I’m the one who rearranges her body so she’s straddling my lap. Her dress rides up high on her thighs. I run my hand along the bare, pale expanse of her legs, but I don’t go any farther than the hem.

I just kiss her. I’ve never really gotten used to doing that. It’s too intimate, and it invites too much in the way of hand-to-skin contact, because that’s when they’re liable to wander. But with Poppy, I don’t mind. She makes these sweet, soft sounds and arches her back, pressing her breasts against my chest. In doing this, she also presses up against my hard-on. I groan into her mouth—it’s a loud, pained sound. I’ve been hard since I picked her up.

Her hands, which I realize have been smoothing up and down my arms, freeze.

“That’s not a bad sound,” I reassure her, squeezing her thighs.

She leans back, but returns to press a kiss on my lips as she runs her fingers through my hair, her short nails dragging down the sides of my neck. Poppy traces the collar of my shirt and plays with the top button.

“How would you feel about me taking this off now?”

“I’d feel okay about that.” I run a finger under the strap of her dress. “Can I take this off now, too?”

She smiles. “Would it be better if I go first?”

“Maybe, aye?” I haven’t let anyone else undress me, ever. Not even Tash.

Poppy doesn’t look away as she lifts one arm and pulls the hidden zipper on the side of her dress down.

I sit up straighter and kiss along her shoulder as I move the strap aside, revealing an emerald green bra, nearly the same color as her dress. I mutter a low curse and bite her shoulder when my cock kicks.

Poppy sucks in a breath.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

I slide my hands under the hem, over her hips and stomach, and pull the dress up. Emerald green lace panties make an appearance, followed by the matching bra.

I lift the fabric over her head and groan. If I allowed myself to have a type, Poppy would be it. She’s curvy, her lush breasts straining against the delicate lace cups.

“Fuckin’ell.” I drag gentle fingertips over the swell of her breasts and drop my face into her cleavage. She smells like lavender and something sweet. I want to put my mouth on every inch of her. And my hands. Any part of her I can touch with any part of my body is what I want. Need. Crave.

Eventually I stop nuzzling her breasts and lift my head. “You’re fucking perfect, Poppy.”

Her cheeks are hot pink. “I’m not really.”

“Perfect. Every inch.”

“I could probably stand to go to the gym more.”

“Fuck the gym. I’ll be your workout. As many days of the week as you want. I’ll be the best workout you’ve ever had.”

She laughs and goes for the first button on my shirt. She’s slow about the process, her fingertips grazing bare skin each time until she pulls my shirt from the waistband of my pants and parts the two sides.

She hums. “Your body is incredible, but I guess you already know that.”

“It serves its purpose.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“It got me a great career and here, in your bed, with you.”

“Your body didn’t get you into this bed.” Poppy plays with the tails of my shirt.

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“Then what did?”

Her expression is gentle. “Your sweetness.”

I laugh. “I hate to break it to you, precious, but I’m pretty fucking far from sweet.”

“I disagree. You’ve been nothing but sweet with me.” She grins and then grows serious. “I want to touch you.”

“Then that’s what you should do.”

She keeps her eyes on mine as she pushes the shirt over my shoulders and down my arms. She removes one sleeve, then the other, and when I’m shirtless, she skims my chest with feather-light fingers.

I’m tense, but when her contact isn’t followed by the sensation of ants crawling over my skin, I relax.

“Do you like that?” she asks. “Does it feel nice?”

“It feels fucking amazing.”

Poppy licks her lips. “Do you think you might like it if I put my mouth on you?”

She’s not offering to blow me—at least I don’t think she is. She’s just offering me a different kind of touch.

I’ve had a lot of women say a lot of dirty things to me. I’ve had a lot of fucked-up sex over the years, but this obliterates every single experience. For the first time ever, I’m not trying to find creative ways to keep her hands off me. I’m not looking for an escape. I’m not wasted and trying to feel something other than pain, or allow the pain to take me over.

“Where you thinkin’ about putting your mouth?”

“Well.” Poppy bites the end of her finger then touches it to my lips. “I’d like to start here and maybe work my way down. Does that sound acceptable?”

“That sounds way better than acceptable.”

“I think so, too.”

Poppy kisses me again. Her lips are tentative and warm. She moves along the side of my neck to my shoulder. She drops down so her ass is resting on my thighs, giving her access to my chest. Those pretty green eyes lock on mine as her tongue flicks out against my nipple.

“Ah, fuck.” I want to shove my hands in her hair and guide her mouth lower. But I keep them on her thighs instead, because I can’t rush this.