“I’ve been taking care of it.”
“What?”
“You gave me the login, remember?” Jack pushes his hair away from his forehead with a grimace. “I delete and block whatever you don’t need to see.”
That stops me in my tracks. “Really?”
He shrugs. “It’s like I said. No one has the right to say things like that to a stranger.”
A breath of amazement escapes me. “I’ve been doing the same, when the comments about you cross a line.”
He sets down the spoon he was using to stir the jam, crossing the narrow space between us. He drags me close, nearly holding me; my legs are between his spread ones, and his arms bracket me on either side. I swipe my tongue across my lips.
“You get in your head, don’t you?” he asks quietly. “Because of things like that?”
I nod. Flush creeps up my neck, my ears. “For years now, guys have had an idea of me in their mind, and when we hook up, it’s impossible to measure up.”
“Measure up to who?”
“Me.” I laugh without humor. @itspoppywinfield, a perfect blonde with perfect outfits and an aesthetic that women envy and men want to see up close. “Well, the influencer version of me. The one who doesn’t really exist. It’s been so hard to stay in the moment and enjoy things like sex. I just...”
“Withdraw into yourself.”
“Yeah.” I pull on his apron, mostly for something to occupy my hands. My eyes flick upward. “It’s one thing to read something online, and another for someone to say it to your face, you know? I’ve been scared of ruining the fantasy. Getting messy.”
“Real sex is messy.” His hand comes up, stroking the curve of my jaw. “Weird. A little gross, even. That’s my favorite part about it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Hartman.”
“I don’t want you holding back with me.”
“You did it too,” I remind him. “You thought I’d be louder, different—”
“No, Poppy.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want you to be loud just because it’s my fantasy. I want it because I can tell it’s what you want. You’re aching to let go, but you aren’t letting yourself.”
My breath catches. “You sound confident.”
“Fuck anyone who only wants the curated version of you.” He strokes over my lips with his thumb. “They don’t deserve you.”
Before I can reply, he turns me around, hand sweeping away the mess on the table. My hair is in one long braid today, and he wraps the end around his fist, tugging lightly. With my throat exposed, he kisses my pulse. The hard lines of his body press against me. I’m caught between him and the edge of the table, bent over just far enough to make my toes curl.
“I’m going to get you out of your head, sweetheart.” His hand drags down my spine. He squeezes my ass, making me gasp. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“Tell me.”
“Yes. Please.” I squirm helplessly at the press of his body against mine. He’s controlling the angle, the position, making heat pool in my core. “Jack...”
“Attagirl.” As he talks, his hand inches down my belly. He unzips my jeans. I bite my lip as he cups me through my panties, allowing his middle finger to dig in a little deeper than the others. “Stay in the moment with me.”
My nerve endings erupt with sensation. This isn’t a light kind of desire, a mere fluttering in my stomach. It’s sharp and deep, filled with need. I arch against the table to feel the imprint of his hand that much more. My breath hitches. He turns my head to the side, kissing my neck roughly, all while his fingers explore.
I can’t think straight with the way his thumb is circling my clit. The evidence of his desire presses against my bottom, dragging amoan from my throat. I feel his smile against my shoulder, and it makes me smile too, the warmth of his approval like the first true sunny day in spring.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Just like that, baby. Nice and loud for me.”
He kicks my legs wider apart, letting my jeans fall around my ankles, followed by my panties. The button of his pants digs into the bare curve of my ass. He tugs on the curls guarding my most sensitive place, then breaches it, two fingers crooking inside me as his thumb continues a torturous tease of my clit. Captured like this, in the vise of his body and the table’s edge, I bite my lip out of habit, preventing a whimper from escaping my lips.
