I wait, the silence taut in the office.

  The words I desperately want to hear don’t come.

  “I can help you, if you like,” Dr Whitaker says instead after a moment, tapping a finger on the form. “We’ll get you out of here, Poppy, I promise. Out to see the world.”

  Ugh. My fingers are numb as he presses a pen into my hand, his chest so hard and warm against my back. And when Whit brushes my hair over one shoulder, trailing soft kisses down my neck as I write, my chest cracks open. Everything hurts, and tears sting my eyes.

  “Good girl.” He bites down gently on my shoulder, and I suck in a shaky breath, forcing my pen to keep moving over the page.

  I’ve won the jackpot, alright. Had a taste of heaven. But I don’t get to keep him, do I?

  * * *

  There are blog articles and TV features. The flash of cameras every time I walk past the Honey Cove gates. So many phone calls, Whit sets up a special filter on the institute phone lines, and a million and one questions from Janice at the poolside.

  Is this what I expected from my vengeance? A media circus and an explosion of interest in me online? Endless photos of my father, red-faced and furious as he denies the allegations?

  I guess so. And it doesn’t matter what Governor Lennox says now: his political career is ruined, along with all the internships and fancy jobs he once planned for me. I’ll never go home after this. Will never see my family or society friends again.

  My life is a smoldering crater, and I’m the one who pulled the pin on the grenade. Cue my cool-guy shades.

  “How does vengeance taste, Poppy?” Whit finds me floating on my back in the pool, staring blankly up at the stars. It’s after midnight, the air crackling with static, and the photographers have only just given up on trying to scale the Honey Cove walls. The doctor’s voice is teasing, but my mouth twists.

  “Bittersweet.”

  His feet shift against the paving stones. “Ah.” He’s backlit by an ornate lamp post, and his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette makes my stomach do high kicks. “It’s not how you imagined?”

  I shrug one shoulder and accidentally dunk myself, coming up spluttering and red faced. Whit doesn’t laugh at me. He never does when it really counts.

  Ripples fan out across the inky surface of the water as I swim closer to his edge, coughing to clear my throat. “It’s fine.” I’m hoarse. The stone is still warm under my fingertips when I grip the poolside, baked all day by the sun. “But I spent all that time obsessing over Gina’s article and getting the word out. I never really thought about what comes next.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” The doctor’s voice is so confident, ringing through the courtyard. He has such faith in me, and it makes me want to cry. “You’re so brave, Poppy, and there’s a whole world out there just waiting for you. You’re going to take it by storm.”

  Okay. But do I really have to? Without him?

  My forehead thunks against the pool wall. “Ow.”

  “Hey.” Whit’s alarmed, squatting to pat at my shoulders. He strokes my wet hair and the shell of my ear. “It’ll be okay. Did you hurt yourself? Let me take a look.”

  I tip my head back and stare past him at the stars. It’s too dark to see his eyes anyway. Gentle thumbs probe at my forehead, and my heart is raw, and I’m sinking, sinking, sinking. My head may be above water, but my soul is curled up on the bottom of the pool. They’ll fish it out of the filters tomorrow with the drowned bugs and dead leaves.

  “Something’s wrong,” Whit says softly. With my forehead? Did I really smack it that hard? “I thought you’d be excited to leave, but you seem…”

  Here goes. It’s easier to admit these things in the dark. “No. Well. I’ll never be excited to leave you, Doc.”

  There’s a long pause, where the only sounds are the gentle slosh, slosh of pool water and the leathery flap of bat wings overhead. Then Whit gusts out a breath, and his touch on my head gets firmer. He’s stroking my hair; cradling my neck. Patting and soothing.

  “This time together has meant a lot to me too.” His tone is so freaking careful, I could scream. “But Poppy, the things you want—the adventure, the travel—”

  “You’re what I want.” For a girl confessing her love, I sound super grumpy. I grumble the words at the wet stone, my sore forehead creased in a scowl. “Dumbass.”

  The doctor chokes out a laugh. But he’s not listening to me, the jerk, he’s still petting my hair as he says: “It’s been intense, I know. I feel the same way. But you’re young, Poppy, and in a few months’ time, you won’t even remember—Jesus!”

  Whit shoots to his feet, slapping at his now-soaking chest, and I glower up at him, ready to splash the big idiot again. “I won’t forget. If I got my way, I wouldn’t leave at all. This is the first time in my whole life that I’ve ever had a real home, that I’ve ever felt l—” I break off, throat tight, because I can’t say that word. Not now, when he’s sending me away. “The first time that I’ve ever belonged. And now I have to leave.”

  That last word comes out as a croak, vibrating with despair. And Whit stares down at me, his shadowed chest heaving like he’s been winded.

  “You really want to stay?”

  I shrug, anger making my movements jerky. Water sloshes onto the side and pools around Whit’s shoes. “Yeah. Obviously.”

  “In your villa?” he presses, like I’d get this worked up over a freaking bungalow. Like the lack of sharp objects and the lukewarm shower is such a dream.

  “Whit, I swear to god. Get your head out of your ass, or I will splash you again.”

  And aren’t doctors supposed to be clever? But then his shadow moves, strong hands sliding beneath my armpits, and I’m lifted out of the pool in a shower of droplets. Like I weigh no more than an angry, wet feather. The stars wheel overhead, and his chest is already soaking when he crushes me in a hug.

  “My towel is back there,” I tell the doctor as he strides away down the stone path, my legs wrapped around his trim waist.

  “Poppy? I don’t care about your towel.”

  Whit hitches me higher, and then I feel it: the hard length of him, pressing between my thighs. For once, he’s not moving me away. He’s holding me closer, letting our bodies grind together as he walks. Letting me feel everything.

  The gears thunk into place in my brain. “Oh my god.”

  “Yes. You’re staying with me.” He says it like it’s final: like he’s laying down a command, prescribing a treatment, even though I’ve been trying to convince him, fighting for this for days. The dark palm trees loom on either side of the path, fronds whispering in the breeze. “We’ll travel if you like. We’ll go anywhere you want. But you’re mine, Poppy. Do you understand?”

  My cheeks are on fire, and I’m too frazzled to play this cool. There’s a high-pitched whine in my ears, and my nipples are like bullets against his strong chest. They’re gonna stab right through my bikini top.

  “Um. Yes, I understand. I—yep. Ten four. Roger that.”

  * * *

  Doctor Whitaker tosses me onto the bed in my villa like I’m a horny sack of potatoes. I sprawl over the mattress, legs akimbo, red-faced and spluttering.

  “Fuck.” My bedside lamp clicks on, and Whit stares down at me, an avenging angel in a white coat. His shadow stretches up the wall. “I want to be gentle, Poppy. I know it’s your first time. But this is…”

  He trails off with a ragged sigh.

  “I know.” My thighs squeeze together, and the ache between them is so sharp already. I’m all slippery and swollen. So needy and throbbing, and all he’s done is carry me to my villa. “It’s okay. I want it rough, too.”

  I mean, I think I do. Let’s call it an educated guess, because what I really want is for the strain to leave Whit’s face. I want all of the doctor, and I want him unfettered. Unleashed. I want him ravenous for me. But first—

  “Can I suck your cock?”

  Whit pinches the bridge of his nose. His chest rises and falls, and the lines on his face are stark. Then, when I’m ready to give up all hope of tasting him, he finally says, “Yes. Undo my belt.”

  God, I love it when he gets all bossy. It sends hot shivers racing over my skin; it makes my stomach flip and tighten. Makes me want to misbehave.

  My knees sink into the bed as I crawl toward the doctor. I want to make this sexy, but my bikini is riding up my ass and pool water’s trickling from my wet hair into my eyes, and my fingers are clumsy as I wrestle with his belt.

  Whit doesn’t seem to mind. He’s breathing hard, petting my hair again. “Fuck. Yeah, take my cock out. Wrap your hand around the shaft. Good girl. Try moving—” he cuts off with a hiss as I drag my fist up and down his thick length, wriggling my ass as I play with my new favorite toy.

  “Hmm.” A hum vibrates up my throat as I suck the head past my lips, swirling my tongue around the tip. He’s salty and clean. Hot and hard. Delicious. “This is better than the popsicles we get at dinner.”

  “Poppy,” Whit says, and he sounds pained.

  His grip is tight in my hair. He guides my head up and down, bobbing over his shaft, and I suck and slurp and touch him like I’ve been longing to. Hands roaming, owning him. Touching his belt; his stomach; those magnificent thighs. Claiming the doctor the way he’s claimed me.

  “Mine,” I mumble around the head of his cock.

  Whit hisses. “Obviously. But mind your teeth, please.”

  Ha. Okay, I can’t keep going after that, not when I’m dissolving into giggles on the bed. And Whit’s chuckling too, moving me up the mattress, arranging my limbs and brushing my hair across the pillow.

  “Take your clothes off,” I beg when I finally catch my breath. His tie is tickling my belly, and I’ve waited so long for this.

  When that white coat hits my bedroom floor and his shirt follows, heavenly trumpets blare in my brain. Dr Whitaker is tanned and strong; muscled and lean. Brown hair dusts his chest and snakes down the center of his belly.

  My sodden bikini hits the wall with a wet slap.

  “I thought this would never happen. Thought for sure you’d hold out and I’d die a virgin.” I’m babbling, clutching at Whit’s heated skin when he crawls over me, both of us bared at last. We’re ready, and his bronze hair glints gold in the light of my bedside lamp. “God. Okay, okay. This is it.” I wriggle beneath him. “Wow, I really hope I’m a good lay.”

  “Poppy.” Whit’s teeth scrape over my throat. His stubbly chin rasps over my shoulder, and his hand is stroking up and down my side. “Relax, sweet girl. You’re already a dream. My dream.”

  Aaaaaah.

  Likewise.

  “You’re tickling my ribs,” I tell him. He pinches my nipple instead, sending an arrow of heat between my legs, and nerves are knotted tight in my chest, my palms sweaty against his back.

  But when Whit traces two fingers through my folds, I melt against the bed with a sigh.

  “That’s it.” He knows me well by now; knows the exact ways to drive me mad with his touch. I buck and moan beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, and my head spins in a technicolor whirl. “Good girl. Open up for me.”

  “Uh-huh.” I steal a doubtful glance between our bodies. His cock was so thick and heavy on my tongue. “Though you’re, um. You’re really big.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Two fingers curl inside me, arching my spine, and Whit is so huge looming over me. So broad and manly, watching me with those scorching brown eyes. “It will fit, Poppy. Relax.”

  Relax. Okay, I can do that. I can.

  The broad head of Whit’s cock lines up with my entrance.

  “Deep breath.” He sinks into my body with a groan.

  Ten

  Whit

  I’ve been called uptight more than once in my life. As Dr Whitaker, I’ve always been buttoned up. Rigid. Restrained. I’m the cool-headed doctor, the man in the pristine white coat; the person who never loses control. More like a machine than flesh and bone.

  But when my cock slides into Poppy’s tight, wet heat, parts of my body relax that have been tense for years. There are muscles in my back that I forgot existed, they’ve been clenched for so long, and now I’m unspooling on top of her, elbows sinking into the mattress.

  “Poppy. Fuck.” I bury my face in her throat, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m overcome. It’s just—I’ve dreamed about this so many times. Pictured the way she’d taste, the sounds she’d make, the salt on her skin.

  Tonight, Poppy is more chlorinated than in most of my daydreams, but she’s perfect. This is perfect.

  “Are you okay?” I manage, lifting my head up to inspect her flushed face. “Does it hurt?”

  She laughs and licks my cheek. “It stung a bit at first. But no, not anymore.” A tiny wriggle illustrates her point, and the bolt of pleasure drags a moan from deep in my chest.

  “Fuck. When you move like that, I feel everything. The way you’re gripping me, sucking me deeper; how wet you are. Everything.”

  “Good.” Poppy bites her lips as she smiles, both wicked and shy, and rolls her hips against mine again. With each rock, she grinds me deeper, makes me throb. “I want you to feel it all. I want you to take what you need.”

  Ah, shit.

  And look: I’m a doctor. I’m not supposed to take at all. I’m supposed to give and give and give, scooping out my soul for everyone else. I heal and sacrifice. I’m supposed to be selfless. Always in control.

  And now? “Fuck, your body. Your tight little pussy. Yeah, that’s it. Sigh for me. Good girl.”

  I’m not in control right now.

  My only saving grace is that Poppy is gone too, her lashes fluttering and her skin dewy with sweat. We’re drunk on each other. She writhes beneath my body, scoring my back with her fingernails as I pound her into the mattress, and gives as good as she gets. She fights me, but she’s yanking me closer, not pushing me away.

  “Oh my god,” Poppy wails, hooking a thigh over my hip. Opening herself up even wider for me. “So this is what all the fuss is about. Ugh. I just want you stamped all over me, Doc. Want to feel you inside me every time I sit down tomorrow. I want to smell like you for weeks, so just—drench me in your pheromones. Go on. Mold my pussy to your cock.”

  Shit.

  “Stop making me laugh, you little weirdo.”

  But Poppy yanks my hair, cackling. And this moment is just like her: wild and strange and vivid. Almost too good to be true.

  For the first time in years, I am so, so alive. The buzz of pleasure rattles my teeth.

  “You’re going to come for me. You’re going to show me what that feels like.”

  She nods eagerly, suddenly the shy student again, and there are so many layers to this girl. So many shades of her to learn and love. My fingertips skate through her slippery folds, and then I find her clit. Rub steady circles over her nub.

  “Oh!”

  I grit my teeth, temples aching. “That’s it. Come for me.”

  I’ve seen this before, of course: the way Poppy shatters into a thousand pieces when she comes. The way her eyes go unfocused and her lips part. Color floods her cheeks, and her whole body trembles.

  I’ve seen it before, but now I’m feeling it. Now I’m wedged deep inside, in the eye of the storm.

  I hold off for as long as I can. Until her spasms fade to aftershocks, and Poppy melts into a sweaty puddle. Then I sit back on my heels, grip her hips, and shove deep.

  It hurts, letting every ounce of tension go like this, my broken gasp echoing around the bedroom.

  I’m pretty sure I leave part of my soul inside my girl.

  “Whew,” Poppy says once she catches her breath a few minutes later, patting my chest where I’ve collapsed by her side. “Nice work. Guess all that cardio is good for something.”

  I snort. And there’s only one way to stop Poppy’s nonsense: to roll my dead weight on top of her, hiding my grin in the pillow as she thrashes and squeals.

  * * *

  Five years later

  I wait until the doctor leaves the room and the door snaps shut before I lunge for the clipboard at the foot of the hospital bed.

  “Whit.” Poppy prods me with her blanket covered foot. “You’re not supposed to look at his notes. Come on.”

  And fine, no, I am not Poppy’s doctor. I shouldn’t hover over every single detail. But if she thinks I’m going to just sit back and relax while my wife—while my whole damn world—gives birth to our child, without double checking the doctor’s work? She’s wrong. Very wrong. There’s too much at stake.

  “Your blood pressure is a little high.”

  An empty plastic cup bounces off my shoulder. “That’s all you, dumbass.”

  Ugh.

  Fine. Fine.

  “I don’t like this,” I grumble, abandoning the clipboard and striding around the bed. When I sink toward the chair, Poppy grabs my hip and yanks me onto the bed. “Careful!”

  I could have squashed her. Could have squashed them both. Jesus Christ.

  Except Poppy’s giggling, pushing me to lean back against the headboard and using my shoulder as a pillow. Her dark, silky hair tickles at my throat, and our chests rise and fall in time.

  Heaven.

  “You’re funny when you freak out.”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  “I never get to see you like this, Whit. Losing your cool. Such a treat.” A slender hand curves over her belly, and I huff before covering it with my own.

  This is not the noble affair I wanted it to be. I wanted my wife to feel safe; I wanted to swoop around the maternity ward like a superhero. Whipping the other doctors into line and fetching her an endless supply of ice chips. Making sure everything is perfect for her.

  “Sorry,” I mutter into her hair. “I’m making this harder, aren’t I?”

  “Never.” Poppy tangles our fingers together, hands still resting on her bump. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I’m always glad you’re here. Everything’s better with you.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6