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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HEADS OR TAILS

POPPY

I pace around my tiny living room, hands wringing nervously as I wait. My phone sits on the coffee table, the earlier text thread with Bowie glowing faintly on the screen. He’ll be here any minute. I don’t even have time to text Marley to have a freak-out about Bowie Fox coming to my place. I have so much to talk to Marley about…

After our kiss—the mind-bending kiss we shared at Briar Hill—I’ve thought of nothing else. It was enough of a shocker to get my mind off of being pregnant for at least five seconds.

The knock at my door makes me jump out of my skin, but when I open it and see him standing there, looking imposing yet shy, I relax a little bit. His hair is slightly tousled and there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low.

I let him inside and close the door behind him. For a moment, we stand there, awkwardly shifting as we stare at one another.

“Nice place,” Bowie says, glancing around.

“Thanks. It’s small,” I say, fidgeting.

“It’s cozy.”

The way he says it makes me feel warm all over, and I bite my lip when my heart does an annoying pinball bounce around.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, walking toward the kitchen. “With your popcorn?”

“I’m good actually. I’m not really hungry.”

I turn back and find him watching me, his lips curved up. His gaze is steady, but there’s a softness that makes my breath hitch.

“I’ve been a wreck all day,” I blurt out.

His eyes flare slightly. “Why?”

I laugh nervously. “I don’t know. You’re here. That kiss. Everything.” I gesture vaguely, my hands flailing a little.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re nervous?”

“Obviously.”

“Don’t be.”

He crosses the space between us, his hand brushing mine. My pulse picks up as our eyes lock.

“Bowie… ”

His hand reaches out and takes mine, and our fingers weave together. I sigh. This man. I can’t make heads or tails of him, but most of the time, I sure like trying.

“Clearly, I suck at all of this,” he says. “I say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing…at the wrong time.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” I interject, and thankfully, it makes him laugh.

“You’re the cute one,” he says. “I…have felt bad about the way I handled everything after our night together.” He makes a face. “And I know I made it even more confusing by kissing you…”

With his free hand, he pulls his hair back in his fist and I watch it fall back into place when he lets it go. I squeeze his hand and he swallows hard.

“It’s just that, with you, I want—” He pauses and I try to wait patiently, but I’m dying here.

“You want?”

“I want…more. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He takes a step closer and my stomach does another flip.

Now. You should tell him now , I think.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I say instead.

“I don’t do relationships.”

Things inside me halt. “I know, you’ve kind of made that clear.”

“But you make me think I do…want to.”

My mouth parts. “I do?”

He nods.

I step forward this time, and my chest brushes against his. He’s still holding my hand and he pulls our hands up, leaning them against his chest. His other hand lands on my waist and I put mine on his, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. His muscles are taut. I have the fleeting thought that he’s nervous, and everything about that warms me .

It would be a good time to tell him, but I’m enjoying this moment too much. And when he leans in and kisses me and it’s just as electric as before, but slower, deeper… sweeter… I lose myself in him. He pulls me closer and I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Time blurs as we kiss and kiss, the urgent give-and-take building into an inferno.

He pulls away, our chests rising and falling.

“Do you think about that night?” he asks roughly, kissing his way down my neck.

“All the time.” For more reasons than he realizes. I swallow back my guilt and focus on his touch.

“Me too,” he says.

I arch into him when his hand cups over my breast and gasp when I feel how hard he is.

“Bowie,” I whimper.

“I love how you say my name,” he groans.

He did not talk when we were intimate that night and I have to say, the things he’s putting out there tonight are making me a puddle.

“I came over to talk, I promise,” he says.

“We can talk anytime…but this is more fun.”

He grins and it’s so seductive, I gulp.

“Agreed,” he says.

I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him again and he picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He walks to the couch and lays me on it, planking over me as he tries to read what I want.

I lean up and kiss his neck, my tongue barely sweeping over his skin, but he moans, a hungry sound. He tastes like the ocean on a winter day.

“We sort of go from zero to one hundred, don’t we?” He laughs into my neck and I tug on his hair, squeezing it in my fist when he arches against me. We both groan at how good it feels.

“I don’t know, we’ve been hanging around twenty or thirty for a bit...fifty earlier today…so not exactly zero.”

I feel his smile against my skin and I can’t stop smiling.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

I nod and his hand slides under the band of my leggings, gliding over me at a leisurely pace, and the dazed concentration on his face is so hot.

“You like that?” he asks when I gasp.

“So much,” I shudder.

“Me too,” he says.

He pulls my leggings down so he can get better access and watches his fingers slide over my bud and then lower, inside. Every nerve in my body hums.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “Have I told you that yet or just thought it?”

My mouth parts to answer him, but what he’s doing with his fingers feels too good. He smiles like he knows, and his free hand goes under my backside and lifts me so I feel everything he’s doing with his other hand even more.

“Bowie,” I whisper, tugging his hair harder.

“Yeah?” His voice rasps.

“This feels…too good.”

“Show me how good,” he says, his eyes intent on mine.

He increases his tempo, the circles over me going faster, and I squeeze my eyes shut, coming with a cry. My whole body tenses and when I open my eyes, he’s still watching me, his eyes heated with lust.

His fingers still and I lean up and kiss him, pulling his body flush with mine. I wrap my legs around his waist and he groans, arching into me .

I fumble between us and undo his pants, tugging them down.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Positive,” I say.

He lifts off of me and pulls off my leggings the rest of the way, tossing them over his head. His eyes are bright and playful as he looks at me.

“How are you still dressed?” I ask, leaning up on my elbows.

He moves toward me to kiss me, and I duck, moving off of the couch. I look over my shoulder and he’s standing there, staring at my backside.

“Come find me,” I say.

The last thing I see before I race toward my bedroom is the hungry look on his face.

I smile when he stalks toward me and pulls my shirt off, tossing it back in his face.

He laughs and catches it and almost catches me, but I’m too fast. When I reach my bed, I climb on it and turn around to face him, sitting on my knees.

He points at my bra. “You forgot something.”

“Not until you’re nekkid.”

“Nekkid, huh,” he smirks.

He pulls his shirt off from the back with one swoop, and I sigh when I see the ripples of muscle, his abs, and that wide expanse of shoulders. The effect of him in my tiny bedroom is sending me into overdrive. When he looks at me, motioning that it’s my turn, I point at his pants and he sighs, pretending to be put out. But he slides them down and I take in his thick thighs, and the heavy, long length he’s dealing with. I gulp when he lowers his briefs and his cock snaps back on his stomach, hard as stone and oh, so exquisite .

When we had sex before, we were sleepy and it was dark and almost frantic, like we couldn’t get to each other fast enough. Or maybe we didn’t want to think about it too much just in case it put a stop to things.

This time I make sure to take it all in. Our gazes are exploratory, unrushed, and bold. When I undo my bra and let it drop, he stares at me for the longest time.

“Wow, Poppy,” he finally says.

He reaches down and does a long glide of his fist over his cock and it undoes me. I lift my hand up and pinch my nipple between my fingers and his Adam’s apple bobs. He advances toward me, hungrily, and I shift from my knees, still sitting up, but with my legs parted. His eyes flare and he curses under his breath.

“We’re doing this,” he says firmly.

“Thank God,” I breathe.

Any lingering doubts I may have are silenced when he kisses me again, and we don’t stop. He only pulls away long enough to put the condom on and to position himself at my entrance. I almost tell him we don’t need the condom, but his lips are back on mine when he sinks inside me. And they’re on mine when the rhythm between us intensifies and it’s hard to tell where he ends and I begin. His kisses are punishing and beautiful, like worship and like fucking, and I feel drunk on him. We move urgently, our bodies wet with sweat by the time we’re shuddering together.

“I’m waiting for you,” he says against my mouth.

And just hearing those words makes me fall apart.

True to his word, he doesn’t come until I’m clenching around him, and the ride is so perfect, so out-of-this-world, that I can’t quite believe I’m not dreaming.

Later, as we lay tangled together in my bed, I trace lazy circles on his chest. He hasn’t bolted like before, hasn’t pulled away at all.

His arm tightens around me, and for a moment, I believe that everything might just be okay. Better than okay…wonderful.

I want to stay right here for now, hoping that it’s all going to fall into place.