Read The Awakening of Poppy Edwards for Free Online Page B

would be better if you did a few shows.’
    Lewis
    Poppy was on her feet, wandering round the edge of the pool, her hair like a halo in the dusk. She walked like a dancer, pointing her toes, her feet so slender on the tiles, her ankles unbelievably slim. So fragile, she looked, but I knew she wasn’t.
    ‘What kind of shows?’ she asked.
    ‘I don’t know. Some drama. Some singing. A mix. You’d have a say in that, too. I’m talking Broadway, Poppy. What do you think?’
    She laughed. Not at all the kind of laugh you’d expect from her. It was the full-blooded, throw-back-your-head kind. ‘Please. Oh, Lewis, yes, please.’
    And she looked so good. So different. Her eyes sparkling. Her bare lips all pink and lush. Not like the woman from last night, and I thought, I couldn’t stop it, I thought, I wonder what it would be like, sex with this woman. Would it be different from last night?
    I tried to stop it. I really did try. When she came back from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne and she began to wrestle with the cork, laughing, I tried not to think about that, either. Then it popped, and she gave this little squeak, and the champagne ran down over her hand, and I took the bottle from her and licked her hand, and she went so still. I licked each finger clean. Then I kissed her palm. And she moved towards me, and her lips were no more than an inch away.
    ‘We can’t,’ I said, more to myself than to her.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Though I’ve agreed, haven’t I? I mean, it wouldn’t be like a casting couch or anything.’
    Her hand was still in mine, pressed against my chest. ‘We haven’t discussed terms.’
    ‘My agent does that.’
    That fact that I was even thinking about it should have sent me out the door. The fact that I was already doing more than thinking about it—but that’s the thing, I
wasn’t
thinking. If I had been, I’d have realised that Poppy was the type of woman to get under your skin, even though I never let anyone get under my skin. But she was already there and I didn’t even notice because I was too busy noticing the effect she had on my body to worry about my head. She smelt of something floral. Her hair was soft on my cheek. When I kissed her, she gave this little sigh, and I wanted to give one, too. It felt like a long time since we’d kissed. It felt like way too long.
    After that, though we both said it—we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, and just this once, and never again—it was too late. Hands. Mouths. Her skin like silk. It really was like silk, pearly white in the moonlight. She did have underwear on, but it didn’t take long to lose it. We were naked on the terrace without any memory of taking off our clothes. Her nipples were so pink, like her mouth. She tasted so good. Her hands on me felt so good. Stroking. So urgent, so quickly. She was so hot and tight and wet so quickly. Panting. Moaning. Not talking now, except to say there, and there, and slow, hard, fast, there and there, and yes, yes, yes.
    The tiles were cool on my back. Poppy was hot on my front, her mouth hot on mine. I was so hard. I thought I would die if I couldn’t be inside her. When she lifted herself onto me, sank down, slid down, pulling me in and up, so deep, so hot, so wet, I could have died then, I swear, and happily.
    But she wouldn’t let me. She held me tight inside her, watching me as she lifted herself and then slid down the length of me. Sliding slow, really slow, then faster. Watching me with this smile on her face that drove me crazy. I wanted to drive her crazy, too, so I touched her. Stroked her. Holding her still while I was deep inside her, one hand on the sweet flesh of her ass, I stroked between her legs, found her so tight, so ready, that it was easy, a pleasure, a delight, to keep her there, not letting her go, making her hold on, making her wait, until she exploded, and I lost control then, twisted her onto her back then, to pound into her as she came round me, crying out,