Page 133 of Small Town, Big Storm

Loveher.

I smooth my hand up and down her back, knowing it’s too soon to tell her.

I need to regain her trust, need to prove to her that I’m not going away, that I’m going to deal with my shit.

I exhale, reach for the confidence I had last night.

It’s slippery, hard to grasp on to, especially when my gaze drifts to the bedside table, to the drawer that currently houses my dad’s letter, but then Poppy arches up, brushes her lips along the bottom of my jaw.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Suddenly, I’m not thinking about the letter or light fixtures that would have pissed off my dad.I’m not thinking about lost years and regrets and things I need to make up for.

I’m just…feeling.

How right it is to be exactly here.

How I’m not going to let it go.

“Should we get up?”I ask after a few minutes.“Make Holly breakfast?”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, her lips brushing my jaw again.“I think I have a better idea.”

And I go hard.

Just like that.

Yeah, it’s morning.

But mostly it’s Poppy and her lush body, her lips on my skin, her hands trailing over my flesh…and the memory of exactly how good it is to taste every part of her.

“I have a better one,” I tell her, flipping her to her back and rolling over the top of her.

“Storm!”she gasps, her green eyes flaring.

“No?”I ask.

Heat sliding into her gaze.“I didn’t say that.”She runs her hands down my chest.“Kiss me.”

I bend, slant my mouth over hers.

And groan.

God, nothing tastes any better, not even one of her Storm Warnings.

Her lips part and then it gets even better, our lips melding, tongues tangling.She’s all soft curves and tender hands…at least until I release her mouth, kiss my way down the column of her throat.

Then the fingers of her uninjured hand weave into my hair, tug sharply enough to make my scalp sting.

But I take the silent message for what it is.

I backtrack to the spot, nip lightly and get another sharp tug.

My lips curve.“Like that, baby?”

Her only answer is to tug again…then moan when I suckle at the spot, her body bucking against mine.

I keep kissing that sensitive patch of skin, but I let my hands run wild.