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“Fuck, Poppy,” I whispered. Encouraged, she took me deeper, deeper still, and I could take no more.
I sat without warning and cupped her neck as she released me, pulling her toward me. I pushed her dress down her hips and rolled her onto her back, her body curved and head tilted down to watch me rid myself of the rest of my clothing. Her chest rose and fell, the dim light highlighting the planes and swells of her body, casting the rest in shadow. With trembling hands, I rolled on a condom, prepared for once. With greedy eyes, she watched me stroke my cock, her hair in dark waves around her.
I’d never stopped loving her, I knew that to my very core, though I’d hidden the fact away like I’d hidden the rest of me. She would be my undoing, unraveling all my hard work, all my dreams.
I didn’t know if I cared anymore.
I kissed my way up her body until she held my face in her hands for a kiss of intention, of promise, even if it was only a promise our bodies could make. Her thighs parted wider in invitation, the tip of my cock brushing the hot center of her. And with a long, slow flex of my hips, I slid into her heat.
That heat tore through me like a wildfire, leaving cinder and ash. Every thrust ruined me and healed me. Every time I filled her, I gave her a piece of me I’d never get back. And I gave freely, recklessly, with the fervor of a man who didn’t know he was lost until he found her.
When she came, I was right behind her, the pulse of her body so tight around me, I could barely move. On and on the moment stretched until we were spent, panting, our bodies slick with sweat and our lips hungry for more, always more.
It was foolish to think this was a thing I could satiate with a handful of romps. It was even more foolish to think it could ever be more than that.
I propped myself on my forearms, bracketing her head. “Still hate me?”
She laughed, lit with comfortable joy, her chin tilting up. “Can we call it a truce?”
“You can call it whatever you want if it means I get to see more of you naked.”
Amused, she kissed me again, another kiss of promise. When it broke, she smiled up at me. “Go get in the pond.”
I glanced in the direction of the water. “It’s cold as fuck, Poppy.”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about you skinny dipping for days. I want you all wet and dripping again.”
“Whatever you want,” I said, backing up to kneel and clean myself up.
“Whatever I want?” She propped herself on her elbows.
“Yup. But I get what I want too.”
“And what’s th—don’t you dare,” she yell-laughed when I picked her up and carried her, wiggling, to the pool.
“Since you mentioned it, I want you all wet and dripping too.”
“I swear to God, Duke, don’t!”
“One…” She almost punched me by accident in her attempt to get away. “Two…” I barely hung onto her. “Three.”
I jumped, throwing both of us into the icy pool. She squealed until she was underwater, and when we surfaced, she splashed a wave of water in my face.
“You fucker,” she said, but she was giggling through chattering teeth.
“Fair’s fair,” I noted as she swam toward me for a kiss. A kiss that was only cover for her to dunk me.
Joke was on her—I dragged her down with me. We shared another kiss there, brief and tender.
And I didn’t want to come up for air.
15
CAN’T MAKE ME
POPPY
“Ooh, got a good one,” Jo said, pulling a wooden frame out of a beehive.
It was filled to bursting, almost every cell capped and ready for harvest. Sleepy bees flitted around, languid from the smoke and too lethargic to put up much of a fight despite this being one of our more aggressive hives.
Like the showoff she was, Jo wore no gear, her bee witch vibes on point. Truth be told, I was jealous as all hell. I only wore partial gear—hood and gloves with my jeans and long sleeves—but that was enough to have Daisy and me sweating in the summer heat, unbearable already. It was just shy of nine in the morning.
Daisy took the frame and slid it into the box we’d haul to our small cannery. I was working on a box of my own, inspecting each one, just as my ancestors had done for a hundred and seventy years, give or take. The three of us had run barefoot through our flower fields since we were little, working with Mama just as she’d worked with Grandma. One day, we’d tend our bees with a new generation of Blums, the possibility slowly becoming a reality as my sisters paired off and got themselves all lovestruck. Fun aunt was in my near future, I was certain. I, on the other hand, had no viable prospects.
