But this was different. He was in her home. And other than Link and a few bad dates, no male had ever come back here. And none of them had ever spent the night. But then wasn’t she getting ahead of herself? How did she know he’d stay over?
“Poppy,” he said, voice raspy and deep. “Are you sure about this?”
She said nothing, because she couldn’t get a single word past that stupid lump that was still at the back of her throat.
“Should we at least talk about what happened at the Blackwells’?”
She shook her head no. But that was more or less because she couldn’t speak.
He groaned, or made some sound that punched a hole right through her resolve to try to keep her shit together. Poppy’s knees nearly buckled, but Boone was there, so it didn’t matter. He slid his arms around her and moved her up against the wall. His hands were everywhere, it seemed, and his mouth… Good Lord, but his mouth trailed a line of fire along her collarbone and up her neck until he slowly made his way to her lips. He kissed her long and hard, then soft and smooth, and when they finally came up for air, Poppy felt light-headed.
If there was an award for kissing, Boone Avery would win hands down. His mouth was magic, and his hands were weapons. One of them cupped her breast, and she looked down, hypnotized at the sight of his thumb as he slowly massaged her nipple through the cotton fabric of her top.
Every time his thumb moved, shards of pleasure shot through her body, sizzling like lightning bolts that settled between her legs. A slow throb began there, thick with desire, and she whimpered as he increased the pressure.
“You like that?” Boone asked, dipping low and stealing a kiss before she could answer. He ravaged her mouth, then tore a path of desire down her neck. When he undid the buttons of her shirt along with the clasp of her bra, her head fell back. His mouth slid over her nipple, hot and demanding, and by the time he had her shirt completely off, her legs were noodles and she could barely stand.
Boone reached for the waistband of her shorts and tugged on them, easily pulling them down her hips. He grinned up at her, wickedly so, and grabbed her hips to lift her onto the kitchen island.
“Boone,” she managed to say. “What are you doing?”
He leaned over her and kissed her until words and thoughts were nothing she could muster, and when he slid his fingers inside her panties and then deep inside her, she moaned into him, their tongues tasting each other as his fingers brought her close to the edge.
Boone tore his mouth from hers and ripped her panties in one move, spreading her legs as his eyes greedily took in every single inch of her.
Poppy bit her tongue to keep from groaning, but couldn’t help herself when he moved closer and blew hot air on her. When he dipped his head and placed his mouth on her, when his tongue swept across her clit, slowly at first, and then faster and harder, she screamed or moaned or something. She grabbed hold of the edge of the island and watched as Boone held her open, one hand on each thigh, and suckled and tugged and licked until she came so hard, her entire body shook.
She grabbed his shoulders, holding on for dear life because it felt as if she were coming apart.
For several moments, she clung to him, and when he scooped her into his arms, she said nothing. He made his way down the hall of her modest bungalow and found her bedroom at the end of it. The door was open, her bed unmade, and gently, he laid her down, every inch of her exposed and vulnerable.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered before kicking off his boots and pulling his T-shirt over his head. His shorts and boxers were next, and then he moved toward her, the most beautiful man she’d ever known.
The look in his eyes was enough to make her want more, and her body reacted in kind. Slowly, she moved her hips and whimpered at the sensation between her legs.
“Touch yourself,” he said roughly. He stood inches from her, fully erect, body glistening with a sheen of sweat. The tendons on his neck were thin cords that strained in protest.
“Only if you do,” she whispered back, enjoying this naughty play. Breaths falling rapidly, she slid her hands down her body until she was almost there, and when he wrapped his hands around his cock and slowly stroked himself, she slid her fingers inside herself, where his tongue had been only minutes earlier.
It was erotic, watching him watching her.
“I can’t keep this up for long,” he said, moving closer.
“Good to hear,” Poppy replied. “I need you inside me.”
He swore and bent over her, his cock nearly where she wanted it, but then he stopped and jerked up his head. “I don’t have anything. I don’t… I wasn’t expecting this.”
Brain fuzzy, at first Poppy had no idea what meant. Then it hit her: condoms.
“Top drawer,” she managed to say.
He slid one on with an expert move and covered her with his body. One thrust and he was deep inside, filling her whole. Never had she felt this complete. Not with anyone.
She hiked up a leg, and Boone held on, teasing her with long, slow thrusts until she was a mess. Impatient, she bucked her hips and dug her nails into his shoulders, urging him on because the tornado of desire inside her was curled up tight and building with every thrust.
Boone claimed her mouth as he increased the rhythm of this dance that was older than time. Her orgasm expanded, and she tightened around him, smiling wickedly into his mouth when he swore at the sensation. She rode that wave of desire and shattered into a million pieces just as he came and fell over, bringing her with him until she lay atop his body, curled into him.
It was a connection neither one seemed to want to break, and she lay there a good long while, Boone still buried inside her, his slick, hot body breathing hard against her.
“That was…” His arms tightened as he pulled her into the crook of his arm. “Fucking incredible.”
Poppy nodded, her mind whirling in a hundred different directions. She was falling, it seemed, back to a place she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to navigate.
And maybe in that moment, they should have had a conversation. Some form of communication that laid out the rules of whatever it was they were doing. That seemed like a smart, adult thing to do. But before she could say anything, his mouth was on hers again, and his hands claimed parts of hers that were already his.
Boone Avery made love to her several times. Good God, the things he did to her—the things she did to him—and when she finally fell asleep, exhausted and more content than she could ever remember being…it was his arms that held her. His warmth that slid over her skin. His body that fit into hers like it was meant to stay.
And that was something she’d think about later. She’d think about it and wonder…
Was Boone Avery the biggest mistake of her life?
Or the future she was too scared to claim.
Chapter Fourteen
A damn mourning dove woke him.
Boone had been deep asleep, more content and relaxed than he’d been in years, when the endless cooing ripped him from a kinky dream and into reality. With a groan, he scrubbed at his eyes, wiping away an image of Poppy Fairbanks spread across his kitchen table like a sensual buffet of delights, when it hit him.
He wasn’t home. He was at Poppy’s place. The dreams he’d had had actually happened—the buffet included. And the warm body tucked into his side was none other than the woman who’d satisfied every fantasy he’d ever had. And then some.