Page 47 of Halloween Town

Because, suddenly, everything became so damn clear. It was like someone had yanked open her mental shutters, and her mind flooded with natural light. She didn’t care if sleeping with Thom would be messy or complicated. Whether it was a good idea.

Or not.

She genuinely, authentically, absolutely wanted him. This time, not because she wanted his or anyone else’s approval, not because she felt unmoored and a little lost. Not because she’d run to this place to find herself.

But because she flat-out desired him. Wanted what he could give her, in this moment and in his arms. Because this was a choice made from nothing more than a primal urge to be with this man and damn the consequences.

Feeling like her heart was trying to break her ribs apart, and that her lungs would never take another full breath, she ran a finger around the mug. “Thom?”

Yeah, her voice was wavering, but how could it not? She was taking the first step, reaching out for something she truly wanted, and this was, for her, momentous.

“Mmm?”

She swallowed, trying to find the right words. “How much do you want that cup of coffee?”

Maybe it was because he was a smart guy, maybe it was because he knew her so well, but he immediately stilled, and his eyes slammed into hers. His gaze pinned her to the chair. “Is something else on offer, Poppy?”

She nodded, stood up to walk over to him, and placed her hand on his pec before sliding her hand up to curl around his muscled neck. He kept his hands at his sides, allowing her this moment to think about what she was doing, to retreat if she needed to. And somehow, she knew, still knew, that if she backed away—she wasn’t going to—he’d still be there. The same as he was before.

She stood on her tiptoes and lightly, so lightly, kissed the side of his mouth. “Me, Thom. I’m on offer. Want to take me up on it?”

Thom

Fuck yes.

Thom didn’t—couldn’t—think. His feet moved of their own accord, his hand whipped out to grab her hips, and his mouth slammed onto hers. The taste of toothpaste, minty and fresh, washed over his tongue, quickly followed by the taste of Poppy, hot, sweet, and brave. Was that a squeak of surprise he heard, a snorted laugh? But he didn’t stop to check; he wanted his tongue in her mouth, her breasts flattened against his chest, her riding his cock.

Naked. They had too many clothes on.

Poppy seemed to feel the same because she pushed her hands up and under his T-shirt, pulling it over his head so that she could explore his chest, run her hands over his shoulders and back, across his stomach.

He looked down, took in her button-down shirt, and decided it had to go. But it had too many buttons. He met her eyes. “Is this a favorite shirt?” he demanded, his voice growly. His need for her was madness, fiercely unstoppable.

“What? Uh, no? Why?”

“Good.” Thom didn’t hesitate, or waste time explaining, he simply grabbed each side and ripped it open, causing tiny buttons to fly. He groaned at the sight of her nipples pushing through her pink lacy bra. Not being able to wait, he ducked his head to suck one, material and all, into his mouth. Impatient to taste only her, he pulled the wet fabric aside, and his stomach clenched when he heard Poppy growl. Yeah, she liked that. She liked that a lot.

Conscious of the disparity in their heights—she was so little—he lifted her with one arm and, using the other, swept his papers off his desk, wincing slightly when he heard his laptop tumble to the floor. If he cracked the screen … well, hell, he’d live.

He wouldn’t if he didn’t get inside Poppy.

Dumping her on the dining table, he told her to take off her bra as he went to work on the buttons on the fly of her jeans.

He needed to feel her, taste her, consume her… Last night had just been the appetizer, and this was the main meal. And he was starving…

Just barely managing to restrain himself from ripping her jeans off, too—he was not that much of a thug (and let’s be realistic, denim was a lot stronger than cotton)—he pushed his thumbs between the fabric and her hips, and they dropped to the floor. Thom kicked it away with his foot. She now wore just a thong, him his shorts—both would have to go soon, too—and he plastered his hands on her butt and yanked her into him, so that she was almost off the table, her legs bracketing his hips.

It had been too long since his mouth was on hers, so he ducked his head, needing her lips under his. He thought their kiss would be wild, but for some reason, they both opted to slow it down, to savor. A nip here, a tiny suck there. A long, sweet slide of his tongue over hers. He loved the feeling of her small hands running over his bare chest, her fingers tap-dancing their way down his ribcage and his abs, his hips; her thumbs skating over his obliques. He wanted her hands on his cock, but also didn’t… He wanted her, but he didn’t want this to end so soon.

There was only one first time.

The thought struck him. “Pops?”

“Mmm?”

“We should be doing this in a bed.”

Poppy, because she was Poppy and always did the unexpected, laughed. “Here is perfectly fine,” she told him. “The only reason to go upstairs would be because that’s where condoms generally live.”