Page 50 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Houston Baddies #3)

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. . .

Two months later…

I don’t knock.

Haven’t in weeks. Not when I’ve been living here for two months—long enough to know the rhythms and quirks of this brand-new apartment.

Take the fridge for example; it makes a tiny ping before it kicks on.

The bathroom door sticks if you close it too hard.

And Poppy? Has exactly one of three settings when I walk in after a long day:

Wearing sweats, messy bun, ready to chill on the couch.

Still dressed from work.

Or…

Nearly naked.

Bare feet.

Bare legs for days .

Hot pink thong underwear riding low on her hips and eaten between two, perfectly round ass cheeks.

She takes a plate out of the cabinet. Leans forward, opening the refrigerator with the casual grace of someone I know is very used to being half-naked in the kitchen.

Her head disappears into the fridge, giving me an absolutely devastating view of her lower half.

Holy shit.

A tiny bralette covering her tits that does nothing to hide the fact that it’s freezing in here. Or her nipples.

They’re pressed against the sheer pink fabric, rosy and hard.

There’s a spatula in her hand.

She’s making eggs.

I smile.

She hasn’t noticed me yet.

For the first three seconds, I don’t move. I bask in it, rooted to the spot, gawking at her; wondering if maybe I did die on the plane and this is some kind of weird post-game hallucination?

She is a fever dream I cannot take my eyes off of.

I take my time, leaning idly against the doorway, soaking it in—the way her hair’s twisted up in a messy knot, the faint sizzle of the pan, the little hum in her throat as she stirs.

The first time I saw her like this, I’d wanted to walk up behind her, brush her hair aside, and press my mouth to the curve of her neck while my hands slid over those perfect breasts.

This time, I don’t just think about it.

I move in slow, quiet steps, my shadow spilling over the tile floor as I close the distance between us. My chest meets her back, my hands finding their way up her sides and over the swell of her breasts, palms warm against her chilled skin.

She jolts, inhaling sharply at the surprise, but before she can say a word, I dip my head and kiss the soft spot just beneath her ear. She exhales—a shaky, startled sound—and leans into me like her body already knows where it belongs.

The sizzle of the eggs fades.

“Miss me?”

“Mmhmm,” she hums.

My thumbs stroke over the soft curve of her breasts, the thin fabric doing nothing to dull the sensation.

“That’s not very convincing,” I murmur against her skin, my lips trailing lower, grazing the line of her shoulder.

She tilts her head, giving me more access, and I take it—nipping lightly, kissing down the side of her neck until I feel her shiver. The spatula in her hand clatters onto the counter, forgotten.

“I can think of better things to do with you than breakfast,” I murmur, letting my hand slip beneath the waistband of her skimpy thong.

Her breath catches, and I feel the subtle shift of her thighs parting just enough to tell me exactly what she wants.

The eggs are definitely burning, but neither of us gives a shit.

My fingers skim lower, teasing, until her breath stutters and she reaches back to grab my thigh like she needs the anchor.

“Turn around,” I murmur, my lips brushing her ear.

Poppy pivots slowly in my arms, back hitting the counter. Her eyes are darker now, pupils wide, cheeks flushed from more than the stove’s heat.

“I’m hungry,” I rasp, my thumb brushing over her. “Starved.”

I kiss her as if I’ve been holding it in for days because I have. Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging, and I groan into her mouth as one hand slides under her bralette, touching what I’ve been imagining every night since the first time I saw her like this.

She gasps, arching into me, and I smile against her lips.

Good girl…

Her legs part when I nudge forward, the heat spiking as I settle between them. My other hand drags up her thigh, over her smooth ass cheeks.

Her hands roam, sliding under my shirt, nails dragging lightly up my stomach and chest until I feel goosebumps ripple over my skin.

“Been thinking about this all damn week,” I murmur, my voice rough against her pulse.

She tilts her head back, granting me access, her breath coming faster. “Then stop thinking.”

The truth is, she’s all I can think about—not just the sex part, even though the sex is fucking amazing.

Obviously.

I think about my future with her. Lazy Sundays, her hair spread across my pillow. Trips that end with us coming home to the same place. Date nights out; date nights in.

I love her.

I seriously fucking love her.

The words feel like they’ve been sitting on my tongue for weeks, heavy and restless.

I press my mouth to her jaw, my breath hot against her skin. “Poppy…”

She hums again, distracted by the path my hands are taking, but I need her looking at me for this. I pull back just enough to meet her eyes.

“I love you.”

Her breath catches.

Not from what my hands are doing, but from the words. For a second, she’s still—frozen in that narrow space between shock and something else I can’t name.

“I…” She flounders for several seconds before the corners of her mouth lift, before biting down on her bottom lip. “You really know how to pick your moments.”

“Yeah?” I murmur, kissing her jawline. “Couldn’t keep it in anymore.” My thumb strokes along her jaw, the rest of me still pressed tight against her as I tease, “Figured if I was going to say it, it needed to be when I had you at my mercy.”

She laughs, the sound bright and bubbling up between us, and it’s pure oxygen in my lungs.

“I love you, too.” She leans in, brushing her mouth over mine before murmuring, “I really do.”

I’m not stupid enough to confess the rest of how I feel out loud yet—not when her legs are bracketing my hips and the promise of a sexy, kitchen fuck. But yeah, I’ve thought about it.

Hell, I’ve planned it in my head.

The ring . Popping the question.

And yeah—babies. Lots of little fucking babies with her smile and my eyes, running around a kitchen that’s bigger, with more space, that’s ours.

I kiss her again because if I don’t, I might actually tell her all of that right now. Eventually I will.

Not yet.

But soon.