Slowly, I lift my injured hand, praying she doesn’t flinch away. When she stays still, I push a wild lock of red hair behind her ear. I freeze when her eyes close and she leans into my touch. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m not,” she whispers as she opens her eyes. She turns into my hand, looking at the bandage before pressing a gentle kiss just above it. Her lips against my skin are so soft I think I might’ve imagined it, but the feel of her mouth anywhere on me sends electricity shooting through my veins.
“Poppy.” It’s more of a sound than a word, a rough growl deep in my throat.
She releases my injured hand to cover the one on her chest with both of hers, holding me there. “My heart is racing, but not because I was scared. Or not scared of you. I was scared for you. But I didn’t need to be, did I?” She swallows thickly, and I don’t know what I say, but it must be the right thing because she goes on. “Thank you for protecting me when I jumped in half-cocked.”
Her lips lift as she uses my words to describe herself, but she’s pressing my hand lower on her chest to the warm breast beneath.
Totally on instinct, my hand curves, cupping and molding itself to the soft weight, and I can feel the pebble of her nipple against my palm. I knead her flesh, learning and memorizing her responses.
“You’re a hot mess, Poppy,” I growl honestly, standing up and pulling her with me. I press her against the countertop, caging her with my arms on either side. “But nobody says shit about you as long as I’m around.”
She gasps, and I capture the sound with a kiss, pressing my lips to hers to feel the velvety softness. It’s scary because the only reason I’m doing this is because . . . I want her.
Desperately.
She moans hungrily, reaching up to cup the back of my head and pull me closer. Her tongue takes the initiative this time, demanding entrance, and we twist around each other, the kiss quickly becoming hot, erotic . . . and very, very serious.
Before was a cover, a necessary tool to hide the drama from my family. This is not a cover or pretend. This is hot, sexy, and most of all, real. Which is what makes me stop, pulling away to hold myself against the other countertop even if every cell in my body is saying to take what Poppy offers and give her what she wants. What we both want.
But I don’t do real, ever. It’s too dangerous . . . for me and for Poppy.
“I can’t. We can’t,” I pant, my body fighting my every syllable. “I’m no good for you, Poppy.”
“Says who? And who says I want someone good for me?” she asks, her voice dripping with desire and lust. “Maybe I want someone bad, very, very bad.”
My poor fucking balls.
But I stay pulled back, not moving a muscle. My hands clamp down on the edge of the countertop behind me as she comes closer, my desire warring with my instincts. She’s making it nearly impossible to be a good guy here, especially when she kisses along my jaw, her hands curling into the hair at the nape of my neck. I could lift her onto the countertop to pull her jeans down, spread her legs, and feast on her flesh, or bend her over the wooden chair and take her roughly from behind, or tell her to get on her knees and suck me. I think she’d welcome any of those options, or even all three.
But not like this. She deserves better, and though she’s all-in right now, eventually, she’ll realize that I’m right. And I’ll be the asshole who took advantage of her.
I growl in frustration, pushing her back to put a foot of space between us. Instantly, I miss her touch, but I can’t give in to the urge to pull her back in. I won’t do that to her.
“I want you so bad, but I’m trying real fucking hard to do right by you,” I admit in a voice that sounds a lot more pained than I’ve heard in a long time. “Let me do that, at least. Please.”
Poppy looks hurt, but I can see her mulling over my words, analyzing them the way she does the ones she writes. I’ve never felt less adept at expressing myself with a random combination of twenty-six letters.
“I should go,” I tell her, taking another step, but it’s still not enough. I can smell her, feel her, taste her, and see her, so close but yet too far. Not too far away, but too far above me. She’s so good, even in her wildness. She’s simply better than me. But I’m trying my fucking best here. “Get some work done tonight. I’ll see you in the morning, and we’ll go to the pawn shop.”