Page 68 of Special Delivery
‘Maeve can’t walk,’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, but can she ski?’
Poppy smiled. ‘Unlikely.’
‘I’m not willing to take that chance. Someone’s got to think of the children, Poppy.’
He put his hands on her shoulders, moving her back towards the wall so he could slide past, his hands gliding down her arms ever so slightly as he did. His touch was electrifying, like a swarm of fireflies fluttering over her skin.
‘I’ll get this out of your way,’ she offered, sliding back past him to pick up the laundry basket. She bent down to pick it up and felt his hands on her waist, playfully tugging her towards him.
‘You’re getting in my way, McKellar.’
Poppy straightened up, her back to his chest, his breath on her neck. She placed the basket on the top-loader and spun slowly. The humidity in the air seemed to build as her eyes met his. Her heart was suddenly whirring like an electric fan and her gaze travelled to where his jumper snagged at his waist. An inch of skin peeked out above his tool belt and she had an irresistible urge to slip her fingers under the waist of his jeans and pull him towards her.
All her synapses were suddenly firing, sending warmth to places in her body that hadn’t felt this kind of heat in years. It was as though they were tightrope-walking on a single golden thread. If James made the slightest move, she would disintegrate on the spot, like a firework dissolving into air.
James’s breathing was low and husky. How were they now so close? The room seemed even smaller than usual and she was acutely aware that her bedroom was less than ten metresaway. It felt as though steam was floating off her body, condensation sliding down the windowpanes. The thought crossed her mind to move away, but another thought steamrolled in:No frickin way.
‘Will I wake Maeve with the drill?’ he asked quietly, his mouth perilously close to her skin.
Poppy heard herself whispering back, ‘It’s Thursday. She’s at my mum’s …’
The information settled between them, heavy with meaning, and Poppy felt the walls close in further, threatening to suffocate her.
‘Poppy,’ James said in a low voice. He moved his fingertips to her waist, light as mist, and she shivered with anticipation. His face tipped towards hers and she tilted upwards, their breath mingling as her eyelids fluttered closed.
Her brain wasn’t cut out to perform these calculations. The risks of moving an inch forward were high, she knew that, but she also knew that sometimes you needed to succumb to temptation in order to refocus. Like a cheat day. Maybe she just needed to get this out of her system.
She pressed closer to James and his lips brushed her neck. Her skin burned hot underneath them as his grip on her waist tightened. She wound her arms around him, threading her thumbs through his belt loops, and his lips increased the pressure on her throat, sending a flame down her spine. ‘Is this okay?’ he murmured.
Before she could stop it, a tiny moan escaped from her lips. She felt his mouth smile against her skin and it made her want him more.
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘Clever man,’ she whispered, kneading her fingernails into the fabric of his top.
Their stomachs met and a heavy longing gathered in Poppy’s belly and everywhere else her skin touched his. James tipped her face upwards, his nose grazing hers until the heat of his mouth touched her lips. She gasped. It was exactly as she remembered, but softer, like the slightest strike of a match before it lit a pool of gasoline. His lips parted hers with the gentlest touch and her hands slid under his jumper and t-shirt, running over the coolness of his skin, the firmness of his muscles. She angled her neck to drink all of him in, like his mouth alone could quench her thirst. She could feel him smiling as his lips moved against hers, stronger now, and she felt she would melt in a puddle.
‘James,’ she whispered, because she needed to say something, anything, to have some sense of agency when she was clearly losing all control.
In response, James skimmed his hands down to her butt and around her thighs, and Poppy felt herself being lifted, wrapping her legs around him as he pulled her up. With one hand he struck the laundry basket to the floor and placed her on the top-loader. ‘Sorry,’ he breathed between kisses.
‘Collateral damage,’ she muttered.
His hips were firm against her and she could feel how much he wanted her. Her fingers ran through his hair as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She pushed her chest against him, her nipples hardening.
The steel lid of the washing machine was cold under her thighs compared to the fire between them. She pushed herselfinto him, demanding more contact, and he pushed back, filling the space, kissing her deeper. The washing machine squeaked underneath her and their hands slid over each other, hungry to learn every curve. It was as though they were on a timer, desperate to touch everything, feel everything, before someone yanked them back to reality. Poppy gripped his jumper, tugging him closer. She wanted him flush against her, and he obliged, grabbing her butt roughly as his lips traced her jawline. His teeth grazed a jagged path down her neck, the resistance sending a rush of pleasure to her core. Every touch was like fire—hot and fierce. He knew when to push and when to release, and Poppy could hardly stand it. Their lips met again and Poppy laughed into his breath as his hands slid under her top and she arched her back to give him better access.This is not enough, she thought blindly. Whatever this was, it was amazing, but she needed more. She wanted all of him, faster and harder and deeper, and she wanted it now, she needed itnow.
Poppy pulled her lips away. ‘Should we …?’ Suddenly, a memory of them in her kitchen flashed up: her asking the same question, him misunderstanding, her crumbling, months passing. That couldn’t happen again. ‘I don’t mean stop,’ she blurted.
‘Wasn’t planning to,’ growled James, moving his lips to the soft skin behind her ear as his fingers spread wide against her rib cage. He curved his hands under her butt and picked her up again, the tool belt wedged between them, and carried her down the hall.
‘On the left,’ she ordered.
Obediently, James pivoted and she felt her back against her bedroom door. He pushed it open, walked her to the bed and carefully placed her on the edge, pulling his mouth from hers to look her in the eyes. He kneeled on the floor in front of her. Gone was any trace of humour; his eyes were dark with focus. Poppy’s breath hitched.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked.
