Page 32 of Run For Your Honey

“What?” I breathed.

“I was ready to quit school and move home for you. Breaking up was easier. Staying away was easier.”

“I hate you,” I whispered halfheartedly.

Our bodies were nearly flush, my face lifted to where I knew his was. I could tell by his fevered breath that his lips were very close, close enough that I unwittingly strained to reach them.

“You’re the same, Poppy,” he continued, “Headstrong, ready for a fight. Self-righteous and inspired. You’re exactly who you are with no apologies. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve known someone like you?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “Twelve years.”

“I hate you.” It was a plea, my last line of defense against myself.

“I know. I earned that. But I don’t hate you. I loved you too much to ever hate you.”

For a silent moment, neither of us moved. And then he remembered himself, stepping back.

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

An unthinking breath, and I launched myself at him, my lips crashing clumsily into his. A simple shift, and our mouths were locked, his arms a vise, but my body was pliant against his. It was a kiss of home, of lips charted in the dark and known with certainty. The sweep of his tongue stirred heat in my belly, sliding down to the juncture of my thighs. At the sensation, my hips sought his. When I found them, he pinned me against the wall with them, a growl low in his throat.

Our hands were wild, scrabbling and clawing at each other. I tugged his shirt out of his pants and unfastened his belt with trembling hands. When his zipper was down, I sank my hands into his pants and fisted him with both. He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, panting as I stroked him, trailing his shaft, the ridge of his crown, the velvety head where my fingertips found a slick bead. At the contact, he groaned, flexing into my hand and capturing my lips again for a bruising kiss.

He made quick work of my pencil skirt, hiking it over my hips, tearing my panties down my legs. And then he was touching me, and there was nothing else but his fingers sliding deep into me.

The kiss ended with my gasp, my head lolling and my hands gripping his shoulders. With his free hand, he hooked my thigh and wrapped it around his waist. But I lost interest in his hand when his cock brushed my flushed thigh. When I took him in my hand, his fingertips disappeared, the kiss frantic as I guided him into me, stroked the hot length of me with the hot length of him. And when his crown found the dip, he flexed long and hard. A moan of sweet relief slipped from both of us when he’d filled me, but there was no savoring the moment—he grabbed my other leg, bracing me against the wall so he could fuck me like he wanted.

He held me up with his hands beneath my ass, spreading me wider so he could get deeper. His fingertips brushed his cock and my hot flesh with every thrust, appreciating the point where our bodies joined. My orgasm had been close since the second he fitted himself inside me, but feeling him feeling me set my heart racing, my breath shallow. My back arched, arms flexing around his neck, and a moan turned into a stifled cry as I came unraveled.

He buried himself to the hilt, his chest against mine, his hips rolling, retreating, slamming into me once, twice, then a hiss and his hips were gone, leaving me achingly empty as he spent himself into my hands and his.

As the lust drunk haze slipped slowly away, reality followed. Silently sobering, he set me down and we righted ourselves. He handed me his pocket square, using it after me. My heart still raced, my body still shuddering from pleasure and regret as it dawned on me what I’d done.

“I hate you,” I said.

“You mentioned that.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I’m glad you did—”

“It won’t happen again,” I said coolly.

Protracted silence stretched between us, so heavy I couldn’t breathe.

“Agreed.” His words were ice cold. “Things are complicated enough without… this. I’ll take the back exit.”

“Good. I’d hate for anyone to think—”

“Yeah, I got it.” Another pause, as if he had more to say. But he decided against it, walking away with a whirl of air in his wake.

And all that was left was an empty space.

12

COOL OFF

DUKE

The heavy side door to the theater slammed shut behind me.

I yanked my tie loose and unbuttoned the top buttons in the hopes it would help me breathe.

It didn’t.

Realizing I had nowhere to go, I stopped and turned, pacing back toward the building. I couldn’t go back inside, so I stopped again and paced away, raking a hand through my hair. I tried to sort through my jumbled thoughts to figure out what the fuck had just happened. Seeing Poppy bolt off the stage had triggered something in me. The desire to soothe her and the guilt that her pain was my fault took precedence over logic—I’d promised Evangeline that I’d see her later and snuck away, going after her discreetly.

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