Stalk Her

“Fuck. Yeah.”

Butcher stroked his tongue along mine, kissing me harder, more possessively. I had never done anything like this, never been taken by a man, kissed, touched. I was truly innocent in every aspect of the word.

I was so wet, my underwear soaked clean through, the material rubbing against the sensitive flesh of my pussy. It probably didn’t help that I was buzzed and high.

It probably didn’t help that I wanted him with everything in me.

Chapter Thirteen

Poppy

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as he took me to his bedroom, as I let him.

Once inside, he had me pressed up against the door and moved his hands down only far enough so he could grab the waistband of my pants, popping the button free, pulling the zipper down, then slowly working the material over my hips and down my thighs. He was slow and meticulous with his actions, as if he was worried I might stop this.

He panted hard against my mouth, his long, thick, and huge cock digging into my belly as he ground himself into me. His jeans blocked real contact, hid the truth of how massive his dick really was. But I felt it, could imagine how it would feel inside me, stretching me.

And then it was like something snapped in him, something making his control go completely out the window.

He became an animal.

He became the man I’d envisioned.

“You like my hands on you, don’t you, Poppy?”

I didn’t say anything, didn’t want to admit anything.

“You want this, Poppy. You want me.” His voice was low and deep, like a feral beast. “Tell me. Be truthful about it for once in your life.”

I’d never admit I wanted this, that I wanted him. Wouldn’t tell Butcher, because that would be a weakness, and I couldn’t be weak in this moment.

Could I?

But as I stared at him, as he watched me, I felt the chemistry consume me like nothing else I’d ever felt in my life.

“Go on, Poppy, you sweet little thing. Tell me,” he demanded, his voice hard, unyielding. He grabbed on to my ass even harder, made me gasp out from the pain and pleasure he caused.

I breathed out, trying to sound like he wasn’t affecting me as much as he really was. “I can’t say that.” I whispered those words so low I didn’t even know if he heard me.

And then before I knew what was happening, Butcher had one hand curling over the mound of my bottom and slipping his fingers between my thighs. He grabbed the material of my panties, pulled it taut until it dug into my cleft, sending electricity and pleasure through me, and then I heard material tearing. He took a step back and stared at me.

My pussy was soaking wet, my panties—drenched from my arousal—hanging in Butcher’s hand, close to his face. He growled low and my pussy tingled even more.

“You can lie, pretend, Poppy, but this right here”—he lifted up the underwear to show me—“this right here says otherwise.” And then Butcher brought that material to his nose and inhaled deeply, and a gasp left me at the sound, at the sight of him watching me as he obscenely inhaled my wet underwear, knowing it turned him on.

I couldn’t stop what was about to happen next.

I wouldn’t.

* * *

Butcher

I had Poppy back in my room, away from prying eyes, in a matter of minutes. I all but dragged her through the clubhouse, growling at anyone who tried to stop me, to try to talk to me. They knew better than to get in my way when I was focused, and I sure as fuck was focused when it came to Poppy.

I wanted her alone, surrounded by my things, by my scent. I didn’t want anyone looking at her, hell, thinking about her. I wanted her to myself, because I was a selfish bastard.

And once I had her in my bedroom, the door shut and locked, her back pressed up against it, I took a step back and looked my fill.

She was burning me alive and all I wanted to do was forget about my self-control, let the animal inside me free, and show her exactly what it meant to be mine.

I placed my hand between her thighs again, right over her now bared pussy, and added some pressure. “No point in trying to fight it, baby. Your body is ready for me, primed.”

She gasped, and I wanted to swallow that sound whole.

“You’re fucking soaking for me, Poppy girl.”

“It’s the alcohol and weed,” she whispered, but the way she said it told me she knew it was a lie.

Hell, I knew she was fucking lying.

I saw the way she watched me, how she’d bite her lip on occasion, not realizing I noticed. I saw the way her nipples beaded under her shirt when she happened to see me working out, how her pupils dilated.