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“I’ve always loved you, Jack,” she told him, realizing in that moment that she needed him to know that. “I’ve always waited for you.”
And she had. Waited and watched for him, ached for him and missed him.
Turning to him, she framed the side of his face with her hand, his overnight beard a sensual caress against her palm.
His eyes, that mix of blue and gray, softened as he watched her.
“I’ve always been yours, Poppy. Every part of me belonged to you.” he whispered. “You’re my soul. If that’s love, then so be it.”
“It’s our love,” she assured him, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling his head down until his lips touched hers.
And just that fast, the emotional storm turned into a blaze of hunger and need.
For three nights he’d just held her, letting her settle, letting her accept what she had to, and now that the grief was easing, she needed him. His touch, his strength, his ability to hold the world at bay for her through the sheer pleasure he gave her.
His lips covered hers, hungry and intent as she turned in his arms, desperate to get closer, to feel him along every cell in her body. She’d lost a part of her past; now, she needed to reaffirm her future.
As he claimed her lips in deep, tongue-to-tongue kisses, he rose, lifting her until she was sitting on the table in front of him. She heard the coffee cup hit the floor but didn’t give a damn. All that mattered was Jack—being alive with him, feeling him in every part of her body.
Lifting the hem of her gown, he released her lips, pulled the material from her, and with a ragged groan lowered his lips to her neck. Sensation raced over her body like electrical threads of pure pleasure. Poppy arched to him, her hands gripping his hard biceps as he forged a path of heated kisses from her neck to her breasts. She writhed beneath him, desperate to be as close as possible, to draw his warmth, his hunger, and to hold it inside her even when they were apart.
Those heated, diabolical lips reached a nipple and covered it, and he sucked at it with firm draws of his lips. She felt sharp arrows of sensation from the sensitive peak, arrowed to her stomach, making it clench with her need to orgasm.
He sipped at each nipple, the rasp of his tongue, the rake of his teeth, and the hot pull of his mouth drawing her into a maelstrom of irresistible sensual, erotic pleasure.
When she was certain she could stand no more, his kisses moved along her stomach as his fingers caressed her inner thighs, sending jazzed spikes of need straight to her womb. Pleasure raced through her, sizzling hot, trapping her within the whirling sensations.
“You’re teasing me,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as sensual flames began to consume her body.
Poppy could feel the moisture easing from her vagina, her swollen clitoris and nipples becoming more sensitive by the moment. Each touch, each kiss leading to the bare flesh of her sex.
Moisture gathered on her body, glazed her breasts as each teasing kiss brought him closer to her aching sex.
“God, I love you, Poppy,” he sighed, his breath caressing the hardened bud of her clit.
“Jack, please…” she moaned, growing more desperate for him by the second.
His fingertips stroked against the bare folds as one hand lifted her leg, allowing greater access to her flesh.
“I dreamed of you,” he breathed against her engorged clit, setting off a chain reaction of sensations that nearly threw her into an orgasm. “So many years, my Poppy, I dreamed of you.”
His lips whispered over the slickened folds, his tongue a mere tease of warmth as she cried out for more.
A second later, more came. His tongue swiped through the folds, circled her clit, and drew back quickly.
“Don’t you tease me like this,” she cried out, lifting to lock her fingers in his hair, dragging his head down to her. “Do it, Jack. Give me your tongue…”
God, he loved her.
Jack smothered back a growl, tightened his hands beneath her knees as he lifted them, and drove his tongue into the heated center of her body. A rush of sweet, feminine moisture met the penetration as snug tissue tightened on his tongue at his retreat. Her hips arched, a cry echoing around him as he penetrated her once again, licking at her response as he allowed his hunger for her to be free.
She was his.
Every sweet cry, every inch of her hot little body and her loving heart belonged to him.
He felt her trembling, her pussy rippling with her pleasure as her nails dug into his scalp. Retreating again, he licked at her saturated folds, kissed her swollen clit, and, sliding one hand down her thigh, tucked two fingers together and thrust gently inside her vagina. His lips covered her clit, drew on it, his tongue rasping over the little bud, around it, until he felt her tighten, her pussy clenching around his fingers as her release tore through her.
“God, yes,” he groaned, rising quickly as her hands fell from his hair.
