CHAPTER EIGHT
Once again, Spencer didn’t join her for lunch, and an earnest young man named Alton delivered the food. This time the note was sealed in an envelope and stapled to the bag like the day before. Daff couldn’t wait for Alton to leave so that she could read it.
Daff,
I have another meeting today. Don’t know how I’ll get through it. I’ve been hard all day, thinking about how hot and wet and messy and very fucking sexy our encounter was last night. I suggest we keep trying this sex thing till we get it right. Because getting it wrong feels pretty damned amazing.
Enjoy your lunch. Eat every bite—you’re going to need your strength.
XX
S
Daff sighed and held the note to her chest for a moment, a dreamy smile on her face as she considered his words.
Damn it, why did he have to be so irresistible? The man was very swiftly becoming the most all-consuming force in her life. She couldn’t stop thinking about him—her hair smelled like his shampoo, her body like his soap. Her mouth and breasts were still tender from his kisses, and everything south of her waist tingled and buzzed and clenched at the memory of his solid heat grinding against her softness.
Daff had never really liked sex, but with Spencer, maybe the humiliation and wrongness she’d always felt wouldn’t be so bad. She’d certainly felt no regret after their last two encounters. But that could very well be because they hadn’t truly had sex. She dreaded the inevitability of that particular intimacy, but for once had hope that it would turn out okay. Spencer was different. He wasn’t as arrogant or as brash and condescending as any of the guys she had formerly dated.
“What are you mooning about?” The voice was unexpected, and Daff swore and nearly dropped the note in fright. Daisy had managed to walk right up to the counter without Daff hearing the bell at the door or her sensing her presence.
“Shit, you scared me, Deedee!” Her youngest sister grimaced at the nickname—she had never liked it—before homing in on the brown paper bag on the counter in front of Daff.
“You were so busy mooning over your love letter that you didn’t even hear me come in,” Daisy said while opening up the bag to peek at the contents. “Yum! New boyfriend? Is he a chef? Because this looks awesome.”
Daisy stuck her hand into the bag and withdrew several of the now-familiar plastic containers. Where did Spencer find the time to pack these lunches? Daff hadn’t noticed him preparing anything that morning. Or the day before.
“Oh my, is this lamb tagine?” Daisy asked, practically drooling, after opening the biggest box. “It smells divine. I’m starving and there’s enough here for two. Want to share with your poor, hungry baby sister?”
“I thought you were dieting for the wedding?”
“Please, you know that’s just something people feel compelled to say before they get married. Anyway, breakfast was hours ago. I’m starving.”
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Half day, remember? Mason’s picking me up from here.” Daisy rolled her eyes at Daff’s blank stare before elaborating, “I told you last night, Mason and I are heading to Knysna today for a cake tasting. And we’re choosing our invitations.” She gave an excited little squeal, and Daff couldn’t help but grin at her sister’s enthusiasm. Daisy was enjoying the planning process so much more than Lia had. Every part of it for Daisy was fun and exciting, while for Lia it had been a chore and she’d quickly regressed into a moody, bitchy bridezilla. Now, of course, they all knew that Lia had been stressed because deep down inside, she had known she was making a mistake. Daisy—as she had once told Daff with joyful tears in her eyes—had never felt more positive about anything in her life.
“Wouldn’t eating now spoil the whole cake-tasting experience?” Daff asked.
“It’ll probably improve it. If I’m hungry, any old thing will taste awesome to me and I wouldn’t be making an informed decision. So you can totally share this with me.” Daisy looked uncertain for a moment before adding, “Unless your mystery man will be joining you for lunch?”
“There’s no mystery man,” Daff denied, blushing furiously, and Daisy’s loud, obnoxious snort of laughter told her that her sister wasn’t buying that denial at all.
“Is he a local guy?”
“There’s no guy.”
“So where did this come from?”
“Maybe I made it myself.”
“Please, you’re a terrible cook. There’s no way you made this.”
“I ordered takeout from MJ’s.”
“This has never been, and will never be, on MJ’s menu. So spin another tale.”
Before Daff could respond, her phone, which was resting on the counter between them, rang, and Daisy’s eyes widened when she saw the image and name that popped up on the screen.
Daff grabbed up the phone guiltily and jabbed the screen before lifting it to her ear and turning her back on Daisy. How could the man have such awesome sexual timing and such terrible timing everywhere else?
“Hey,” she greeted furtively, and then her eyes slid shut involuntarily when his rough, no-nonsense voice echoed the greeting.
“How’s lunch?” he asked.
“Haven’t had a chance to sample it yet,” she said in a near whisper, painfully aware of Daisy’s flapping ears.
“Make sure you eat it.”
“I will,” she promised him, an involuntary smile coming to her lips. With anybody else she would have taken exception to the bossiness, but on Spencer it was kind of endearing, maybe because she knew his gruffness stemmed from a genuine place of concern. And she just didn’t have the heart or will to be indignant.
“How was your meeting?” she asked.
“Still going. I took a quick break to call you.” He’d interrupted work for her? For her? That made her feel way too special.
“That’s—that’s . . . I honestly don’t know what that is.” He chuckled at the candid statement.
“It is what it is. See you later?”
“Definitely,” she promised him huskily. He disconnected the call, and Daff turned to face her avidly staring youngest sister nervously.
“Sooooo.” Daisy drew the word out irritatingly, her elbows resting on the counter and her chin cradled in the palms of her hands. “Who’s the Dick and does he really look like a cartoon penis in a top hat?”
Daff was grateful that she had so impulsively changed Spencer’s name and pic on her phone.
“He’s no one you need to concern yourself with.”
“Come on, Daff. A little hint. Where did you meet him?”
“It’s just a passing thing, Deedee. I don’t see the need to discuss the matter with you. If it were serious, it would be different. But it’s not. It’s just . . . sex.” She blushed a little, wondering why she felt like a fraud and a liar. And a traitor. She and Spencer had been clear on the matter. No-strings sex and no need to discuss this thing with family—especially not with nosy siblings.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” Daisy said with a put-out little huff, and Daff exhaled in frustration.
“Come on, Deedee, it’s still very new. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it. Especially when I know it’s not going anywhere.”
“You’ll let me know if anything changes? If it becomes serious?”
“It won’t.”
“I don’t know about that; you didn’t see your face when I first walked in here. You looked smitten.” Such a dated word. Quintessentially Daisy. It struck Daff that both her sisters were a lot more suited to Spencer than she was. Sweet and innocent and exactly the type of woman a decent, old-fashioned guy like Spencer needed in his life. Daff wasn’t sweet and she wasn’t innocent. She was much too cynical. Still, she wasn’t looking to settle down with the guy, so it didn’t matter if they weren’t compatible in any way other than sexually.
“I’m not smitten. He has a great body, a big dick, and can work wonders with his tongue,” she said, being deliberately crude, knowing her sister—who had been a freaking virgin before Mason—would be silenced by that. “That’s all I need from him.”
To her credit, Daisy, who did look a bit queasy after Daff’s frank statement, didn’t back down.
“He sends you lunch and writes you love notes—there has to be more to him than just a nice body and a . . . and a big p-penis.”
“Don’t forget the talented tongue,” Daff goaded, and Daisy glared at her. Daff waved the note in front of her face before continuing, “And this isn’t a love note. He’s telling me exactly where and how he wants to nail me next. Want to have a read? It’s very educational.”
“Sometimes it seems like you’ve never really left adolescence behind,” Daisy said tartly. “You behave like the same boy-crazy hormonal teenager you were in high school. What’s wrong with settling down?”
“Ugh, this again! Lia was the same. Why is it that the moment you find someone you’re ready to settle down with, you expect everybody else to follow suit? We don’t all want the same things in life, Daisy.”
“So what do you want?”
“I don’t bloody know. But why should I? Why can’t I just figure shit out as I go along?”
“Maybe because you’re thirty-two and directionless?”
“Well, we can’t all be perfect little Daisy McGregor with the degree and the career and the amazing man, can we? Some of us are born fuckups.”
“You’re not a fuckup.” Daisy rarely used profanity, and after getting over her surprise at the words, Daff was touched by her sister’s immediate and vehement defense. “You’re not. None of us think that. And maybe when you stop believing you are, you’ll be able to move forward with your life.”
“And how do you propose I move forward?” Daff had meant the words to be sharp and sarcastic, but instead they sounded almost . . . yearning.
“Quit this job, for one,” Daisy said softly. “You hate it. You’ve never said as much, but I know you do. You’re bored, and your active and intelligent mind is wasted here.”
Daff said nothing, not admitting or denying Daisy’s words, but surprised that her sister knew how much she hated the job. She had never divulged that information to anyone. Other than Spencer.
“I have to finish my lunch,” she said quietly, not acknowledging Daisy’s words. “If you still want half of this, I’ll stick it in a lunch box for you.”
“That’s okay. Mason will be here soon, and we can get lunch en route. But, before I forget, the other reason I popped in was to tell you that Mason and I are hosting a dinner for our wedding attendants—well, most of you. Sam Brand can’t make it, for obvious reasons. Just a fun evening so that everybody can get to know one another.”
“We already know one another.”
“Well, none of you have met Chris yet,” Daisy said, referring to Mason’s chef friend.
“When?”
“Saturday night. I hope you can make it.”
“It should be fine.”
“Feel free to invite your well-hung sex toy.”
“Daisy!” she gasped, shocked, and Daisy grinned unrepentantly. Lately her sweet youngest sister had developed the tendency to astonish her. And that was quite a feat. Daisy’s phone bleeped, and her smile softened when she looked at the screen.
“Mason’s here.” Mason’s sleek, sexy BMW i8 drove up just as she said the words, and she waved at him through the plate-glass windows. “See you on Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
Daisy had her hand on the door when Daff sighed and called her name. Her sister paused and looked back. “Enjoy the day, Deedee. I’m sorry about earlier.”
Daisy let go of the door and came back to enfold her in a tight hug.
“Don’t be silly. I shouldn’t have pushed the way I did.”
Daff ruffled Daisy’s crazy curls and gave her a nudge toward the door.
“Your carriage awaits, and your handsome prince is looking impatient to get you to himself.” They both watched Mason, who had vacated the car and was waiting next to the passenger door. He was shuffling from foot to foot in an attempt to stay warm in the frigid weather.
“We’ll chat later,” Daisy promised her before hurrying out to greet Mason. Daff watched as a goofy smile lit up Mason’s good-looking face and he wrapped his arms around Daisy’s cuddly figure, burying his nose in her neck for a brief instant before planting a hot kiss on Daisy’s lips.
Daff blushed at the steamy exchange—Daisy was her baby sister, after all—and was about to yell at them to get a room before they started making babies right on her doorstep when Mason lifted his head and smiled at Daisy. The naked adoration on the man’s face was evident to all, and Daff sighed softly. If she were a different person, she’d be envious. And she told herself that the only reason her chest felt so tight at the sight of the couple’s devotion to each other was because of the happiness she felt for her sister. Nothing else.
His staff was gone for the day, and Spencer was just finishing up a few last-minute e-mails before heading home when his phone beeped. He tensed before looking at it, sure that it would be Daff bailing on tonight. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw his brother’s name on the screen. Swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock the phone, his brow immediately furrowed when he saw the message.
Daff has a man. Know about it? Maybe an eighth for the stag?
Shit.
He thought about it for a second before replying.
How the fuck would I know about it? I’m not her bestie. She doesn’t braid my hair and tell me all her secrets.
He watched as Mason typed and typed and typed and then finally rang. His brother didn’t have the patience to send long texts.
“Yes?” Spencer snapped.
“Come on, Spence,” Mason said without any of the usual niceties. “You’ve been spending time with her lately. Hasn’t she dropped any hints?”
“We discussed the wedding and the party plans.”
“Aren’t you even curious about it?” Mason sounded surprised. “I figured you would be, since you’ve got the hots for her.”
“Not anymore.” Spencer contemplated the elephant stain on his ceiling, hoping lightning wouldn’t strike him down where he sat.
“Apparently she has him listed as the Dick on her phone. And she actually has a picture of a cartoon penis in a top hat as his profile pic.”
Spencer swallowed back a surprised laugh, wondering what fit of pique had led her to do that.
“No shit?” He could barely keep the laughter out of his voice.
“And he sends her lunch.”
“How do you know all of this? Has she mentioned this guy to Daisy?” Maybe paving the way to reveal their relationship to her family? Spencer felt an elated bubble of hope in his chest at the thought. That would be pretty terrific.
“Daisy was there when lunch was delivered.”
“Oh. And what did she tell Daisy about the guy?” Spencer asked, refusing to let go of that hope.
“Said she just needed him for his dick.”
The bubble burst into a million sad little pieces, and Spencer glared at his ceiling. He shouldn’t have asked.
“Then why do you think she’d even want him at the party?”
“I just figured it would pad the numbers. And according to Daisy, Daff does seem a bit starry-eyed over the guy, even if she denies it.”
“Yeah?” The bubble reformed, and Spencer sat up straighter in his chair.
“I told Daisy she was probably reading too much into it, but she wants her sisters to be happy and she worries about Daff.”
“It’s probably better not to interfere—you know how Daff can be. And honestly, we’re starting to sound like gossipy old women, so I’d rather not speculate any further,” he said firmly, and Mason chuckled.
“True. I think spending so much time with Daisy and her sisters has had an adverse effect on me. I’m way too involved with the gossip and the other chick stuff.”
“You need a guy’s night out.”
“Tomorrow night?” Mason asked hopefully, and Spencer briefly thought about Daff, wondered if she’d miss him if they didn’t spend a night together, and then grimaced. She wouldn’t care. He knew that. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.
Yet.
“Tomorrow night sounds fine. Tell your fiancée not to expect you back till the early hours of Saturday morning.”
“Awesome.”
Spencer was heading for his 4x4 when he saw her again, the young girl from the other night. She appeared to be loitering by his car, and when she saw him she immediately hastened away in the opposite direction. Spencer swore and increased his speed in an attempt to catch up with her. She was wearing the same huge jeans with a different shirt and a jacket that looked too thin to keep her warm in this weather.
“Hold up,” he called as he darted after her. She was moving so fast that she was practically jogging now. “Charlie. Hey. Stop.” He had a longer stride and caught up with her in just a few steps, taking hold of her thin elbow in the process.
“I didn’t steal anything,” the kid growled in frustration as she tried to yank her elbow from his grip.
“I didn’t think you did,” Spencer appeased, letting go of her and backing off a couple of steps to give her more space. She looked torn between running and staying, and he could see her trying to assess the situation and figure out if he was a threat. He backed up another step, keeping his hands in sight all the time. She relaxed marginally.
“I just wanted to talk.”
“About?” she asked warily.
“Wanted to know if we’ll see you on Monday?” Her smooth brow furrowed, and she shrugged.
“Dunno.” Now that he knew she was a girl, he could see why she disguised herself. She was quite pretty and, because of her circumstances, obviously felt the need to downplay that.
“Where are you staying? In the township?”
“No.”
“With your family.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What about school? Are you attending Riversend High?” With everything that had happened with Daff this week, Spencer had forgotten to ask Principal Kane about her. He felt guilty about that oversight.
She shrugged again in response to his question. Typical teenager.
“Okay, well, I work at the sports store. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’ve been where you are. I just want to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. Way too much prickly pride for one so young.
“Okay,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. “That’s cool. I still hope to see you on Monday. We’re doing that self-defense class.”
“I’ll check my schedule,” she said sarcastically, and Spencer bit back a grin.
“You do that,” he said seriously, trying to keep his amusement hidden.
“Can I go now?” she asked with a belligerent tilt of her chin.
“You’re free to do whatever you want.”
“See ya around,” she said casually, turning away with a dismissive wave. Spencer watched her walk away, again feeling a swell of concern for her. He didn’t think she had a permanent place to stay, and it worried him. She was young, vulnerable, and small enough for a strong breeze to blow over. Not ideal. He hoped like hell she would show up on Monday—something about her brought out all his protective instincts, and he wanted to be sure that she was safe.
He turned back to his car and saw that he was standing in front of Daff’s store. She had closed up for the day already, and he wondered if she was headed straight to his or if she was on her way home for a change of clothes. He hoped it was the latter. It was silly for her to go home to change every morning before work. But he knew that bringing an overnight bag would feel a little too much like a relationship to Daff. So he doubted the stubborn woman would bring so much as a toothbrush.
He didn’t know why he expected her for dinner, but she was a no-show. He ate a silent, solitary meal and glared at the empty chair across from his at the dinner table. Of course she wouldn’t come—that wasn’t the way this worked. He had a quick shower, changing into a pair of those pajamas she seemed to find so irresistible, and did some accounts. He was still trying to figure out an economically viable way to fix the plumbing at the community center. He could pay for the entire thing, of course, but this should be a community effort. He wanted people to get off their privileged asses and chip in. So far it looked like nobody else—aside from Mason, Oom Herbert, and Principal Kane—really gave a damn about these kids, and Spencer wanted to find a way to change that. He wanted his program to become something the entire town could be proud of. Maybe if they had a dedicated youth center. A safe haven where both the well-off kids and the at-risk kids could hang out and socialize. If Spencer and Mason had had a wider circle of friends, perhaps their grim home lives would have felt slightly more tolerable.
An idea started to bloom, and he began to jot down notes. He’d have to get Mason to sign off on it, but he was sure his brother wouldn’t mind. He was about to pick up his phone to call Mason when the soft knock on his front door sent all other considerations fleeing.
Daff.
He went rock hard in an instant.
Just like Pavlov’s fucking dog, he thought with a wry glance down at his straining crotch. He took a moment to will the erection away—his cock mocked him for even trying—before opening the door. She stood there, a cheeky grin on her face, her head tilted to the side and her hands planted on her hips.
“Hey there, big guy. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much.” He stepped aside to let her in. She sashayed past him, leaving him to follow in her deliciously scented wake. She always smelled amazing. He couldn’t tell if it was body wash, perfume, or just her shampoo. Again he wondered if it was vanilla or honeysuckle, and he was about to ask her when she sent him a cheeky peek over her shoulder.
“It’s hot in here. Won’t you take my coat?”
“Of course.” He reached out to help her. She shrugged out of her coat, revealing first one bare shoulder, then the other, then the slim, naked column of her back, her pert, perfectly peach-shaped ass, and finally those gorgeous, shapely legs. His mouth immediately went bone-dry as he drank in the sight of her nudity. Then she turned around, and he nearly passed out when even more blood drained from his brain straight down to his now throbbing cock.
“Christ almighty,” he breathed—prayed?—not quite sure where to look. At her beautiful face, adorned with a slightly nervous smile? Or maybe those pretty, perfectly shaped little pink-and-cream breasts? What about that delightfully dipped-in waist or that flat tummy? No, maybe his eyes should feast on the immaculately manicured V at the junction of her thighs. Yeah, that’s where his eyes wanted to be; that’s where his hands, mouth, tongue, and cock wanted to be as well. He groaned softly.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, and her smile widened.
“That’s the idea.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“And you’re a little overdressed.”
Jesus. So much for his vow not to let her dictate the pace of this relationship. He’d had no intention of making love to her tonight, but how the hell was he supposed to resist this?
“Come on, Spencer, show me some skin,” she pouted, tugging at his pajama collar, slipping her fingers between the gaps in the front to get at the skin beneath. He fought for control as he unfastened the top button and stepped back to tug it over his head and off. She gave a delighted little purr that turned into an undignified squawk when he unceremoniously pulled his top over her head and yanked her arms into the armholes before dragging it down over her hips and thighs.
He heaved a sigh of relief when she was somewhat covered and leaned in to give her shocked mouth a hot, brief kiss. She folded her arms over her chest and met his eyes defiantly. He was alarmed to see a touch of hurt beneath the bluster.
“Why’d you do that?”
“For my sanity,” he said, smoothing a thumb over one of her cheeks. “You eat?”
“I’m not here to eat. Look, Spencer, this teenage petting business is not what I signed up for. I mean, it was cute at first, but it’s beginning to get old. It’s time we get down to business, don’t you think?”
“That’s a shame, really. Since I didn’t get to pet you when we were teenagers, and I was just making up for lost time and lost opportunities.”
He could see her fighting back a smile at those words, but she tamped down her amusement.
“Well, I think you’ve more than made up for lost time. So why not just get down to the nitty-gritty?”
“Hmm.” His thumb moved from her cheek to the sensitive spot just below her earlobe. She shuddered, forgetting what else she’d been about to say, and leaned into his touch. He stroked his thumb to the hollow of her throat and lingered there while he dipped his head for another thirsty kiss. She opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with an appreciative moan. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she strained up onto her toes, trying to get as close to him as she could, trying to dictate the pace again . . . He drew back, ignoring her frustrated sob.
“How was your day, darling?” he asked, and she glared at him.
“Are you kidding me with this?”
“With what?”
“This! Whatever the hell this is! What are you doing? This is not how it’s supposed to go.”
“How what’s supposed to go?” he asked patiently.
“You’re maddening,” she seethed. “Our no-strings sex thing.”
“I’m not too familiar with the rules of such a thing. I’m just playing it by ear.”
“It’s not that complicated! We have sex. That’s it. You’re being deliberately—humph.” He shut her up with another kiss. A long, deep, intense kiss.
Before she quite knew what was happening, they were on the sofa. She was flat on her back and he was nestled between her thighs, his hard cock grinding up against her mound.
“You feel so hot and hard, Spencer. I want to feel you naked against me. Please.” Daff had never begged a man for sex. Had never really wanted to. She’d been happy to let her previous partners control the pace, the mood, the setting . . . the genre. That probably wasn’t the right word, but that’s what came to mind: the type of sex. Rough, gentle, oral (for men only, of course, selfish bastards), missionary . . . rough. Mostly rough. Scary rough. Spencer didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take it to that place, but neither had her last partner. So Daff wanted to be the one to do the picking and choosing this time. She wanted to dictate the pace. But Spencer wasn’t playing ball. He had his own set of rules, and it was confusing and frightening.
Did he want what the others had wanted? What they had assumed she would want and had then taken without real consent? If she offered it to him, that would still be a way of maintaining control, wouldn’t it? She was mulling it over, only half-aware of him unbuttoning her top and tracing kisses down her chest. It was only when his hot, hungry mouth latched on to her breast that she was brought back to the very pleasurable present.
She gasped and buried her fingers in his hair, loving the more forceful tugs on her nipple. In their previous encounters, he had teased and tormented with nibbles and barely there little suctioning kisses. This was more like it. Deciding to go for it, to be brave and take matters into her own hands, she grabbed one of his large, busy hands and dragged it up over her breast and then her chest.
He stopped playing with her breasts and lifted his head to watch her. She smiled, brought his hand up, and sucked the tip of each finger into her mouth, loving the way his beautiful eyes darkened with each bit of suctioning. Then she did it, the bit she dreaded the most. The bit that always seemed to turn guys all the way on. She brought that big, strong hand to her throat and left it there. He frowned slightly, wrapping his palm over her slender throat but not doing more than that.
“It’s okay,” she promised him. Sounding braver and steadier than she felt. “You can squeeze.”
She hated this part, hated how suffocating it was, how terrifying it felt to have her air cut off. Hated how much they seemed to love the discomfort it caused her. Spencer did nothing, his palm hot against her skin. He was staring intently down at her.
“Do it,” she urged, hating the tension, dreading the inevitability.
“Do you really want me to?” he finally asked, sounding almost bored. His thumb was idly stroking her wildly pulsing carotid artery, and she swallowed. His question baffled her, and she had no idea what the right answer was.
After a moment’s thought, she nodded, and his eyes narrowed before he smiled. The parting of his lips was slow and beautiful. He lowered his head and touched those lips to hers. The kiss was soft and delicate, his tongue coming out to trace the seam of her mouth. But when she parted her lips to allow him access, he retreated, lifting his head to look at her again. His hand was still at her throat, but there was no pressure yet, just that soft up-and-down sweep of his thumb. This was so much worse than usual. To follow up this tenderness with pain and humiliation would be unbearable.
“Just do it,” she urged tightly, and he looked at her for a moment longer before his lips tilted at the corner and he shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
What?
He stroked his hand away from her throat down the front of her body, sweeping between the shallow valley of her breasts before bringing it to the cleft of her pussy.
“There are so many other, more satisfying, things I could be doing with this hand.” His voice was a rumble, and she groaned when his index finger found the swollen bundle of nerves at her center and proceeded to strum it delicately. She writhed in pleasure, completely overwhelmed.
“That’s it, darling,” he crooned. “Isn’t this much better?”
He went back to her nipples, and the brief awkwardness of the moment was swept away in a tide of overwhelming lust. She arched her back, pushing her chest closer to his mouth, while she lifted her hips to encourage that softly stroking finger. Wanting him to put more effort into it. He lifted his head to grin at her, and then he was on the move again and Daff smiled as she watched his head travel down.
“Oh yes,” she sighed when his lips closed over her clit, replacing his finger. Yes, this was definitely her new favorite thing. “Feel free to just set up camp down there,” she invited him, and he chuckled. That huff of breath felt amazing on the straining, swollen knot that was the very center of her universe right now, and she shivered deliciously. Without lifting his busy mouth, he reached for one of her hands and pushed it toward her chest.
“Play with your nipples,” he growled before going back to work.
Oh, with pleasure. She did as she was told, stroking, thumbing, and tugging at her hard nipples with both hands. He used his thumbs to part her pouting flesh, giving him unimpeded access to every sensitive bit of real estate down there, and he took full advantage, using his tongue to lave its way up the groove on one side of her clit and down the other. It traveled even farther down until she—shockingly—felt him probing for entry.
“Ohhhh my God!” she heard herself mewling. How long was his tongue? And how endlessly talented. It speared in and out of her clutching channel while his thumb took up the slack at her swollen clitoris. She felt so naïve in thinking—after the other night—that she now knew everything there was to know about cunnilingus, because she clearly knew absolutely nothing.
This was . . . it was . . . transcendent.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Never stop,” she chanted, moving her hips in time with every thrust of his tongue. Her hands fell away from her breasts to yank a couple of fistfuls of his hair; she knew it had to be painful, but she was barely aware of how rough she was being. Focused only on what he was doing with his mouth. Her thighs clamped over his ears, but that barely seemed to faze him, as he never lost pace. She was close. Very, very close. She felt herself melting all over his tongue as he took her higher and higher and higher.
Falling was inevitable. But she didn’t care . . . she needed to fall. She wanted to fall. It was her destiny to fall. Hard.
His tongue plunged into her one last time before he dragged it all the way out and latched onto her clit and suckled her. It was the push she needed, and she went tumbling. End over end. Falling from such a great height was dizzying and disorienting and truly amazing. And totally terrifying.
She was crying again. It was getting embarrassing, this crying after non-sex. What was going to happen when they actually did the deed? Was she going to drown the man in her tears? He didn’t seem to mind. He was holding her again, somehow wedging her between the back of the sofa and his massive bulk. Good thing he had man-size furniture, or the thing would never have accommodated them both. It was an inane thought, but it kept her from facing what a wreck this man was making of her.
“Better?” he asked a few long moments later, after her tears had finally dried up. She nodded and buried her face in his hard chest. She wriggled closer and felt his hard penis throbbing against her stomach. So big and hot, it was hard to ignore.
“That can’t be very comfortable,” she observed, and he shrugged.
“I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”
“Yes, you are,” she agreed pertly, stroking her hand over that impressive length so there’d be no misunderstanding her meaning. “But I’d rather be the one to handle it for you.”
He groaned when she slipped her hand under his waistband and wrapped her fingers around that hard, thick length.
“You don’t have to.” He didn’t sound very convincing, and she chuckled.
“I know, and that’s why I want to.” She felt his body ripple at the words and knew that she had scored a direct hit with that one.
“Not right now.” His voice sounded beyond strained, and she rolled her eyes.
“I don’t know why you’re denying yourself. I’m right here. Ready, willing, and able to give you the best damned head you’ve ever had in your life.”
Spencer couldn’t think straight while she had her hand wrapped around him like this. But something felt . . . off, somehow. Like, what the fuck was up with that weird moment earlier? Why would she invite him to fucking strangle her? She had looked terrified and resigned at the same time, so she wasn’t into it. So why the hell would she assume that Spencer was into erotic asphyxiation, for fuck’s sake? It was bizarre. He would love a few minutes in a dark alley with whoever the hell had fucked her up so badly.
Spencer definitely enjoyed Daff more when she was wild with desire and couldn’t control her responses to him. The second she regained her senses, everything she said or did felt practiced. Like she was going through some kind of sexual playbook. He liked that she was experienced, and he definitely enjoyed confidence in a woman. But this didn’t feel confident, it felt rehearsed, and while his cock was more than ready to go, his heart and mind were throwing up huge red flags. He wanted Daff, the real Daff, not whoever this woman with the plastered-on smile was. If he consented to this, it would feel like he was using her, and he wanted her to enjoy everything they did together. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable or degraded.
“I have a different idea,” he said, his voice hoarse with strain. “Why don’t we take a shower and watch a movie?”
She gaped at him, her mouth literally falling open as she gawked at him in utter disbelief.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Don’t you want me?”
Oh hell.
“You know the answer to that,” he said gently, pointedly thrusting in her grip and then cursing out loud as the sensation nearly undid him.
“Then why?”
He sighed and sat up, grateful when her fingers loosened around his penis. She withdrew her hand completely and sat up as well, folding her hands in her lap and staring up at him beneath that tumble of gorgeous brown hair. She looked confused and hurt and verging on pissed off. And he couldn’t blame her for any of those things.
“Because,” he answered her baffled question, “I don’t think you actually enjoy giving the ‘best damned head.’ And I know that if I ask you straight up if you like it, you’re going to give me another bullshit evasive answer.”
“I don’t have to enjoy it,” she snapped. “As long as you do. Isn’t that the point of a blow job?”
“Darling, do you think I didn’t relish every fucking second of what I did to you earlier? The taste of you, the way you melted in my mouth, your sounds, your hands in my hair . . . biggest turn-on of my life. I could have feasted all night. Can you honestly say you would have enjoyed reciprocating as much?”
“How should I know? You didn’t give me the opportunity.”
Fair point.
“Daff, if you go down on me, I don’t want it to be because you think you have to. I don’t want you to ever feel forced to do anything. Everything we do here is meant to be for our mutual pleasure.”
“And you’re saying a blow job wouldn’t have given you pleasure?”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. And while we’re on the subject, what the fuck was that other shit about?”
She flushed and evaded his eyes. “I thought we could try something interesting and different.”
“Fuck that, you were hating every second of it. You did it because you thought you had to, didn’t you? Because you thought I’d like it. You thought I’d enjoy cutting off your air and making you fight for breath. News flash, darling, I can make you gasp without deliberately restricting your fucking oxygen supply. And the thought of hurting you in any way makes me want to vomit. What fucking asshole made you believe that men want to hurt you?”
That seemed to hit the mark, and her lips trembled in her pale face. Her eyes skidded around the room, never once meeting his.
“I don’t think we should do this anymore.”
“Why? Because I’m hitting a nerve?”
“This experiment is over, Spencer. This is more stress than it’s worth. It was supposed to be a little bit of fun for both of us, and you turned it into more than it is. I should have known better than to get involved with you.” She got up and glared at him. “Why couldn’t you just lie back and enjoy what I was offering, like a normal guy? Why did you have to make it weird?”
“I’m not the one who made it weird! Who gave you all these hang-ups?”
“I’m not the one with the hang-ups. What kind of red-blooded male won’t take what I’ve been offering?”
“This kind.” He jerked a thumb to his chest and glared at her, allowing her the height advantage because he didn’t want her to feel intimidated when she already looked like she was close to her breaking point. “You were never completely on board, Daff. Admit it. And to be honest, neither was I. I don’t want a no-strings sex thing. I want strings, lots of strings. I want a chance to get to know you, to spend time with you, to be a couple.”
Spencer wasn’t one for talking much, but sometimes shit needed saying and this was one of those moments. He could be an eloquent fucker when the mood struck, and right now, it was important to let her know exactly what he wanted.
“I don’t want that. Not all women want that. If that’s what you’re looking for, then I’m not the woman for you. I don’t do the normal couple thing, Spencer. I told you. It doesn’t suit me.”
He ran a tired hand through his hair and watched her helplessly. There was really no way forward from this point. He wanted more than he could have, more than she could or would give. So it was time to cut his losses and salvage the situation as best he could.
“We’re going to have to figure out where we go from here, Daff. There’s the wedding to consider.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, hiking the pajama top dangerously high.
“We could just go back to the way things were before all of this madness.”
“No. We should be friends.” He couldn’t believe he was sitting here saying this, while his cock was still at half-mast and he was willing that top to go just a couple of inches higher so that he could enjoy the sight of her nudity one last time. Friendship with this woman was literally the last thing he wanted, but if it was all he could have, then he would take it.
She looked hesitant.
“You can’t just demand friendship.”
“Why not? We get along. Have shit in common. We can be friends.”
“I can’t think straight. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m knackered and have to get home.”
“Stay here.” She stared at him like he’d gone off his head, which was fair, since it wasn’t the most practical suggestion in light of the situation.
“No.”
“It’s late.”
“Yes, so I should really get going.” He acknowledged her words with a nod and a sigh. She walked to the front door, picking up her coat—which lay forgotten on the floor—along the way. She shrugged into it before he could assist her and patted her pockets in search of her keys.
“Do you have your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t like the thought of you driving alone at this time of night.”
“I live five minutes away. Stop being such an old woman. I’ll text you when I get home.”
“Once you’re safely indoors with your door closed and bolted behind you,” he stipulated.
“Sure. Whatever.” He couldn’t resist it—he tugged the trapped hair at her collar free and she glared at him.
“Well, you never seem to get around to it,” he explained, hiking a shoulder.
“Maybe I like it there. Maybe it’s a neck warmer.”
So touchy.
“Sorry, darling. It won’t happen again.”
“Yeah, that can’t happen again, either.”
“What?” he asked, baffled.
“The darling thing. Don’t call me that.”
“You said you like it,” he reminded.
“It’s not appropriate. What if you slip up and call me that in front of the others?”
This whole friend thing—if she even consented to it—was going to be challenging.
“We’ll talk again soon,” she promised him, then opened the door and left before he could say anything more.
Spencer sighed and resigned himself to a night with just his palm and a bottle of scotch for company. Same shit, different day, really.
Tomorrow would sort itself out.