CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Daisy
Girl, you are going to get burned so hard, the voice told me. No way are you coming out of this alive, are you crazy? He’s Tristan Marks, it’s like playing with fire, there’s no rescue crew to pull you out when the going gets tough. Are you ready for that? But I just shook my head. The truth was that I was already in way, way over my head. I’ve been playing with fire ever since I started talking with Tristan and unfortunately it was like an addiction, I was a pyromaniac who couldn’t take my eyes away from the flame despite the fact that it burned my fingertips, pricking painfully at nerve endings.
But it hurts so good, I argued back. Tristan makes me hurt so good and I want to find out what there is, what could happen, what might happen.
You’re fucking going to get it, replied the voice in my head nastily. You think he’s going to hold back? You think there’s going to be mercy? You’re going to be bent over and spanked so hard, pounded so hard that furniture’s gonna break, you’re going to break.
But it only made my heart leap faster, pulse jumping in my throat, making me quiver and shake. Because what my internal voice was saying was absolutely true. I was in way over my head, what with masquerading as Tristan’s wife and teasing him with the food. But that’s the thing. I only wanted more. I wanted to talk more about his background, to learn more about the big man. The conversation had flowed after the pie incident, light, easy, like we really were a couple and we’d laughed together, our senses of humor in tune with each other even as we ate each other up with our eyes. But the little warning voice was right. Despite his outward relaxation, the general air of indulgence, the big man had had enough. He’d said it out loud, he’d said it with his body, with his gaze, his warning to me rough and direct.
Get ready, Daisy, he’d growled with his eyes, his words, his throat. Get ready, because I’m coming.
But it only made me want it more, shivers running down my spine, my body heating in anticipation with how much I wanted him, how much I wanted to figure it out with him, get to know him, explore the unknown with Tristan as my guide. I was heady with desire, lost in a maze, tangled despite the fact that I knew I was going to be hurt, that somehow this was going to end up badly with me the probable loser.
Because the thing is that I’ve interacted with older men before and it hasn’t exactly been the best feeling. Older guys generally are more mature, wise and experienced, they’ve been to the rodeo before. Some women are attracted to it, they love being guided by the older dude but I usually just found it scary. Sure, it was all fun and games at first, the gentle older professor showing you around, making sure you understood the niceties of biology, of English, of whatever, but in a flash, the curtain could be pulled back and I’d realize I was out of my depth. Most times, he wanted something and I wasn’t ready to deliver.
Was that going to happen with Tristan? He was absolutely the older man, worldly, experienced, a thousand times more powerful than any man I’d encountered in the past. He was the CEO of an influential news conglomerate, had worked his way up from cub reporter to the head of the pack, likely ruling it with an iron fist. Sure he was playing with me now, letting me feed him peach pie, letting me ask my little questions, but I had no doubt that when the unmasking came, I was going to be off-kilter and unbalanced, if not straight up afraid. I was going to be way out of my depth and it might be too late, I might be entangled and ensnared in something that I couldn’t handle.
But flirtation is a devilish addiction. I was addicted to the games we played, teasing the big man, making conversation with him, sassing him with our banter, our connection so electric that sparks flew. And so I thrust the thoughts out of my head, instead stepping into the shower to get myself clean and prepared. Because Tristan was coming tonight.
We had our separate bedrooms in the suite but that was no barrier. He was coming for me, he was going to taste me, take me, take my virginity, and I was going to love it. I was going to eat it up, savor it, wallow in it, throw myself into the womanly induction. Hell, I was going to meet him step for step as best I could, hurl myself into the tiger’s lair, fight as best as I could, love as best as I could, beg him if that’s what it took.
And I couldn’t wait. Despite the warning bells clanging, I shushed the voices, changing into my usual sleep outfit of a translucent tank and little bootie shorts. I wish I had a negligee or some filmy lingerie, but nope, I was a bootie shorts and tank type of girl. But he liked me the way I was, right?
So I pulled on my usual knee socks and crept into bed, twisting on the sheets a little, trying to get comfortable. Tristan would be here soon enough and I willed myself to stay up, the adrenalin pumping, my anticipation on high. But the long drive had gotten to me, the tryptophan in the food drugging my system and against my best efforts my eyelids began to get heavy. Stay up! Stay up and wait for him! I scolded myself. But the voice only grew fainter as sleep overtook me, a drowsy, sinfully delicious sleep as I drifted lazily, my mind going white, then grey, then black.