Page 1 of Lucky 14

CHAPTER ONE

Poppy can only come when she isn’t facing me.

Bracing my shaking arms over her, I try to ignore that telltale tingling in my balls. My girl is lying on her stomach, face in the pillows, letting out tiny little breaths every time I push into her. My sack has been drawing up tight when she presses that full ass back into me, but I have to hold on. I refuse to come before she does.

Finally, Poppy’s body tenses as she plays with herself. She lets out a stuttered moan, and then her pussy tightens around my dick. I groan, coming into the condom, then pull out of her and collapse onto the sheets.

Relief melts through my muscles. Poppy and I haven’t fucked in nine days. Well, today was going to be the tenth, but she woke me up wanting to get frisky. My skin pebbles at the memory of her over me, hair hanging down, with that look in her eyes. I can’t remember the last time she woke me up wanting to have sex.

Maybe things are getting better.

Poppy rolls away from me, and immediately, I feel the loss of her heat. I reach out for her, grabbing her torso and trying to pull her into me.

Poppy just grunts. “You’re sweaty, and I need to shower.”

“Babe…”

My girl rolls out of bed, quickly moving to the bathroom. As the door shuts, I feel out of place on the bed, naked and sweaty. Is she mad at me? Was that not good for her?

With a groaning of the pipes, the water kicks on.

Come to think of it, Poppy only moaned once. Usually, she’s louder than that. My skin gets cool, and my stomach twists. Oh my god, did she fake it?

No. She’s the one who asked for it.

I groan, rubbing between my eyes. My bangs get caught under my fingers, and I flick them out of the way. They’re getting long again. I let it go ‘cause Poppy says she likes the emo look. Calls me her pretty boy.

Things are fine, maybe she’s just hungry. Getting up, I rip off the condom, use my flannel pajama bottoms to wipe my dick down, then throw on some clean boxers. My shoulder ticks.

Ugh. No, everything is fine.

I make Poppy’s favorite breakfast—waffles and sausage links. She says it reminds her of Saturday mornings with her mom. I make her this every Saturday morning in the hopes that it can maybe be our thing. Like, she’ll always think of me every time she eats it.

When Poppy comes into the kitchen, she’s in her pretty summer dress with the roses. The dress looks so good with her dark hair and pale skin, and a smile creeps up my face. Poppy knows I love that dress. It makes her ass look so plump. Oklahoma weather is almost always warm, so I want her to wear it year-round.

But Poppy doesn’t look at me. She just rushes to the hook her purse is on. Almost like…she doesn’t want to look at me?

“Where are you going?” My question comes out quicker than I intend. I clear my throat, suddenly self-conscious about the fact that I kept my shirt off.

“Therapy, remember?”

Therapy? My stomach clenches, and that icy feeling tingles in my gut. No, I don’t remember.

“I made breakfast,” I say.

Finally, Poppy looks at me. She has the prettiest brown eyes, but now, she just throws me a smile that doesn’t quite reach them. “Thanks, I’m gonna be late though.”

Late? It’s Saturday morning. I glance at the microwave. It’s not even nine yet.

“Waffles and sausage,” I say.

Poppy pauses at that. Her body tilts my way even as her head moves toward the door, and it’s like I’m frozen, eyes wide, wanting to pull her my way by sheer willpower alone.

Then, my girl takes a step away, and my heart stutters to a stop. “Thanks, baby, save me some?” Then, she’s gone.

The bad feeling is back in my gut, only now it cramps, and my shoulder ticks.

She’s seeing someone. Without telling me.