Page 55 of Pride and Privilege

“Yes, Poppy.” He placed a kiss on the inside of her knee as he began to pull her underwear down. “That’s exactly what it is.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Poppy Fields was toplessand gasping in his living room. Poppy Fields was bare and wet in his living room. Poppy Fields was destroying his mind—could take it, have it. It was hers.

She half-lay, half-sat against the back of the sofa, her nipples red against her pale skin, one arm half-shielding her eyes as he drew her knickers past her knees, her ankles, and off completely. Her backside was on the sofa edge, her legs parted, but only a little. He kissed her knee again, heard the breath she took, then gently, he spread her open, pushed her knees apart until he could see exactly what he wanted to see. Her pussy, pink and wet. A ragged breath shuddered through him, and again he ignored the voice in the back of his head.

It had been there for a while. Mainly it said things likeNoandYou fucking idiot. It had been there in the fried chicken shop. On the walk home. In the feel of Poppy’s mouth haunting his lips.

It had been there for a long time before that. Ever since he had seen her, in fact. It was basically an old friend.

He ran his mouth up the silky skin of her thigh, breathed in the smell of her.

You’re her boss, her boss, you fucking idiot…

He tasted her, the short lick of his tongue teasing them both.

You promised you wouldn’t. You invited her to live here with you, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t…

Her breath hitched, and he teased her again, a swirl of his tongue over her swollen clit. She gasped, hips lifting.

Shut up,he told his brain.Let me enjoy this one damned thing…

He kissed the inside of her thigh, smiling to himself as she squirmed, wanting more.

“Roscoe…”

“Mm?”

“You’re terrible.”

He chuckled. “I know. I should probably stop.”

Yes, you moron. Stop hours ago, before you ever stepped foot in that pub…

“No…” Her voice was hazy, thick and slow as cream. “Don’t stop.”

So he went back to where she needed him, until she was moaning, grinding against him, hands gripping the sofa. She said his name, reached for his shoulders, pulled him away even though he knew she was close, moments from coming. She pulled him back to her mouth, reached again for his belt, his fly. Fuck, he wanted her. She was perfect. Electric. Her body built for his, every curve fitting his hand. But he stopped her, drew her hand away and pinned it gently above her head.

“What?” she breathed, eyes glazed. “Why…?”

Finally,his brain said. And the rest of him wept.

“I’m not going to take anything from you.”

“But…”

“I can’t sleep with you. But…we can do this. I can do this for you.”

He wasn’t making much sense, he knew that. But it was hard to think when his body had vastly different ideas about what he should be doing. It didn’t want to waste time on words. On any thought other than how it would feel to drive his cock inside her. And Poppy was looking up at him, lips red, eyes blue, hair like copper. So beautiful he wanted to trace every line of her face with his eyes, his fingers, his mouth.

“Do…this?” she repeated, no more able to form a coherent sentence than him.

“Let me make you come. I’ll make you come whenever, however you want, you’ll be in total charge of it. It’s the only way I can think of to make this work. The only way it might possibly be OK. If I only give, don’t take.”

“Take what?”

“Erm…pleasure.”

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