Page 36

She laughed, face incredulous, and then she was striving with him, fast and hard and desperate, and Rai let his hands and his lips loose upon her, kissing and caressing, finding the secret places that made her loudest, and when she arched and clenched in another release, he rolled her onto her back, pressing her into the couch cushions as he thrust and thrust and finally crashed into ecstasy, spilling his release inside her with a shout. He collapsed into her embrace.

Her hands were gentle on his hair and back as they lay there in sudden serenity. Rai bent his head and kissed away beads of salty sweat from her bare skin, blotched with pink like the gentlest sunrise. Like an ocean morning after a thunderstorm. A delicate rosy dawn.

Why are you perfect? she’d asked.

“Because I reflect you,” he murmured now, inhaling their mingled scents.

Poppy just chuckled, fumbling between them, her fingers on his flaccid cock—ah, yes, there had been more instructions for disposing of the condom.

What had they been? Well, it seemed like Poppy knew what she was about.

He turned his attention to her breasts instead, favoring them with tender caresses, and she soon wriggled back into a comfortable cuddle .

“So,” she said after a bit, hands stroking his shoulder blades, as if she knew how sensitive they were, how the magic that hid his wings made her touch electric. “You like the blue ones, huh?”

He nodded, kissing along her sweet breast. Her skin had faded back to its normal paleness, but she was still soft and trembling. He could feel the storm rising inside him again, as if it had never been quelled.

“So we’ll try a blue one next.” She tugged at his necktie.

“Later?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“Now.”

He bent to kiss her again. Ofelia had been right—Poppy was both demanding and passionate in a way he had never known. He would have to strive to keep up.

He thrilled to the challenge.

“You are pink even here,” Rai murmured, fingertips cool against Poppy’s overheated belly.

“Am I?” She wasn’t sure she could raise her head to look and honestly didn’t want to look in the first place.

It was embarrassing, the way her face got blotchy sometimes, when her blushing went to eleven, and it wasn’t surprising that it might extend to other parts of her skin when…

other things…went to eleven, though she sleepily wondered why nobody had ever mentioned it to her before.

She wasn’t sure which would be a more damning indictment of her former lovers—that it had never happened before, or that they just hadn’t noticed.

Rai shifted beside her, sliding up to lay his head on the pillow beside hers, and she sleepily opened her eyes to meet his in the gentle light from her end table lamp.

It was still dark outside, and the rainstorm that had returned at some point in the evening pattered steadily against the roof.

She was tired, but a good sort of tired, the tired that came from an overload of goodness instead of an underwhelm of crap—aching thighs and stomach and arms and what even was that part of her insides?

It probably had a name but she’d never even had to know what it was.

Anyhow, Rai had managed to make that ache deliciously, too.

Whatever they taught in sex ed classes in Brazil, it was clearly hella better than the vague euphemisms and hints toward abstinence she remembered from high school sophomore year .

Rai's eyes were soft and his hands were gentle and his lips were sinful and god, she was so, so lucky. It didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing a thumb against his cheek.

He smiled that thousand-watt smile and leaned to nuzzle into her hair. “You are sleepy.”

“A little.” She stroked along his smooth back; he arched into her touch like a well-fed leopard, his smile turning sensual, his eyes drifting shut. “You wore me out.”

His eyes opened again, softly concerned.

“Must you sleep now?” He glanced around as if to look for a blanket; she’d coyly invited Rai between the covers when they’d first made their way to the bedroom, but they’d lost any vestiges of shyness not long after, and the sheet and light cotton blanket that were Poppy’s only concession to the air conditioning had long since fallen somewhere.

“Mmm. Eventually.” She cuddled closer, ducking into his shoulder. “What about you? You’ve got work tomorrow, don’t you?”

His eyes flickered to where his hand lay still on her stomach. “I do not have to work.” He stroked his hand over to cup her breast, lazily caressing it. Poppy sighed, arching into his touch just as lazily. “Not tomorrow.”

“Really?” At his sharp nod, Poppy relaxed. “Then I won’t feel guilty about making you stay.”

“You feel guilt for so many things.” He was frowning, but in a puzzled way, watching his hand move over her.

“It's an art form.” She ducked her face toward him, and he gave that rumbly growl of his and kissed her, stroking damp spikes of hair away from her forehead. It was languid and liquid and Poppy couldn’t help but melt into him again.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to be like in bed, but it hadn’t been this uninhibited, unhurried sensuality.

Rai drew back just enough to playfully butt his nose against hers. “You are an artist in all ways, then.”

A twinge of worry went through Poppy’s chest. “You know, you don’t have to…to pay me for a huge painting to get me to spend time with you.”

He blinked. “Do you not wish to paint me?” He rolled over onto his back, giving her a sly smile as he stretched. “I have been told I am not unpleasant to look at.”

“No, I want to.” Poppy reached out and stroked his chest. “I just… I don’t want you to think this is some sort of quid pro quo thing. If you want the painting, I’ll be happy to do it. But you and me…this…is different.”

He rolled back toward her, propping his head on his elbow. “What is quid pro quo ? ”

“It’s…” She laughed. “I’m not totally sure, actually. I don’t know Latin. Um, something about you do something for me, so I do something for you? Like Hannibal Lecter and Clarice trading stories.”

“I wish to hear more of your stories.” He pouted. “Are you saying I may not?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” She focused on the sheet between them, all wrinkled and damp.

“I desire the painting,” he said. “I wish to know how your eyes see me, how your hands show me.” He leaned close, brushing his lips right between Poppy’s eyebrows.

“Okay then. I’ll go buy canvas tomorrow so we can get started.

” It had been a long time since she’d stretched her own canvas.

But she couldn’t help thinking that she really wanted to do this right, do a real painting for Rai like she was a real artist, use all the techniques and rules she’d learned from her father.

Live up to his legacy. She ignored the twinge of anxiety that rocketed through her brain at that thought.

“May I come with you?” He quivered eagerly, like a puppy. “I very much wish to accompany you.”

“Of course. We can…go by your motel for you to get a change of clothes.” Though he hadn’t said for sure he was staying the night. Was he staying the night? Should she ask if “as long as you wish” meant all night or just until bedtime?

Rai waved a dismissive hand in the air. “That is of no matter.”

“It is of matter when we go join my mom for breakfast and you’re all walk-of-shamey.”

He smirked. “I have no shame.”

“Well, that’s a surprise.” Poppy sighed, curling in to Rai’s side again. “I guess it’s not that important. It’s not like Mom doesn’t know what we’re up to out here.”

“Your mother is very kind,” Rai said, his smile turning gentle. He shifted, his arm circling Poppy’s shoulder. “And she bakes excellent bread. I see why you care for her so.”

Poppy pillowed her head on his chest. “What’s your mom like?”

Rai was silent for a long moment, then he laughed. “She is also kind. But extremely busy. My parents’ household takes much of her time.”

“You have a lot of brothers and sisters?”

“Some. But my mother manages hundreds, all that live in the…” He waved his free hand vaguely in the air. “Not household. Larger.”

“Community?”

“Yes, I suppose. My mother and father’s home is large and wide, and there are many who need their counsel. ”

“So they’re important.” There went another stab of discomfort.

She’d thought Rai was a normal guy who worked for a living, maybe not at the same level of poverty as her but still close to the same class.

But if he could drop ten thousand dollars on a whim, and his parents were at the top of their local society, that boded poorly.

She wasn’t sure getting tangled up with another spoiled rich boy was a good idea.

Though it depended on what his parents did.

And…and it would be pretty shitty of her to judge him based on that, when so far he’d been sweet as a cinnamon roll.

Plus, for all she knew he came from a poor village in the middle of nowhere and he’d made all his own money from commissions.

Brazil wasn’t without its poor and downtrodden, that she knew.

Of course, it was possible he’d turn out to secretly be a prince from some tiny romantic country off in Europe or Asia. Poppy nearly snorted at that thought. If he was, he’d chosen a weird-ass place to search for a princess.

“I suppose my parents are important,” Rai said thoughtfully. “I do not recall. It has been some time since I visited.”

“Well, don’t put it off too long.” Poppy patted him on the chest. “Learn from my mistakes.”

He squeezed her tightly. “Perhaps I shall gift my mother the painting. I am certain she would be most pleased with your masterpiece and forgive me for my long neglect.”

“Oh, no pressure there.” Poppy laughed nervously. Guess you won’t be posing nude. And no, she was not going to let herself feel disappointed at that.