up and down. His mouth clamped onto her nipple, and he sucked hard, her reflexes making her squeeze his shaft, her hand pumping up and down. She felt the first of his precome leak out, and focused on his pleasure, instead of her own.

That was made impossible, when he pressed his hand between her thighs and stroked her clit through the fabric of her clothes, his finger pressing against the center of her need.

“I want you,” he whispered in her ear, his teeth nipping her earlobe and then sucking it in.

She wanted him too, but the words were stuck in her throat. Losing his hard length, she began to undo her jeans, her fingers unable to cooperative because her brain was a jumbled mess of need. All she could think about was George being inside her, of reliving that night in its entirety.

He gave a sigh of exasperation, and pushed her hands aside, making short work of her clothes. Once she was naked before him, he lifted her so her head was on the pillow, and then he drank her body in, stroking her soft skin, watching her reaction to his trust with wonder.

“I want to kiss every part of you. I want to lick every inch of you, and I want to suck...”

She got his meaning, but right now, she wanted him to fuck a part of her. “Shut up, and fuck me.”

His eyes flared green, and he moved, deliberate and slow, his hands brushing her skin, inflaming her desire, his chest rubbing against her nipples, as he nestled his body between her thighs. Poppy eased her legs apart, opening for him, and he drew two fingers along the length of her sex, and then teased her clit, until she squirmed beneath him.

“I don’t know if I like my woman giving me orders,” he said silkily as he stroked her, pushing his fingers just deep enough to tease her to the point of insanity.

“Do you want me to beg?” she asked, pushing her body down so his fingers pushed deeper.

“Maybe,” he replied.

“Fuck me, you big bad dragon,” she said, pouting.

He threw his head back and laughed. At the same time, he guided his shaft inside her, thrusting hard and deep, impaling her completely.

She groaned as he stretched her, the muscles of her sex not used to such an invasion. This spurred George on, and he ground into her, his hips circling as he stretched her further. He took her, slowly and forcefully, to the edge of her orgasm, his mouth nursing on her breasts, then whispering in her ear, telling her everything he was going to do to her before this night ended.

As her orgasm crashed into her, and George filled her with his seed, she had no doubt he would live up to his promise, and she could not wait. She would no longer need to dream about her dragon; he was here inside her, and she was where she belonged.