CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She didn’t cry. She thought perhaps she was too wrung out to cry. She felt like crying, but she felt like laughing, too. She felt like running a mile or sleeping for days. She felt restless and contented. Wrong and right. Her emotions were jumbled up inside her, and it was both terrifying . . . and exhilarating.
All she knew for sure was that she felt safe in Spencer’s strong arms. Welcome and at home. It was a powerful and addictive feeling, and while she knew it should probably scare her, she didn’t really have the energy to worry about it now.
Spencer was quiet. He hadn’t said a word since their breathing had evened ages ago. She would have thought he was asleep if not for the gently stroking hand on her naked back. She was wrapped in his arms, her head on his bicep and her face against his chest. One of her hands rested on his waist, and the other was curled up against his chest. She never wanted to move.
“You okay?” he asked after another few minutes had passed.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sorry this happened, Daff,” he said, sounding almost defensive, and she smiled against his chest.
“Neither am I.” Sex had never been like this for her before. So emotional and intense. It had never felt this natural and beautiful, either. No toys or ropes, no whips and chains. Just them . . .
Spencer and Daffodil, giving and taking in equal measure. Daff had never really known it could be like that, and yet, that’s how she’d always known it should be.
“And I want to do it again,” he asserted, sounding stubborn, and her smile widened. She lifted her head so that he could see it.
“Good,” she said. His brow lowered in confusion, and she stretched up to kiss him lightly before lowering her head back onto his bicep.
“And I don’t want a no-strings thing this time.” Daff sighed and pushed herself up to face him, sitting cross-legged with her hands folded in her lap. He sat up, too, dragging a sheet over his hips and hiding that beautiful, burgeoning erection from her.
“You’re bound and determined to talk about this now, aren’t you?” she asked, pushing her messy hair out of her face.
“Hmm.” She grinned at the huffy sound.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, big guy. You’re the one who wants to talk.”
“Just like to know where things stand, is all,” he groused.
“Why should we put a label on it? Why can’t it just be? You’re always overthinking things.”
“I just want people to know—” He stopped abruptly, as if thinking the better of what he’d been about to say.
“Uh-uh, I’m curious now,” she said. “You’d better finish that sentence.”
“I just want people to know that you’re with me, that’s all.”
“I told you, I don’t do that whole ownership thing anymore.”
“Yeah.” He looked moody and unsettled and confused. And boy, could she relate. “I just don’t know how to do this.”
“What?”
“Casual. Like it means nothing, when it fucking means everything.”
“I don’t know how to be what you want, Spencer,” she whispered. Unsettled by his words. By how much they echoed the way she felt about their encounter.
“That’s okay, darling,” he whispered back, cupping the side of her face. “You already are exactly what I want.”
There was no way to respond to that. None. For a man of few words, he often found just the right ones to say at just the right time.
She shook her head and smiled at him.
“I really don’t know what to do with you, Carlisle.” She sighed sadly, and he smiled.
“Right now? I have a few ideas.” He pointedly looked down at the tent that had formed in his lap and she giggled lightheartedly, only vaguely aware that she was seeing him through a haze of tears again.
“Yeah? Do enlighten me.”
The night passed in a beautiful blur of orgasms and laughter. Once he’d stopped asking difficult questions and expecting impossible things, they’d gone back to the easy relationship that had developed between them over the last few weeks. It was surprisingly uncomplicated, even with sex thrown into the mix.
“You have the sexiest legs,” she said during one of their breaks. They were sitting naked on her bed and eating the awful leftover pasta she’d cooked for dinner two nights ago.
“Hmm? I could say the same about yours.”
“These scrawny chicken legs have nothing on yours.” Her eyes drifted to the surgical scar on his left knee, and she pulled a face. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asked absently, his eyes riveted on a dab of pasta sauce that had dropped to her naked breast.
“Playing.” He dragged his hungry scrutiny from the sauce to stare at her blankly, and she laughed in disbelief before elaborating even further, “Rugby. Do you ever miss playing it?”
He grinned sheepishly before shrugging.
“Honestly? And this stays between us. I fucking hated it. Hated every single thing about it. I never liked the sport, but it was my ticket out of here. I was relieved when I tore my ACL. I could have done the rehab, gone back, played again. But it was the excuse I was looking for to get out. I’d already gotten what I wanted out of the sport. It was time for me to move on with my life.”
She laughed incredulously at that revelation.
“I prefer cricket,” he continued conspiratorially, and she laughed even harder. She didn’t even know why she found it so funny, but it just made her admire him more. He’d done whatever the hell it took to better himself—what was not to admire? The man was amazing.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he said seriously, “I hate to see good food go to waste.”
He bent over and finally claimed the errant drop of sauce that had trickled its way down to her nipple. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.
It was nearly dawn when she told him her most shameful secret. She didn’t know why she did it—it just came out, and she found herself grateful for the dark while she spoke.
“I don’t think I ever really liked sex before,” she blurted out into the night. The darkness helped, as did Spencer’s quiet breathing and patient silence. The up-and-down movement of his hand on her arm never faltered.
“My first lover—not first boyfriend, I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. I haven’t slept with most of them.” She cleared her throat after that awkward confession. “Anyway, my first lover—Jake—he was charming and nice. He seemed perfect. He was an out-of-towner, one of Shar’s friends. Great background, wealthy family, the works. Everything a stupid twenty-year-old girl aspires to. He was a good kisser.” She could feel Spencer starting to tense beneath her, obviously not keen on hearing about Jake’s kissing prowess. She patted his chest comfortingly, mutely begging for patience, and she could feel him force himself to relax.
“When I thought I was ready, I let him know that I was willing to, you know . . . ?”
“Hmm.” It was all the encouragement she needed, and she gulped before continuing.
“He took me to this place he was renting in Knysna. It all started pretty innocently, the kissing and petting and stuff. I was relaxing, enjoying it, but when I was naked he . . . he picked up his brush and spanked me.” Spencer tensed again, and she patted him once more. Feeling the need to comfort him, because nobody had ever comforted her. Nobody had ever even known about this until now. It was a lot harder to talk about than she’d expected, but she’d started this and she would tell him the rest of it.
“I don’t know why. He made it seem normal and said something about all girls loving a good spanking.” Spencer’s hand had stopped stroking her arm and just lay there. Not moving at all. “I felt . . . well, I don’t know how I felt. I was confused. I didn’t like it. It had taken me out of the moment, so to speak. He went back to kissing me and playing with my breasts, but he pinched my nipples too hard. It hurt. He kept asking me if I liked the stuff he was doing, and I suppose saying I did made him escalate it a notch every time. But I liked the kissing and the stroking. Not the other stuff. He would kiss me and lick me and say, ‘You like this, don’t you?’ and just when I said yes, he’d pinch me, or slap my butt, or do something painful. It was so confusing.”
Spencer’s breathing was no longer even and quiet; it was starting to sound ragged and labored, and she wasn’t sure if she should continue.
“What happened?” he asked after she’d lapsed into a silence that lasted a beat too long.
“He flipped me onto my stomach, kissed me some more, touched me, played with me, made me feel good. Then he said, ‘This is okay, right?’ I remember feeling more relaxed, finally enjoying it and saying that it was fine . . . but he had a b-ball gag just slightly in my line of vision. I didn’t notice it. But when I said it was fine, he said he knew I’d be game and put it in my mouth. He tied my hands to the headboard and spanked me again, with something else. I don’t think it was the brush.” She took a deep, bracing breath. Reliving it made her feel so dumb. Why hadn’t she known how manipulative he was being? Why hadn’t she seen it until years after it had all ended?
“And then he d-did his thing,” she said hoarsely. She hated telling Spencer—good and kind and gentle Spencer—these things. She didn’t want him to know her as this awful, stupid person who had allowed these things to happen. Didn’t want him to recognize her as a fraud who acted tough but submitted to such degradations. But at the same time, she needed him to know every ugly detail about her. Needed him to understand what he was getting into if he insisted on being with her. So she forced herself to continue.
“I didn’t like it. It was my first time and I hated it. It hurt, it was humiliating and awful, but he acted like it was completely normal. Afterward, he untied me. Snuggled up and said I was amazing, but maybe I could move a bit more next time, squirm a little, get all the way into it. Girls loved it once they got used to it.”
She shook her head and plucked at the bedspread, staring blindly into the darkness.
“I never got used to it. Three years in that so-called relationship and I never, ever got used to it. And he didn’t care. I was the submissive he was looking for, a naïve, stupid virgin who thought there was something wrong with her for not enjoying the mortification of being tied up and spanked and blindfolded and gagged . . .”
“And asphyxiated?” His voice sounded harsh in the darkness, like he’d chewed on nails as a snack.
“That came toward the end of our three years. It was terrifying. His grip got tighter and tighter each time. And it lasted longer and longer.” Spencer started stroking her arm again, in an attempt to soothe her.
“After that, I had a series of boyfriends, but every time we got intimate, they started behaving strangely, trying to tie me up and stuff . . .” She shook her head, still completely baffled by that. “It scared me. I didn’t want to be with another man like that, so I always ended it before it went further. I thought maybe I gave off some kind of vibe. I don’t know, like something about me just screamed submissive. It’s weird, because I don’t feel like a submissive. I was a stupid, naïve girl with Jake. I didn’t know better. But I feel like I have a sign pinned to my back or something. Anyway, a few years ago, around the time you started getting serious about Tanya, I started seeing Carter, another out-of-towner.”
“Hmm. I remember,” Spencer grated. “Seemed like a total asshole to me.”
“He was. I thought, he’s an out-of-towner, maybe it’d be different. Our first time together was normal, nothing earth-shattering, just nice, vanilla sex, so I relaxed. But things got freaky after that. More choking, if you can believe it—” She shook her head in disbelief before continuing. “The last time, he didn’t stop until I passed out.”
Spencer swore viciously and she started, understanding that maybe she shouldn’t have laid that zinger on him so casually, but he stroked her arm reassuringly and she relaxed again. “Anyway, that’s when I gave him his marching papers and decided that relationships weren’t for me. Besides the bizarre sex crap that always seems to happen to me, I don’t like myself when I’m in a relationship with someone. I really wanted to start liking myself.”
It took everything in Spencer not to jump out of bed, get dressed, and go hunting for the motherfuckers who had hurt Daff. How could she speak about it as if it were normal? She might have thought she’d given consent, but that Jake fucker had definitely manipulated her into giving it. If Spencer could get his hands on any one of them right now, he would show them what it felt like to be fucking strangled until you passed out.
And why the fuck did they all go that way, anyway? Something was up with that. Daff had her hang-ups—probably because of the fucked-up shit she’d had to deal with in the past—but all Spencer wanted to do was cherish her. Not hurt her or humiliate her. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do anything different. It didn’t add up.
“Are you sure these guys didn’t talk to one another? Maybe some of them spread rumors about what you supposedly liked?” he speculated, and she shrugged.
“I thought that, too, but it didn’t explain Carter. And I mean, stuff like that gets out, right? I figure if it was the guys talking to one another, there would have been rumors. You would have heard it if there was a rumor like that out there, don’t you think?”
“Don’t know. I don’t really mingle too much.”
“If you’d heard a rumor like that about me, would you have . . .” Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she was asking.
“I don’t need your subjugation to get my rocks off, darling,” he said quietly.
Daff was quiet for a moment as she thought about the woman she’d been, the people she’d spent time with, and wondered if their former friend Shar Bridges had known about the bondage stuff. She had introduced Daff to Jake. It was the first time the possibility occurred to Daff, and it made her want to find Shar and violently rearrange her smug, perfect face.
“What are you thinking about?” he prompted gently, and Daff shook her head. She had once, foolishly, considered Shar a friend, but the shallow woman had only ever been interested in what would benefit Shar. What did she have to gain from sabotaging Daff’s relationships? Daff wasn’t sure, but her gut—while historically shitty at reading Shar—told her that the woman was somehow involved.
“I’m not sure, but I think Shar might have had a hand in telling those lies about me,” she said, feeling sick inside. “Why would she do that?”
“Jealousy, maybe?”
“Why would she be jealous?”
“Well, you’re prettier, smarter, more likable than she is, for starters,” Spencer said with a shrug, and Daff smiled at that sweet response.
“I just felt so idiotic,” she said with a deep sigh. “Maybe I was just being a total prude, you know? I know I’m supposed to be this modern woman and it’s okay to enjoy a bit of kinky sex now and then. But I didn’t. I didn’t enjoy it. I just felt demeaned, and maybe I made myself feel that way, but . . .”
“Daff, you’re overthinking it,” he said soothingly. “You don’t like BDSM and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your partners should have asked if you were okay with it instead of assuming that you would be.”
“Jake asked.”
“Jake asked jack shit! The way he presented these questions to you was ambiguous, to say the least. You thought you were agreeing to other things, and he fucking knew it. He tricked you and then made sure to gag you before he did all the things he knew you would have protested to.”
“I must seem so weak and foolish to you now,” she whispered, and he heard the absolute misery and shame in her voice.
“Oh no, my darling.” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Nothing you’ve told me tonight changes how I think of you.”
“But I—”
“No. Daff—” He moved his hand to her face and stroked her damp cheek. It killed him that these memories had made her cry, and he wanted to murder someone because of those tears. But he kept the savage fury he felt leashed, wanting her to feel only tenderness in his touch. “You did nothing wrong. He took advantage of your innocence and confusion. It was an assault.”
“No, I consented to everything.”
“Darling, you didn’t know what you were consenting to.”
“But I didn’t say no.”
“You couldn’t say no. He shoved a gag in your mouth.”
“Afterward, when I knew . . . I still allowed it. I allowed everything else. For three years. What’s wrong with me?”
“Did you love him?” He tried to keep the tension he felt out of his body, dreading her answer. Not knowing what he would do if she admitted to loving an asshole like that, when she wouldn’t even give Spencer a shot at a real relationship with her.
Daff considered his question for a moment. Why had she stayed with Jake for so long?
“I thought maybe I did. But I think I kind of hated him. I just . . . I think I was afraid of being a failure and maybe afraid of being alone. I was so young, and I thought being in a relationship was everything. I didn’t have a degree, I didn’t have what I thought of as a proper job, I was afraid—” She stopped speaking abruptly, the nascent thought almost revolutionary. “All my life I was told I was cute but not very bright, and I should find a man to take care of me. Aside from his sexual proclivities, Jake was every girl’s dream, and I thought he was what I needed.”
“Your fucking aunts,” Spencer muttered, sounding pissed off. “Why would they sabotage your self-worth like that? I thought family’s supposed to lift you up and make you feel special.”
“I think they thought they were complimenting me. Daff’s the cute one, Lia’s the pretty one, and Daisy’s the clever one,” she intoned before snorting in dark amusement. “More like Daff’s the neurotic one, Lia’s the needy one, and Daisy’s the insecure one.”
“I swear to God, if they start carrying on about this crap at the wedding, I’ll—” He paused and she felt him shrug. “I don’t know. Steal their dentures and force them to eat popcorn and apples or something.”
She surprised herself by giggling.
“Badass!” she teased.
“You know it.” She lifted her hand to cup his jaw, and he leaned into her touch.
“Spencer, I think this whole year for me has been about proving that I can take care of myself. That I can live alone, I can quit my job, I don’t need a man, and . . . I don’t know, I can find what really makes me happy.”
“I get it,” he whispered, covering her hand with his own. He turned his head and kissed her palm tenderly.
“So this thing between us . . . I can’t. The timing . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I know.” His voice was a gentle rumble and filled with nothing but understanding. Her tears overflowed, and she tried not to let on that she was crying. But somehow, despite the darkness, he knew.
“Don’t, Daff. Don’t cry. I’m here for you. In whatever capacity you need me.”
“I just don’t want to label this.”
“But this exists?” She could hear the question in his voice and nodded.
“It does. But no boundaries, Spence. No parameters. No labels.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” she sobbed. “Because I don’t even know if I do.”
“Ssh.” He kissed her palm again. “I won’t be yet another thing for you to worry about, darling. No labels. Just this.”
He turned until he was on his back and she was straddling him, his hard shaft pulsing beneath her wet nakedness.
“Condom?” she asked, her voice wobbling with excitement. Even after everything they’d done that night, she still couldn’t get enough of him. Of this. And she had never been on top before. She was practically quivering in anticipation.
“I left a few on the nightstand,” he grunted, arching up against her. She hissed in pleasure at the contact and fumbled around in the predawn grayness until she found what she was looking for. She had him sheathed and poised for entry in moments, and when she finally sank down and accepted him into her body, they both sighed blissfully.
Nothing had ever felt more perfect.
Neither of them got any sleep after that, and about an hour and a half later, after sharing a quick and naughty shower, they left Daff’s place—Spencer to dash home for a quick change of clothes before work, and Daff heading straight for the boutique.
Despite her exhaustion, Daff couldn’t stop smiling for most of the morning. Definitely out of character for her, and she was happy that Steph, the manager in training, didn’t come in on Saturdays. She even found herself humming a couple of times, and when her phone rang at eleven and the cartoon penis flashed onto the screen, her heart did a weird little loop-the-loop in her chest.
“Hey,” she hummed.
“Do you still have me listed as the Dick in your contacts?” he asked without any preliminaries, and her smile widened.
“Yep. But I’m thinking of changing it to Mr. BAD.” No response, and she knew that Spencer, being Spencer, probably didn’t get it. So she elaborated, “Y’know? Big-Ass Dick?” He was quiet for a beat, and then he chuckled.
“Yeah?” He sounded half-embarrassed, half-flattered.
“Only the truth.”
“Well, then—” He gave another huffing little laugh, and Daff would bet decent money that he was probably blushing. He cleared his throat before changing the subject. “Just checking in to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. Feeling a bit achy. You?”
“Same. I miss you.” She rolled her eyes while grinning so broadly it felt like her cheeks would split.
“Shut up. You saw me like three hours ago.”
“Too fucking long ago. Want to have lunch at MJ’s?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.
“I want to order takeout from MJ’s, head to your place or mine, and not surface again till tomorrow.”
“That sounds doable.”
“Meet you there after one?”
“Yeah. Don’t know how I’m going to last that long without you.” Damn it. Why did the man have to be so freaking adorable?
“Later, Mr. BAD,” she singsonged and disconnected the call with a swipe of her thumb. After that she leaned on the counter and daydreamed about him and all the things they had done last night and would do later. The man was frighteningly addictive, but Daff had decided not to worry about that. To just enjoy this for however long it lasted. Just another leg—extremely vital—on her journey of self-discovery.
That evening, after a day of nothing but fantastic sex mixed in with periods of long conversation about everything and absolutely nothing, Daff and Spencer sat cuddled on her sofa, blindly staring at the bright images on the television screen. Daff’s head was on Spencer’s bare chest. He had very thoughtfully brought a pair of pajamas for his sleepover, of which Daff was wearing the top and Spencer the bottoms. Her legs curled over his lap, and she was more interested in his relaxed breathing and strong, reassuring heartbeat than she was in the movie on TV. She didn’t even know what it was—something with UFOs and way too much talking. She kind of resented the stupid movie, because right now Spencer seemed more interested in it than he was in Daff.
Jealous of a movie. What in the actual fuck was up with that?
It wasn’t like the man hadn’t showered his undivided attention on her all day. She had been his entire focus for hours, but Daff felt like a junkie. She discovered that she absolutely craved his every look, touch, and smile. She hoarded them and found herself recalling everything he’d said and done with absolute clarity. It wasn’t even about the sex—well, not entirely about the sex; he made her feel absolutely precious. She found his gentle and thorough lovemaking so much more appealing than anything else she’d experienced before. His reverent touches, appreciative compliments, and long, lingering kisses made her feel like a shy young girl around her first crush, yet she hadn’t felt awkward or unsure around him once today.
She snuggled closer, and his arm, which was resting casually across her shoulders, tugged her even nearer. She lifted her face and buried her nose in the nook where his neck met the strong curve of his broad shoulder. He smelled clean and faintly like lavender after using her soap in the shower. Combined with his unique masculine musk, it was almost irresistible. She planted a soft kiss in the spot, and he tilted his head until his cheek rested on top of her hair.
Her hand, which had been resting on his flat stomach, crept up over that spectacularly ridged abdomen, enjoying the feel of every hard, smooth inch as she explored her way up to the gorgeous pec that her cheek was resting on. She watched as his nipple drew tight and smiled in complete feminine satisfaction. She didn’t touch it but brought her hand to rest in the shallow valley between his impressive pecs. She walked her middle and index fingers down between his six pack, along the happy trail of silky black hair there. She ignored his ragged inhalation of breath, too focused on watching the way his muscles twitched as her fingers stepped lightly over them. They reached the indentation of his navel, and she paused as she contemplated her next move. Spencer’s heart was racing beneath her ear, and his breathing came in gasps.
She circled her index finger around the sensitive oval of his belly button before her fingers continued on their little trek down the now slightly wider trail of silky hair. When her fingers reached the elastic barrier of his pajama bottoms, they paused again, and she became aware of the fact that Spencer had gone completely still. Even his breathing had stopped.
She took the higher road, literally. Instead of burrowing beneath the waistband, her hand glided over the top and found his straining length beneath the fabric. She slid her palm over his hard, thick shaft and cupped him possessively. His breath exploded from his chest on a long groan, and it was all Daff could do to stop herself from groaning in sympathy. She wanted him again. She couldn’t get enough of him. She climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, and allowed herself one quick grind up against him before she lifted her warm wetness all the way off him.
His hands went to her hips as he tried to drag her back down, but she smiled into his strained face before putting her own hands over his and pulling them away.
“Nope. I’m driving this bus, mister. Just keep your hands to yourself.”
“You’re killing me, Daff,” he said hoarsely.
“You’ll survive.” She lowered her head and latched her mouth onto his neck and sucked, knowing that the pressure was too strong and uncaring of the mark she’d leave there. He loved it, throwing his head back to allow her more access. His arms were stretched out over the back of the sofa, and for now he followed her rules and kept his hands well away from her.
Daff kissed her way down over his chest, lavishing attention on his nipples, and his hips bucked, sneakily stealing another quick grind against her naked core. She hissed at the scalding sensation and bit back a cry of pleasure.
“Keep that penis under lockdown, Spencer. It’s not allowed to join the fun and games yet,” she instructed sternly, and he practically sobbed in response to that. Her mouth went back to his nipples before following the same trail down his torso that her fingers had just moments ago. She crawled off the sofa until she was kneeling between his spread legs, her hands braced on each hard, thickly muscled thigh, spreading them farther apart to allow her better access.
Her lips reached the same barrier her fingers had, and she lifted her face to contemplate the pajama bottoms thoughtfully. Her hands crept up to the waistband, and her fingers folded over the elastic and tugged. When they didn’t budge, she looked up into his strained face.
“Lift your tight little butt, big guy, I’ve got work to do here.”
“Daff?”
“Don’t make me ask again,” she warned him, feeling a little giddy with the extent of her arousal. She kind of liked bossing him around like this. She was drenched with need, and every time he wordlessly obeyed one of her commands, her lady bits clenched painfully. He closed his eyes and did as she demanded, lifting his hips just enough for her to tug his pajamas down over his lean hips. They snagged over the rigid pole of his penis, and she gently lifted the elasticized waistband up and over his pulsing staff.
She groaned hungrily when he was exposed to her and licked her lips at the beautiful sight just inches from her face.
Spencer wasn’t sure what her endgame was, and he watched her intently as she examined his aching cock without making a move to touch it. He was happy to let her play and discover, knowing that after years of feeling helpless during sex, she needed the opportunity to explore the true extent of her power over him.
Her small hand wrapped around his penis and peeled it away from his stomach, and he hissed in response to the sensation of her tight fist closing around him. He looked at her silky hair, unsure of what to expect, and then sighed in relief when he felt her hand begin to stroke him, slowly and sensuously. His breath was shuddering unevenly in and out of his lungs and, unable to resist, he reached down with both hands to caress her hair gently. Just this touch—surely she wouldn’t begrudge him this touch.
“Feels good, darling,” he encouraged hoarsely. “Feels so . . . Oh my God !” The top of his head just about blew off when he felt the first tentative stroke of her tongue on him. She licked him delicately, like she would an ice cream cone, along the top, down the sides, then back up to the top. His hips jerked abruptly and uncontrollably before he tried his best to minimize his movements, not wanting to scare her off. His resolve lasted only as long as it took for her to add a little suction, and that was when he cried out, his eyes welling with tears of bliss and frustration. His hands curled into fists in her hair. His instinct was to thrust, but he knew he couldn’t. She needed to control the movement. But dear God, it was killing him. Until finally, miraculously, she found a rhythm.
“Oh . . . Jesus!” She increased her suction, took more of him, moving her lips up and down the hard shaft so damned sweetly that he nearly wept at the incredible sensations. But—“Daff, you’ve got to stop . . . Stop, darling, I can’t hold off for much longer.”
To his eternal regret, she lifted her mouth to look at him.
“Why?” she pouted. For the first time, he noticed that her other hand was between her thighs as she took her own pleasure while giving it to him. It made him so fucking happy that she was taking enjoyment from this act, which had seemed so distasteful to her before, that for a moment he lost his train of thought.
“Uh. Because, I’m going to come,” he finally remembered to reply, and as if on cue his cock throbbed in her hand, which was encircled around the base.
Daff frowned, confused by his words. Of course he was going to come—that was the point. She wanted him to come. It was such a turn-on having him in her mouth, feeling his helpless responses to her every touch and kiss.
Who knew?
“I want to taste you,” she said resolutely, her voice sounding embarrassingly sexy even to her, and before he could respond, she went back to her task and this time didn’t let up until he cried out hoarsely, the sound filled with a crazy mix of anguish and ecstasy, and came so copiously she could barely keep up.
She loved how, during his orgasm, which looked and felt mind-blowing, his grip on her head never tightened. He never took over the rhythm or shoved himself all the way to the back of her throat. He allowed her to decide how much she was willing to take and she adored that about him. Her regard shifted to his face; his eyes were screwed shut, his head thrown back, and the cords in his neck were strained. He looked beautiful, primal and fierce, and seeing him like that sent her over the edge. She lifted her mouth from his waning hardness and cried out as she came violently and powerfully. She went limp and was dimly aware of him dragging her trembling body up until she was cradled in his lap, his softening penis fitting snugly against her bottom.
He planted little kisses all over her face and claimed her mouth for a hot, deep, very thorough kiss. Another surprise. In her—admittedly crappy—experience, guys didn’t like to kiss her after she’d gone down on them.
“Thank you,” he whispered, sounding completely drained.
“No, thank you. That was such a turn-on.”
“Hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you—” He didn’t complete the question, but she knew what he wanted to ask.
“Well, for starters, this movie blows. It’s boring as hell. So I found something more entertaining to do.” She heard the deep rumble of his chuckle beneath her ear and smiled. “I loved it. Now stop overanalyzing crap again. And you’d better get used to the bj’s, dude. Because the menu has changed and you’re now on it.”
He laughed outright at that.
“Cheesy, McGregor.”
“Give a girl a break, Carlisle. You’ve tired me out. My brain is on autopilot. And don’t change the channel—this movie is the perfect sleep aid.”
They went to bed early and, exhausted from their day of excessive sexual indulgences, they did nothing but sleep—naked and wrapped up in each other’s arms—all night long.
The following morning, Spencer cracked open an eye and groaned at the bright sunlight flooding the small bedroom. He flung an arm out, looking for Daff, wanting to introduce her to his morning wood, but she was nowhere to be found. He frowned and sat up. The room was empty.
Panicking for a moment, concerned that she was once again sporting a pair of cold feet, he flung the bedcovers aside and jumped out of bed, intent on finding her and kissing her doubts away. He was headed toward the bedroom door when it creaked open and Daff carefully shouldered her way in, clutching a breakfast tray in her hands. She looked startled to find him standing just on the other side of the door.
“Oh, you’re up,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. “I fixed us some breakfast.” His eyes swept down to the tray in bemusement. Two cups of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. And a fresh flower in a slender vase. He peered at the flower closely.
“Is this a daffodil?” She went bright red at the question.
“It’s the only flower I could find out in the garden. Daisy planted a crapload of daffodils when she first moved in. I’m pretty sure she did it to annoy me or something. She knows I hate them. Anyway, they’re the only ones in full bloom this time of year.”
“Why do you hate them? I love Daffodil . . . s.”
Daff rolled her eyes at Spencer’s lame little quip, but he barely cracked a smile and she blinked uncertainly.
“Let me help you with that tray,” he offered, and the awkward moment slipped by. “This all looks awesome, thank you.” They retreated to the bed and sat cross-legged facing each other. Daff aimed an exasperated look at his lap.
“You couldn’t put on your pajamas?” she asked, tossing a pillow into his lap to cover up his eager erection. She was wearing his top as usual, and it was modestly tucked over her lap, concealing her from his hungry scrutiny.
“Couldn’t find them.” He shrugged. “Besides, putting them on just to take them off again seems like a waste of time and energy.”
“Uh-uh, Spencer, no time for any rumpy-pumpy this morning, boy-o. We’re taking Charlie out, remember?”
“Fuck. I forgot.” He’d made arrangements to pick her up at ten this morning, and while Charlie hadn’t seemed too enthused, Daff’s mother had ignored the girl’s surly reaction and had cheerfully agreed that Charlie would be ready and waiting for them.
“I figured. But you can’t cancel.”
“I know. I wouldn’t.” Of course he wouldn’t. He took his commitments seriously, and he would never disappoint the girl. Even if she probably wasn’t really keen on the idea of spending the day with them.
“What’s the time?” he asked while hastily gulping down his coffee.
“Eight thirty, no rush. Enjoy your breakfast.” He ignored her words and continued to gobble down his breakfast, occasionally buttering a piece of toast and hand-feeding it to her when she ate too little and too slowly for his liking. Daff rolled her eyes but accepted the offerings.
“I said there was no rush, Spencer,” she said when he’d polished off the meal in record time.
“Hmm.” He wiped an arm across his mouth, moved the tray aside, and then focused a predatory look on her. “Rush through breakfast, take my time through dessert.”
“Oh.”
In the end they wound up rushing anyway. After a lengthy and satisfying morning session, they broke all speed records to get showered and changed before dashing over to the McGregor farm in Spencer’s truck.
They had just parked in front of the farm when Daff glanced over at Spencer and gave a horrified shriek. He jolted and shot her an alarmed look.
“What the fuck?”
“Oh my God! Your neck.”
“What? Is it a spider?” He sounded so panicked that for a moment she forgot her own horror and stared at him in fascination.
No way.
“Are you afraid of spiders? Is big, bad Spencer Carlisle terrified of a teensy, weensy wittle spider-wider?”
“Is it a spider, Daff?” he asked urgently, starting to dust at his clothes and his hair. He looked completely freaked out. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying her best not to laugh, and he glared at her before hopping out of the truck and doing the spider dance, all flapping arms and flailing legs.
Daff was hosing herself with laughter. She practically fell out of the truck and rounded the front of it to watch him flail around. It was too much. This massive specimen of man afraid of a tiny bug. It was absolutely adorable.
“Did I get it?” he asked after he stopped flapping around, both his hair and eyes completely wild.
“Th-there wasn’t one.” She forced the words out between the gales of helpless laughter. “N-no spider, Spenc . . .”
“What the fuck, Daff? Why did you say there was?”
“I—I didn’t . . . it’s the . . . you have . . .” She was bent over, hands braced on her knees as she tried to compose herself. This was serious. He couldn’t talk to her mother looking like that. But she just couldn’t stop laughing. “Hi-hi-hickey. Neck!”
She lifted a hand to point, and he clapped his palm over his neck, somehow looking even more horrified than he had just moments ago. It set Daff off again, and they were both unaware of the group of people on the porch now watching them in bemusement.
“So what’s going on, guys?” It was Mason. Why the hell was Mason here? Daff looked up to see her entire family on the porch, watching her and Spencer. Her mother had a small smile on her face while everybody else just looked befuddled.
“Uh . . .” Daff pointed at Spencer. “Spencer’s afraid of spiders.”
“Yeah. He’s a regular wimp with creepy-crawlies, made me get rid of them when we were growing up. When we got older, I used to charge him for the service. Take note, kid.” This last as an aside to Charlie, who had her best rebellious teen face on.
Spencer, still clutching a hand to his neck, was staring back at everybody silently. He looked confused, trapped, and so unutterably defenseless that it just about broke Daff’s heart.
She straightened and walked over to where he stood, always completely separate from everybody else, and stepped into his little bubble of isolation, taking his free hand into hers.
“Wrong side of your neck, big guy,” she informed him beneath her breath, and his eyes dropped to hers. He looked so achingly vulnerable, and she smiled up at him.
“Just this,” she said. “Spencer and Daff.”
She clutched his big hand between both of hers, and he lowered his hand from his neck as he lifted his head to face her entire family and his.