“That’s because you’ve been playing them with the wrong person.”
Enough. I thought. Enough of him and his games. I closed my eyes, blocking him out.
“Poppy—”
“Shut up.”
His chuckle was dark. Ominous. I waited for him to punish me, to tell me to stop. To say something mean.
“Do it, Poppy. Make yourself come.”
My body was awake under my fingers. My body was my own under my fingers. And I remembered what I liked. How I liked to be touched. I remembered what I’d pushed away and forgotten about for so long. I came rushing back to myself. To my skin. My fingers. The ridge of my clit. The tender, wet opening of my body.
That summer of Zilla’s tennis coach, I’d done this relentlessly. Finding every reason to go to my room so I could touch myself. When I started dating I was sure the boys in high school would figure out how to make me feel as good when they touched me as I was able to make myself feel when I was alone, but they just didn’t have the attention span.
In college, Damon in my work/study program, he had the attention span and applied it to my clitoris in the dusty back rooms of the Linderman Library. He’d been sweet and studious and for a very nice month before my world came crashing down, I’d been infatuated with what he did to me and what he asked me to do to him.
It was a fine education in that library.
“What are you thinking of?” Ronan asked.
“The kid who used to finger-fuck me in the back room of the library.”
“What else did he do to you?”
I was distracted by the pinch of my fingers. “Poppy? Did you let him fuck you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Such a good question. “I just... didn’t.”
“Did you suck his dick?”
I nodded my head. Once.
“Did you like it?”
Oh god. His voice and the memory and my fingers... I was going to come. I bit my lower lip, my fingers working faster over my clit.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Did he put his mouth on you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t...”
“Poppy.”
“I didn’t want him to,” I blurted. It had seemed like a step too far for a back room at the library. I’d have to take off my pants, and what if it didn’t work? Or I didn’t like it? I liked it when he put his hands in my underwear and sucked on my neck. I didn’t need more.
“Did the senator?”