Page 9 of The Politician Bidder

When he slides into me, it’severything. Hot and thick and perfect. He fills me like he belongs there, like he was made to be inside me. His forehead presses to mine as he begins to move, slow and deep, and I feel every stroke like a heartbeat.

“Poppy,” he groans, “you feel—God—you feel so good.”

My nails dig into his back, and I raise my hips to meet his. “Don’t stop,” I pant.

“I won’t,” he swears. “Not until you come again. I want to feel you lose it. With me.”

He drives me higher with every thrust, every kiss, every whispered word. He touches me like I’m precious, but hefucksme like he’s been starving for centuries.

The pressure builds to the breaking point, and I come again, crying out his name. He follows with a ragged moan, holding me so tightly I swear I can feel his soul crack open as he spills into me.

Afterward, we stay tangled up, sweaty and breathless, my head on his chest, his fingers stroking lazy circles on my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I nod, eyes closed. “Better than okay.”

He kisses my forehead, and I sigh into him, wondering if it’s possible to fall in love with someone all over again—even deeper than the first time.

Or maybe I never stopped loving him.

Maybe I’ve been his all this time… I just didn’t know it.

His breathing slows, and I brush the damp hair from his forehead. “Are you asleep?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I love you, Adam,” I whisper into my pillow. “I think maybe I always have. And I realize now that I always will. Sweet dreams, handsome.”

Chapter 7

Poppy

Themorninglightissoft and golden, spilling through the slats in the blinds and warming the sheets tangled around my bare legs. The air smells like Adam—clean and woodsy, with a hint of wine and sex. My cheek is pressed against the pillow he slept on, and I smile before I even open my eyes.

Last night wasn’t just amazing. It was magic.

For a few precious hours, I let myself fall. Not just into his arms, but into a feeling I hadn’t touched in years—hope. That maybe the boy who once fought for impossible dreams hadn’t disappeared inside the politician. And maybe I don't need to just be an independent career woman. Maybe, just maybe, I can have love, too.

I stretch, every muscle humming with lazy satisfaction, and reach across the mattress, expecting to find him still beside me.

But his side of the bed is cold.

My eyes snap open. The sheets are smoothed out like he was never there.

Panic flickers in my chest, irrational but sharp. I sit up quickly, pulling the sheet over my chest, and spot the folded piece of paper on the nightstand.

I unfold it with shaking fingers.

Poppy,

I’m so sorry—something urgent came up and I had to head back to the capital. Last night was fun. I’d like to see you again. I’ll have my secretary reach out to schedule something.

– Adam Boston

I stare at the note, the careful handwriting, the way he signed it like a press release instead of a man who just made love to me.

I’ll have my secretary reach out?Seriously?!

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