Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

BARRICADE

POPPY

While Bowie’s been in the bathroom, I’ve arranged a row of pillows down the center to keep me on my side of the bed. However, when he slides into bed next to me, everything in me wakes up. I want to scoop those pillows off the bed and toss them across the room.

No, you’re exhausted! I shout at myself. Ignore the hot man in your bed and go to sleep, ma’am.

“Thanks for sharing your room. I’m sorry you got more than you bargained for with this night…and with a non-friend at that.”

He chuckles and the sound skitters over my skin like pixie dust. The pillows between us shift slightly as he gets comfortable.

“Please don’t take anything I say personally. I’m an ass. Especially when I don’t have alcohol in my system…but yeah, even when I do, apparently.”

“Oh, so alcohol makes you a little looser-lipped?” I giggle.

“You could say that.”

“Probably why you danced with me as well, I take it?”

“Uh…that was probably more because you’re beautiful and you looked fucking amazing in that blue dress. But yeah, we can thank the alcohol for the way I’m admitting any of that right now.”

My skin heats and every part of me bristles with awareness of how close we are to each other right now.

“Wow,” I say softly. “Thank you, alcohol.”

He chuckles and because I’ve heard it so infrequently from him, I’m addicted to making that happen again.

“Good night, Poppy,” he says.

His voice is huskier…and closer. We danced together all night, but this is the most talking we’ve done. It sure was fun, all of it. He made me feel beautiful and special and like I was capable of holding his attention the whole time. He didn’t turn away to dance with anyone else even once.

The curtains are still open, so the room isn’t pitch black, and we lie there like two wooden planks.

I force myself to turn onto my side, away from him. “Good night, Bowie.”

It takes time, but his breathing evens out and I eventually fall asleep too. I dream I’m in California with Marley and then the dream morphs and I’m in a dark room with Bowie. We’re wearing our wedding clothes and instead of staring at me as we dance, his lips meet mine. It’s such a good kiss, it almost feels real, and I tell myself to stay in this dream for as long as possible.

When he hitches my leg over his thigh and pulses against me, I gasp and kiss him harder.

I hear a groan and my eyes fly open. Bowie and I are pressed against each other, hearts pounding hard, our lips a breath apart. The pillows are nowhere to be found. We’ve managed to work our way around them. Bowie’s hand is on my waist, touching my bare skin under my tank top. With his other hand, he reaches up and pushes my hair back.

“I thought I was dreaming,” I whisper.

“Me too.”

I expect him to pull away, but instead he stares at me, his gaze heated. And then he leans in, and this time, I know I’m not dreaming when his lips touch mine. He tastes like peppermint, so we haven’t been asleep for long. I gasp into his mouth, the zing of electricity that zaps between us taking my breath away for a second, and then I tug his head closer so I can taste more of him. He lets out a ragged groan and it fuels me. My hands explore the wide expanse of his back and I grip his biceps, eager to feel every inch of him. His hand slides down to my backside and he squeezes, tugging me tighter against him. I moan when I feel how hard and long he is. I can feel the heat radiating off of him through our layers. I want to rip his shirt off and shove the pajama pants down so I can feel him bare against me. When our lips finally break apart, he kisses down my neck and moves down to my breast, where his tongue traces over my hard peak over the tank top.

I tug his hair, loving that it’s long enough for me to get a good grip. All those sites I’ve seen talking about Bowie Fox’s hair can’t even grasp how good it feels , and how insanely sexy his bedhead is. He looks up, his stare pinning me to the bed, and I’m a puddle.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve had sex or even kissed someone, and I can’t quite believe this is happening right now.

With Bowie Fox.

I shift, needing more, so much more, and he lowers his head, his nose sliding my shirt up as he places soft kisses on my stomach. I’m brazen and slide my tank over my head, and he groans his approval when he sees me. His mouth latches onto me, his hand pinching the tip on my other side, and I writhe against him.

“You feel so good,” he says, his voice raspy.

“ You do,” I whisper.

“Can we do this the rest of the night?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you really want this?” he asks, looking up at me.

The view of him leaning over me is sinful.

“More than anything,” I whisper.

He leans over and fumbles around with his dress pants, pulling out a condom.

“Rhodes gave me this as a joke earlier,” he says.

“I’ll be sure to thank him when I see him.”

He grins and pulls down my underwear, looking at me reverently.

“Beautiful,” he says, his breath skating over my center.

I shiver and he parts my legs before leaning down to flick his tongue over me. I whimper and it encourages him. His fingers spread me wide and then his large hands encase my hips as his tongue does magical things I never knew were possible .

It’s like he can’t get enough and I have never felt so good in all my life. I hold onto his hair and lose myself in the rush.

When I start fluttering against him, he groans and keeps going. I put the pillow over my mouth and cry out and when the waves slow down, he places a kiss between my legs and moves over me, hovering with his hands on either side of my face.

“I can’t resist you,” he says huskily.

He dips his head so his forehead touches mine.

I feel how hard he is between my legs now, but he’s still wearing his pajama pants. My fingers move beneath the band and I slide them down.

“You want more?” he asks. “We don’t have to?—”

“I want more,” I tell him.

My hands wrap around him, and I gasp at the feel of him. He’s huge and fevered, so thick and long. I turn to liquid just touching him. My thumb slides over the tip of him and he shudders with a low groan.

“Poppy.” It sounds like gravelly worship coming from his lips.

He pulls away to put on the condom and I wish it was brighter in here so I could see him better. What I can see in the dim light is enough to make me woozy with lust.

When he barely slides his tip in, we both gasp. He brushes my hair back with his fingers and looks at me intently, dipping in a little deeper.

“You’re perfect,” he says.

I’m so wet that his slide in is easier each time. Once he’s all the way in, he pauses and his eyes squeeze shut. When they open again, he looks feral, but I feel safe and brazen and feral myself. He drags out of me slowly and back in, a few long glides that leave me weak.

I widen my legs and he sucks in a breath, pistoning into me, hitting deeper and deeper. My breasts bounce and he leans back to look at them, his teeth stretching over his bottom lip as he thrusts. I hold onto his hips and meet his thrusts, gasping when he does an extra roll that hits me just right. He’s so deep and the rhythm is so intense, it doesn’t seem possible that I could already be this close, but I am.

My mouth parts and I can’t stop the moan that comes out. He moves faster and my whole body stiffens as I clamp around him like a vise, squeezing the life out of him. He lets out a hoarse moan and pulses into me. His head burrows into my shoulder and I clutch his hair, holding him close as wave after wave goes through me.

Seriously the best thing I’ve ever felt.

There’s a sound in the next room and he stiffens, his head lifting.

“I’m sorry,” he says and pulls out, wincing as I reluctantly let him go.

He jumps out of bed, throwing the condom away, and hurriedly puts his pants on before rushing out of the room. I lay there, panting, still blissed out and in disbelief that it even happened.

After a few minutes, I wonder if I should make sure everything’s okay.

Do I stay here letting my breasts air out in the breeze or put my tank top and panties back on?

What to do, what to do…

I hear his low voice in the next room and think I hear Becca’s tearful voice and then it’s quiet. I slide my tank over my head. When an hour passes and Bowie doesn’t come back, I give in to sleep.

The click of the hotel door in the other room wakes me up hours later, and I sit up. I slept later than I’d intended and I hurriedly get ready, noticing that Bowie’s things are gone. He managed to get ready in here without me hearing a thing.

I look around before I wheel my small bag out, half expecting a note or something and then I chide myself. Bowie doesn’t seem like the note-leaving type. I’m unable to stop thinking about what happened in the night. The hungry way he kissed me, the way he felt inside me, the way his hands felt as he touched me…his mouth. The way his voice sounded when he said my name.

If I didn’t still feel the slight rawness on my chin…and the other parts of my body that he kissed…from Bowie’s stubble…the ache between my legs…I might not believe anything happened.

I shake myself and leave the room, heading downstairs to the restaurant in the lodge. There’s a separate smaller room that I’m led to and it’s full of the wedding party…and a few other guests I noticed last night, like Zac and Autumn Ledger and Summer and Liam Taylor—Marley will die when I tell her.

My face heats when I see Bowie at the end of the table.

He glances up and I smile. His expression is unreadable before he looks away and my heart wilts.

“Good morning, Poppy,” Sadie calls. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

“Sorry, I’m late. I overslept.”

“It’s okay. We just got here ourselves,” she says.

I wave at Tru and Elle.

“Everyone, this is Poppy,” Sadie says. “Poppy Keane. Isn’t that a great name?”

A slew of hellos comes at me at once. Weston goes through the specific introductions, and I try not to stumble over my words when I meet the celebrities.

“Poppy!” Becca says. “Sit here! ”

She pats the place next to her. It’s across from Bowie and it looks like it’s the only open seat available in the room. I make my way over there and sit down, hugging Becca when she reaches out for me.

“I sick last night,” she says. “Daddy says bad food.”

“I said your food probably made you feel bad when you did all that dancing, and it upset your stomach,” Bowie says quietly.

His eyes meet mine and I wish I could say there’s warmth there, but his face is wiped clean of expression. I also wish I could say it didn’t hurt, but it does.

It hurts like hell .

How embarrassing that I tore my shirt off in front of him, so eager to let him do whatever he wanted. Never mind the fact that he kissed me like a man starving. That he said I was perfect and drove into me like I was all he’d ever wanted. It clearly didn’t mean anything beyond a drunken fuck that he’d like to pretend never happened.

You hardly know the man, Poppy. Consider yourself lucky that you scratched that itch.

Now you can forget it ever happened.

Right.

I can still feel his mouth and hands on me. I can still feel everywhere he’s been.

I focus on Becca. “I’m so sorry you were sick. How’s your stomach feeling now?”

“I fine. I eat pancakes!”

“How about we go easy, Becca? Maybe some oatmeal or some toast and jelly?”

“Pancakes!” she insists.

I look down at my menu and smile. “What if we share? I get pancakes and you get oatmeal and we see how your belly feels. If your stomach feels good and not sick, I’ll share the pancakes with you.”

“We share?” she repeats. “Levi shares Bogey with me. Bogey is a dog,” she says. “I love Bogey.” She nods happily. “Dad, I share with Poppy. We share.”

I smile at her and she pats my back. “Excellent.”

“ Ex-cellent ,” she repeats.

When I sneak another look at Bowie again, he’s watching me. He looks down at his menu quickly.

“Sounds good,” he says.

The ice man approves.