Page 27 of Goode Vibrations
Poppy laughed. “Is there an option C?”
I stood up and began rolling the sleeping bag. “I mean, not as far as I can see. You see one, please, let me know what it is.”
“Coffee first.”
I pointed at her. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
She smirked. “I thought you liked me for two reasons.”
I let my eyes rake down to her chest. “I mean, those are some seriously world-class reasons to like you, but I’m not actually as shallow as that.” I grinned. “I guess I’d have to investigate the matter further before I can say whether those are the only reasons I like you.”
She tugged the shirt up by the straps, lifting her breasts tantalizingly, but also settling them into the shirt more fully as well. “I thought you were about toinvestigatejust now, but you stopped.”
I growled as I hopped up into the van and got out the supplies to make coffee. “I was. I want to, even right now. I told you, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like me, at all.”
“So normally we’d both be naked right about now, you’re saying?”
I didn’t dare look at her, instead focused on counting out scoops of coffee beans into the manual grinder. “Well, if you’re asking how I usually do things…no.You’dbe naked. I’d probably still be mostly dressed. I’d have a mess all over my face, and you’d be on your second or third orgasm.”
Profound silence.
I looked at her then. Had to. Her nostrils were flaring, and her fingers were knotted together on her lap. Her nipples were drawn to pointed peaks against her shirt, and for the first time I noticed two dimples to either side of the outline of her nipples—she had piercings. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve always been curious about that, what it was like to get my mouth on a woman with pierced nipples.
Fuck.
Her eyes were heated. Almost angry, or something like it. She was breathing deeply, slowly, as if measuring out each breath to keep her composure. Each breath made those breasts swell, which did nothing good for my own composure.
I don’t mean to wax on about them, but her breasts made me crazy. Not just because they were big—and make no mistake, they werehuge—but because of their shape, the way they hung against her shirt, the totality of them. I’m not obsessed with the biggest breasts, I like small ones too. All breasts are good breasts in my opinion, and I’ve enjoyed all shapes and sizes. But hers were just…fuckingglorious.
And when she took those big slow breaths, the way her shirt stretched and showed the hard peaks of her nipples and the bumps of her piercings…I about went nuts. About abandoned the idea of going slow, wanting to just rip that damn shirt into shreds and bury my face between those lush silk mounds until I suffocated.
Idiotic, I know.
Shallow and rabid and macho and testosterone-fueled moon-headed stupidity.
And I only just barely restrained myself.
She was glaring at me. Staring at me, drawing in those slow deep breaths and fixing me with a hot hard look I didn’t know how to begin deciphering.
“Poppy? Are you mad?”
“American mad, or British mad?” She asked, her voice pitched low and husky, almost hoarse.
I chuckled at that. “Both? Either?”
“I feel like you’re playing with me, Errol, and I don’t like being toyed with. I’m an upfront sort of girl. What you see is what you get. I don’t play games. I don’t play hard to get. I know what I want, and I take it, and when I’m done, I’m done.” She stood up, began rolling the fleece blanket into the same tight package as I did, found the bungee and looped, hooked, and set the rolled-up blanket on the edge of the van’s open doorway, not getting within reach of me, as if I was a dangerous animal. “You want me? Say so. Better yet, show me. I’m not easy, but I’ve got no qualms about going for what I want when I know I want it, and I know exactly what I want where you’re concerned, Errol. So, when you kiss me like that, and get me worked up, and I start thinking things are going to happen, and then you back off like youdon’twant me, or like there’s some reason we shouldn’t hook up…and then you’re all like ‘I want to take it slow’ but you can’t explain why…and then you say some shit likethat? What fucking game are you playing, dude? So, am I mad? Yes. And feeling a little of both senses, actually.”
I growled. “I can’t fault you for that. But I also can’t change what I feel. I’m not playing games. Swear I’m not.”
She huffed but said nothing else; I wasn’t sure if my answer had mollified her or made it worse.
I had an electric kettle, and at the start of the process I’d poured water from a sealed bottle and set it to boiling while I measured and ground the coffee beans. Then, when the electric kettle clicked off as it reached a rolling boil, I slowly poured it over my Chemex. Coffee being such a vital part of my morning routine, I had no issue reserving space in my limited gear for the kettle and Chemex, because as long as I had potable water and electricity, I could make coffee. And I always carried a small solar battery so, in a pinch, I could boil the water when I was away from the grid…and I always carried a portable filtration system so I could be sure my water was potable. Yeah, I’m serious about my coffee.
When it was ready, I poured the piping hot black liquid into camp mugs and glanced at Poppy. “I hope you take it black, because I don’t have milk or sugar.”
She snorted. “Guess I’ll take it black, then.” A grin. “I do drink it black, though, so it’s all good.”
“You missed your chance to practice sounding like a Kiwi. That was a prime spot to say ‘no worries, mate.’”