Without waiting, her arms circle my shoulders and legs latch around my waist. She hoists herself up. Her pussy runs along my cock, which pulses against her slick entrance. She teases and taunts, pivoting her hips enough to slide a little into her heat before angling up.
“Jesus, baby, you keep playing with the tip it’s going—” my words turn into a sharp hiss as she drops, impaling herself all the way.
On instinct, I thrust hard. “Oh my Goddddddd,” she moans, rotating.
My teeth grind at the contact and she rocks steadily against me.
“You inked me on your skin,” she whispers in awe, pressing her chest to mine. Her eyes cinch shut and then open, sparkling a brilliant blue. “You’re not the only one addicted. Every room we finish in this studio, I want to celebrate like this.”
“Not a problem.” I grab her ass and drive up. “You naked, happy, and attached to me is what I live for.”
Chapter 34
Poppy
Nervous tingles swarm everywhere, my heart racing as I wait impatiently for any sign. Dr. Rexwell jots another note on my chart, making me want to jump across the table and snatch it from him.
“Relax.” Evin tries to hold my hand but I slap it away.
“Get out of my head,” I hiss.
His amused grin adds annoyance to my already overactive feelings.
“Hmmm,” Rexwell remains impassive and unreadable, flexing my foot again, then bending the knee a few degrees.
“Hmmm, what? Is there a problem?”
“I’m sensing trouble in paradise. Last time you two were in my office was a much different jam. Your newlywed bliss didn’t last long.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re worried about my marital status? What about my Achilles?”
His gaze comes to mine, and I swallow a scream. “You’ve been torturing me with your silent scowl for the last ten minutes to tease me?”
He flat out smiles, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling. Evin chuckles along with him. I glare at him in warning, then fling the glower to my doctor.
“Did we fly across the country for you to toy with me?”
“Yes,” he answers audaciously. “Been looking forward to this all week.”
“Glad to entertain.”
“The progress over the last seven weeks is impressive.”
Relief, warmth, and happiness all wash through me at once, and I smile. “That’s a better assessment.”
Evin sits on the side of the exam table, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him. “You’re a fighter. We all knew you could do it.”
“I had to hear it from him.”
“You surpassed my expectations. I’m proud of you, Poppy.” Rexwell’s praise makes me want to do a victory cheer.
“Proud enough to let me out of this boot?”
His smile falters. “One more week. Your tendon recovery is exceptional and the calf is fine. But you have some natural atrophy. No need to damage the progress you’ve made.”
“I wanted to be out of this boot by Thanksgiving.”
He seems to mull it over and give a quick nod. “We’ll make a deal. Thanksgiving is in six days. You can lose the boot and go with a compression wrap. Move to one crutch full time. Now we focus on the knee mobility.”
“I’m ready.”
“As is every health professional involved in your medical care.”
“My eagerness shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone.”
“As long as you don’t confuse eagerness with arrogance.”
“She knows her limits. If she doesn’t, I’ll remind her,” Evin speaks up.
“I know about that. Never have I overseen a case where the husband is as much a topic of conversation as the patient.”
“Warned you he’d be a problem.”
He smiles. “I enjoy the updates. As my first official dancer, you don’t disappoint.”
“Told you,” I reply, pleased with myself. “Aren’t you glad you kept me around?”
“Oh, yes, delight is the first thing I think of when reading over the weekly progress in your files. Evidently, your stubbornness supersedes that of your mother-in-law.”
“It’s not stubbornness, it’s goal setting. If it wasn’t for my knee, I’d have been out of this boot weeks ago and been your best success story ever.”
“So you’ve told me, repeatedly.”
“They’d spotlight me in one of your achievement articles.”
“It’s not too late.”
“You just wait. When I blow all expectations out of the water, it’ll put your other patients to shame.”
“This isn’t a competition, Poppy. Every injury is different. You can’t force it,” Evin says softly. “Your determination is infectious, but let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.”
I roll my eyes and ignore him, speaking to Rexwell. “He’s obsessed with your work and read almost every article written. This makes him an expert.”
My tone is more condescending than intended, but I’m not letting his overprotective streak influence the next steps.
“He’s not the only one that considers themselves an expert,” the doctor replies, pinning me with his eyes.
“I’m ready to move this along. Get on with my life post crutches and surgery.”
“It’ll happen. We estimated six months.”
“It will not be six-months, mark my words.” Maybe I am acting a little cocky, but dammit, it’s time.
“Let’s see if you can impress me in a month.”
“Encouraging her only adds to the tenacity,” Evin states dryly. “You’re laying down a challenge.”
At the word challenge, I perk up. “I’m ready for the plan. Don’t go sissy on me. ”
“How did you refer to it? The full, brutal, pain-staking, and push my limits treatment?”
“Good memory.”
“I’ll work up something next week. Losing that boot means full weight on your entire leg. The impact will affect the reconstructed tendon. It’s weak. One wrong twist, turn, or off-angle step could mean setbacks. Don’t make me regret this.”
“You won’t.”
Evin hands me the boot, and we say our goodbyes, going to the truck. My mind is racing with excitement and readiness to finally get to exercising and stretching my knee full-time.
I’m lost in my world, frantically trying to keep up with the responses from my family group text. Evin’s phone rings, breaking me out of my daze, and when I glance over, an icy chill prickles over my skin. His body is stiff, jaw locked tight, and the normal brightness in his eyes is now dark.
We drive into the entrance of my neighborhood, and I realize we’ve been in the car for over twenty minutes. He hasn’t said a word. The look he shared with Dr. Rexwell before leaving the office flew right over my head, but now it’s sinking in.
“Sweetie, is something wrong?”
He pulls his bottom lip through his teeth, his aim staying forward.
“I thought you were satisfied with the appointment.”
“The appointment was fine. I enjoyed that split second of good news before you went straight for more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m proud of you, your doctors and therapist are proud of you, fuck, everyone is over the moon with your progress. Instead of taking a few minutes to discuss that, you went in hard on the next steps.”
“Of course I did! It’s been eleven weeks. That man controls my fate when it comes to my leg, and he has to see my dedication and sense of urgency.”
He whips into a spot, slams the rental in park, and finally looks over. “Your dedication has never been questioned. But why the sense of urgency?”
“Are you kidding? I thought you understood how much this means to me.”
He gets out of the truck and comes to my side, offering my crutches. He walks ahead, unlocking the door and letting us in. I shuffle by him to the living room and wait for him to join me. The next sound I hear is the slamming of my bedroom door. I
blow out a breath and hang my head, unsure of what is happening. There’s no time to go to him before he’s walking back through, fully changed.
“Going for a run.”
“We need to talk about this. Why are you so angry? Because I pushed for intensive rehab? Don’t you want me to get better?”
“Of course I do. You said it yourself, you’re athletic and your muscle memory is strong. You’re already ahead of the timeline.”
“I said that before reality crashed down!” I lash back. “Look at me, I’m helpless.”
“You are far from helpless,” he answers flatly.
“Everyone around me is inconvenienced with having Poppy duty. Annie has a calendar filled with my schedule. You refuse to leave me alone because you’re terrified something may happen. We fall asleep on the sofa and you have to carry me to bed unless we want to go through the hassle of putting this damn boot back on. I rely on others for almost everything. Without you around, I require a chair to shower. Do you have any idea how losing your independence feels?”
“No, I don’t know how it feels, but we see things differently. No one is inconvenienced. Mom has a calendar with your schedule, but if you paid attention, you’d know she has everyone’s schedule. Darby and Ashlyn’s appointments, the kids’ activities, birthdays, anniversaries, special occasions—all of it. You may not drive, shop, or do laundry yourself, but it’s only a matter of time. After next week, you can burn the shower chair.”
“For half of our marriage, I’ve been crippled. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Crippled? How can you say that? What about the things you are doing? Most nights, we eat a meal you cook alone and it’s always fucking incredible. You help Darby in her bakery and she loves it. Everything you did for Ashlyn’s baby shower? Helping Tessa organize my office? Taking over the job of handling the holiday gifts for my clients so she doesn’t have to? Do you give yourself credit for anything?”
“Evin, those things are menial. They have little purpose.”
“Purpose? They have a fuck of a lot of purpose for the others and me. What happened today in that office? I understand the motivation, but it was more. What are you trying to prove, Poppy?”
My name comes out gruff. “I’m not trying to prove anything. This is about me moving forward with my life.”
He flinches, and there’s a flicker of confusion that quickly turns sharp. “Your life? Did I miss something? I thought that is what we were doing. Building our life together, laying the foundation for our future. This isn’t one of your auditions.”
Something in the way he says this hits a nerve, and I have no control over my reaction. “You know nothing about my auditions or the cut-throat world I live in. Dancing is my life! It always has been. It’s all I’ve ever had, even during my darkest times! What is your problem? You should encourage me to push harder, get better, work myself to the bone so I can dance again! You have a fucking mortgage on a building riding on my recovery!”
My mistake washes over me immediately. The onset of raw pain in his eyes claws at my heart, making my legs wobble.
“If that’s what’s in your mind, then you haven’t been paying attention. Let me try to set things straight. You asked if it bothered me, and the answer is no because I’ve never once thought of you as crippled. How you came up with that beats me. When you fall asleep on the sofa, I want to carry you to bed. It has nothing to do with the brace, the boot, or your capabilities. Leaving you alone worries me, but not because you’ll get hurt. You have an unstable and fucking whacked sister roaming around untraceable. She’s been quiet, which could mean anything.”
My head is screaming at me to apologize, but I can’t form words over the lump in my throat.
“You should know this, too. When Darby had her miscarriage, I did everything in my power to educate myself on what she was going through. The physical aspect was all biology, but the mental and emotional complications were terrifying. What I learned helped guide me through. Same thing with Mom. After her fall, I researched her injuries to understand the next steps. Her situation was more physical impairment than emotionally scarring.”
A wave of nausea rolls in my stomach as pain slices through my chest, knowing what’s coming.
“Witnessing your fall, confirming your injuries, seeing the devastation firsthand shook my fucking world, Poppy. You have no idea what helpless feels like until the woman you love mourns for so many losses at once. I did the only damn thing I could do and armed myself with all the knowledge available on your injuries and recovery. Regardless of what you think, or tell Rexwell, I don’t consider myself an expert. My purpose has always been to support and encourage. Today, in that office, it became clear you’re working with your own agenda. Somewhere along the way, my protective nature interfered. He’s the doctor, you’re the patient. This is your body and your decision. Push your limits, prove to yourself and anyone else you’re trying to impress. I already think you’re incredible. I may not know what it’s like to lose my independence, but swear to Christ I’d switch places with you. Especially if it meant you could live out your dream of dancing on that stage again.
“Ryanne and Dante are here if you need anything.”
With that, he’s gone and I’m left staring at the door in conflict. What just happened? Should I go after him? Out of the corner of my eye, there’s motion.
“How much did you hear?”
“Everything since you walked in,” Ryanne answers softly.
“He took everything I said the wrong way.”
Their silence is deafening, and when I dare look at them, it’s obvious why.
“Pips, we love you, but there was no way to misinterpret what you said. How long have you been unhappy?”
“Unhappy? I’m not unhappy. I’m anxious to resume some sort of normalcy without depending on others.”
“That’s why you went to Charleston, to have the support of family around. They want to help. No one considers it a burden.”
“Everyone goes out of their way to do things for me. I miss the freedom of spontaneity. Hell, it would be awesome to seduce my husband and not stop to remove a brace. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but that’s not what you said. It sounded like he was under the impression your routines and lives were taking shape. He’s thrilled you’re together every night, the improvements and additions to your home, the place you’ve made with his family, and the interest you’ve taken in his business. You flat out told him those things are menial and give you no purpose.”
“That’s not at all what I meant!” I defend. “He’s convinced I’m pushing too hard, and that was me telling him there’s so much more in me.”
“Think about what you said, every word. You delivered a low, brutal blow by throwing the mortgage on that building in his face. He didn’t deserve that.”
“It was painful,” Ryanne agrees with Dante. “I don’t know what triggered it, but your claws are sharp today.”
“It came out of nowhere.” I relay my visit and hearing it out of my mouth brings the truth to light.
The raw anguish on his beautiful face is all I see as the horror and shame set in. “I’m such a fucking bitch. He wasn’t trying to hold me back.”
“He wouldn’t ever try to do that, Poppy. Why would your mind even go there?” Ryanne asks pointedly.
The answer slams into me, shattering my defense that this was for my independence. Dante reads my mind, expressing what I’m too afraid to vocalize. “Evin is right, you’re trying to prove something. Popsy, don’t let her get to you.”
“It didn’t dawn on me until right now.”
“I fucking hate Natasha Bindel,” Ryanne snipes, clueing in. “Wish she would show her face so I could slap that fake-tittie, Botox-inflated bitch straight back to Africa.”
Even though my heart is in shambles, a giggle bubbles up. “You’re second in line.”
I dig my phone out of my pocket and call him, which goes straight to voicemail. “I love
you, Evin Graham, I’m sorry… come back.”
My eyes slice to Dante. “Please go find him.”
“Where?”
“He takes Laurel Avenue to the park and runs the trail. If you can’t find him there, try Ally Plaza.”
“What do you want me to do if I find him? Evin has a ferocious temper when he’s riled. If he wants to be alone, I respect that.”
“You’re a man, figure it out.”
“Good thing I’m wearing my running shoes.”
He takes off and Ryanne steps closer, squeezing my shoulder. “You okay?”
“No, I’m the world’s worst wife.”
“Outside of that, you okay?”
“That doesn’t help.”
“Sorry, Pips, you were harsh and out of line. I sympathize with your frustration and wish there was some way to help. You put too much pressure on yourself, always have. That’s one reason I pushed for Charleston. If you were here, your entire existence would have been consumed with rehab and recovery. Everything in this city and this house is a reminder of your life before Evin, which was centered on performing. In South Carolina, you not only had the support but the distractions to keep you busy.”
“They aren’t distractions, it’s the way of life.”
“Aaggkkk,” her throaty disgust is paired with a full tremor. “I can’t imagine all that icky and gooey. Evin’s enough to handle without all that baggage. Family dinners, babysitting, horseback riding, dealing with teenage girl-boy drama? Your mother-in-law always in your business? No, thank you. Shoot me now.”
“You are such a bitch. Point made.”
“I don’t think it is. Because three months ago, you hit on some dark times and dance was nowhere to get you through it. Sounds like you may have a life without it. Dancing was your passion, Poppy, not your life.”
A single tear falls and I throw my arms around her, the crutches clattering to the floor. “Now your point is really made. Thank you.”
“Like Evin, if I could trade places with you, I would, just to see that radiance one more time.”
“Warning, babe. I’m teetering on the edge of hysterics.”
“Noted. I can keep going until your thick, stubborn, self-righteous ass knows how fucking lucky you are.”
Evin's Fight (Southern Charmers Book 3) Page 36
