Page 44 of Beach Reads
“Stop making me laugh, you little weirdo.”
But Poppy yanks my hair, cackling. And this moment is just like her: wild and strange and vivid. Almost too good to be true.
For the first time in years, I am so, so alive. The buzz of pleasure rattles my teeth.
“You’re going to come for me. You’re going to show me what that feels like.”
She nods eagerly, suddenly the shy student again, and there are so many layers to this girl. So many shades of her to learn and love. My fingertips skate through her slippery folds, and then I find her clit. Rub steady circles over her nub.
“Oh!”
I grit my teeth, temples aching. “That’s it. Come for me.”
I’ve seen this before, of course: the way Poppy shatters into a thousand pieces when she comes. The way her eyes go unfocused and her lips part. Color floods her cheeks, and her whole body trembles.
I’ve seen it before, but now I’m feeling it. Now I’m wedged deep inside, in the eye of the storm.
I hold off for as long as I can. Until her spasms fade to aftershocks, and Poppy melts into a sweaty puddle. Then I sit back on my heels, grip her hips, and shove deep.
Ithurts, letting every ounce of tension go like this, my broken gasp echoing around the bedroom.
I’m pretty sure I leave part of my soul inside my girl.
“Whew,” Poppy says once she catches her breath a few minutes later, patting my chest where I’ve collapsed by her side. “Nice work. Guess all that cardio is good for something.”
I snort. And there’s only one way to stop Poppy’s nonsense: to roll my dead weight on top of her, hiding my grin in the pillow as she thrashes and squeals.
* * *
Five years later
I wait until the doctor leaves the room and the door snaps shut before I lunge for the clipboard at the foot of the hospital bed.
“Whit.” Poppy prods me with her blanket covered foot. “You’re not supposed to look at his notes. Come on.”
And fine, no, I am not Poppy’s doctor. I shouldn’t hover over every single detail. But if she thinks I’m going to just sit back and relax while my wife—while my whole damnworld—gives birth to our child, without double checking the doctor’s work? She’s wrong. Very wrong. There’s too much at stake.
“Your blood pressure is a little high.”
An empty plastic cup bounces off my shoulder. “That’s all you, dumbass.”
Ugh.
Fine. Fine.
“I don’t like this,” I grumble, abandoning the clipboard and striding around the bed. When I sink toward the chair, Poppy grabs my hip and yanks me onto the bed. “Careful!”
I could have squashed her. Could have squashed themboth.Jesus Christ.
Except Poppy’s giggling, pushing me to lean back against the headboard and using my shoulder as a pillow. Her dark, silky hair tickles at my throat, and our chests rise and fall in time.
Heaven.
“You’re funny when you freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“I never get to see you like this, Whit. Losing your cool. Such a treat.” A slender hand curves over her belly, and I huff before covering it with my own.
