Chapter Twenty
After a few hours of enjoying the sun, well Roy in the sun and me under a canopy slathered in layers of sunscreen, the yacht pulls into the bustling port of Charlotte Amelie. Compared to the secluded compound on St. John, it’s jarring. All the tourists remind me of ants invading a rival hill.
“No,” I groan as I spy Proctor waiting for us at the end of the pier. “I thought this was just for us.”
“It is.” He propels me forward with his hand on the nape of my neck.
“Then why is he here?”
“I told you there would always be a level of security.”
“We haven’t had any on the island or the yacht.”
He stops and crosses his arms. “We don’t need it there. This is non-negotiable. Proctor won’t impede anything you want to do.”
“Jason’s dead. And I doubt the person who gave me the ring is here.”
“Baby, this is because of what I do, my company.”
I remember the day he showed up at Mangler. What I thought was a driver opened the door for him. Standing on a dock in St. Thomas is not the time to have this conversation, but I’m not ready to be followed around like we’re being chaperoned. “I’m not okay with this.”
“It’s standard operating procedure. We can talk about it tonight if you want.”
I smile as we near Proctor; it’s not his fault.
“Are we set?” Roy asks Proctor.
“Yes,” Proctor replies.
“Alright then, shopping first, followed by dinner.”
“I’m not a big shopper,” I mumble. “But I should get something for my aunts and Vincent. Dammit!”
Roy’s arm wraps around my waist protectively while Proctor scans the crowd.
“I forgot my purse.”
“Baby.” Roy relaxes against me. “You don’t need money; you’ve got me.”
“I meant to bring it, but someone sidetracked me.” I smile up at him. “I’ll pay you back.”
“You will not,” he responds and directs me toward a street filled with colorful shops.
Proctor slips in behind us, probably frightening more than a few tourists.
We meander down the cobbled streets while perusing the varied selection of items in each store. And it’s hard not to pinch my arm because none of this feels real.
I bought Aunt Stella a little painting of palm trees. It was a bit more difficult to find something for Aunt Mae, but after going in a few shops, I found her a small box with an island view painted on top.
Vincent was much easier to buy for. Some snazzy spandex shorts in bright yellow with a pineapple strategically placed on the front. Roy gave me some wicked side-eye when I showed him those. Until I explained who it was for, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Probably afraid I’d want him to wear them.
As we passed a jewelry shop, Roy said he needed to do some shopping. How could I say no?
“Mr. Blackwood.” The waiter at Oceana interrupts my thoughts. “So nice to see you again and with such lovely company.” He indicates for us to follow him. “Your table is ready.”
After we’re seated, Roy asks, “Do you have a bottle of White Gold?”
The waiter’s face instantly lights up. “We’re lucky enough to have two.”
Roy nods. “We’ll need a few moments to look over the menu.”
“Of course.” The waiter briskly walks to Proctor’s table.
“Tell me again why Proctor can’t sit with us. He shouldn’t be eating alone.” Roy has reserved the whole outside patio space. So it’s just the three of us, except Proctor is seated by the door while we’re at a table with the most spectacular view of the ocean.
“Because he’s working.” He sets his warm hand on my thigh. “Trust me. He’s happier alone.”
“Does he…Is he…”
Roy’s forefinger taps against my thigh.
I lean in and whisper, “Does he date? Is he married?”
“Matchmaking, Miss Aldridge?”
“No, I…” I fidget with my napkin. “I want him to be happy.”
The smirk on Roy’s face makes my palm twitch. “He has particular tastes that he indulges.”
What does that mean? And I’m a breath away from asking when he takes my hand.
“Trust me when I tell you he’s better than he has been in a long time.”
What was he like before? It’s hard to reconcile the image of his fresh face in the photo I found to what he’s become. I nod and turn the page on the conversation. “Is the steak good here?”
His eyebrow lifts. “I expected you to ask for pie or some other sugar-laden abomination.”
“I’ll need the protein for later.”
His hand tightens. “Really now. And what do you have in mind?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
With his finger, he runs a lock of hair behind my ear and kisses my earlobe. “I did promise we would do anything you wanted. I’ll strive to keep up.”
I cross my legs. “You’re getting older. You might need a nap.”
“Oh, a challenge, is it?”
I love it when Roy is playful, and my mind is churning for a witty response when the waiter arrives with our bottle of champagne.
“Here.” He hands me a glass. “To many more firsts together.”
I blush thinking of what we’ve shared, click his glass, and take a sip. The champagne is lighter and less sweet than what we had last night, and I wonder how much this is costing him.
“I know that look.” He lifts my chin with his finger. “What’s bothering you?”
I sigh. “I just…You spend too much money on me.”
“This is about our stop at the jewelry store.” He leans back in his seat. “If you don’t like it I’ll get you something else.”
“It’s not that.” The ring he bought is perfect and beautiful, and I’ve always loved sapphires. And this one is three carats. I know this because the jeweler and Roy had a long conversation about the cut and clarity while I stood there, protesting my objections. Neither of them listened to me. “It cost more than my house is worth.”
“I bought the woman I love something she likes. Get used to it, because there’s going to be a lot more of it.”
“I don’t need all this.”
“It’s nice, though, isn’t it?” He drains his glass and inches up in his seat, leaning his forearms on the table. “I grew up with nothing. The clothes I wore were donated. Food was packaged or canned.” His shoulders round like he’s carrying a heavy load. “Every day was a struggle, a fight—for respect, for people to see beyond my exterior.”
“But your grandmother?”
“I didn’t know of her until three years ago. Until she found me.” His smile is sad. “I have no memories of my mother. Evelyn told me her side of the story. How her granddaughter was headstrong. Ran off from boarding school, never to be seen alive again by her family.” He turns his head toward the ocean. “I don’t know what foolishness would make my mother do such a thing. Doom us to the horror…” His chest expands with a deep breath. “I do know that poverty is a sickness that passes to future generations. I clawed my way to where I am today. Nothing”—his eyes are hard when they meet mine—“I’ll do nothing to jeopardize my wealth. I’ll never go back to how I grew up. So when I tell you I can afford all this, I can.”
I have so many questions I want to ask. I can’t, not now, not when he’s finally opening up to me. “Thank you,” I say and let it go.
The rest of dinner is romantic, as is the boat ride back to St. John. I keep thinking the scenery isn’t real. It’s too picturesque, like something on a postcard. Except for the goat path; it deserves no place on any postcard.
“Do you want something to drink?” He opens the wine fridge and pulls out a bottle of white.
“It’s too expensive.”
He holds up the bottle with a quizzical look.
“The ring. Please take it back.”
He uncorks the bottle and pours a glass. “Didn’t we have this conversation at dinner?”
We did, in part. It’s not the ring, though, that has me uncomfortable. It’s the war I have raging inside. I’m a twenty-first-century woman. I can take care of myself. I’m independent. I don’t need a man to buy for me. And yet, I love being owned by him. The way his hand rests at the nape of my neck. How protective and possessive he is of me.
“Would you like it if I gave you gifts all the time?” I ask him.
His smile melts my heart. “You gave me a priceless gift last night.”
I blush uncontrollably. When the hell will I stop doing that? “I did it because I care for you, deeply. Not because I want you to buy me things.”
His thumb rubs across my cheek. “I know,” he whispers.
His touch short-circuits my brain. I dip my head and turn toward the living room. “I’m uncomfortable with it.”
“You’re making it sound like I’ve done something wrong.” He sits on the sofa and plants his feet on the ottoman. “When we get home, we’ll look into getting you a new car, and when the renovations are complete, I’d like you to live with me.”
My heart leaps with excitement. He’s asking me to live with him. Are we moving too fast? I think of my aunts. What will they think of the arrangement? And he can’t buy me a car. No, I think, definitely non-negotiable.
He’s studying my face like a scientist reviewing research data. “Is it you don’t want me? The car? The ring? Living with me? Or all the above?”
I plop on the ottoman.
“Daisy.” He sits up and rests his forearms on his thighs. “I’m expecting exclusivity here. We only see each other.”
“Of course.”
His shoulders relax. “Then explain why you’re fighting me.”
“You probably gave all your lovers expensive gifts.” Not a fair statement, I know, but there have been so many before me.
“I’ll not apologize for having a sex life. And no, the women were perfectly capable of buying themselves whatever they wanted. There was no expectation of anything other than mutual physical gratification.”
I wince. “So you feel sorry for me.”
“You’re not making any sense.” His eyes narrow like he’s attempting to see into my brain. “What’s this about?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I will not.”
“It’s not proper.” He goes to speak, but I press my fingers to his lips. “We haven’t been dating long. People will think I jumped into bed with the first man who showed an interest in me. Spending all kinds of money on me. It’s hard enough for my aunts with everyone always speculating about who I am and how I came to be adopted by them. I never want to hurt them. To have folks say they didn’t raise me with proper morals. For my actions to reflect poorly on them.”
A deep furrow of worry forms between his eyes.
“What I mean is they’re proud and have worked hard for everything they have.” I shake my head. “You know that.” And try again. “In some people’s eyes, it would look like I’m without values. Like…” I sigh. Disgusted I can’t articulate this better. “You’re a wealthy businessman and unbelievably handsome. I work in a laundry shop in a small town. I’ll be labeled a gold digger or a girl too stupid to realize she’s being used.”
“Do you believe I love you?”
I have no hesitation when I say yes. “And I know you’re going to say it doesn’t matter what other people think. I’m sure in LA or a big city or maybe anywhere else but Middleburg it would be okay. But Mangler is my aunts’ livelihood, and when they retire, I’ll keep running it and provide for them. Without it, I don’t know how they’d survive. They’d never take charity. Their father started the business, and all these years they’ve run it and made it into an institution in Middleburg. For my actions to cause customers to leave…”
He leans his head back. “Do you regret making love?” he asks, staring up at the ceiling.
“No.” I grab his hand and squeeze. My heart flutters when our eyes meet. “It was, is, the most beautiful experience.”
“So what we share isn’t wrong. You’re concerned more about the outer appearance of things. If you weren’t worried about your reputation and the repercussions it would have on your aunts, then it wouldn’t bother you.”
I shrug. “I understand you mean well, but to others…”
“I see.”
“I know I sound old-fashioned to you.”
“No, it’s my fault. If I’d been thinking more clearly, I should have expected this.”
Abruptly, he stands and, without explanation, walks out of the room.
I’m stunned and hurt and have no idea what is going on in his head.
A few minutes later he comes back with the jewelry box in hand. “Sit with me.” He waits until I stand and pulls me onto his lap. “I need you close.” He places the box on my lap and kisses me with longing. “Take the ring out.”
“Roy.”
“For me, please.”
I wish I were a different person, one who could accept such a gift. It glints in the light as I hold it up.
“Daisy.” He cups my face in his hand. “Marry me.”
I blink, thinking I must have misheard him. “What?”
“I’m asking you to marry me.”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“I love you. I know it’s too soon. Know you aren’t ready. We don’t have to set a date. It can be years from now or not at all if you decide you don’t want me. But it would show your aunts and everyone else how much I care for you. I want you to be my wife, to take care of you and your family.”
“I don’t need someone to take care of me.” My pride flares. “I’m doing fine financially.”
“I know. I don’t want you to be ashamed of our relationship. I want to provide for you. To know you’re driving a car with all the current safety features. I need to know you’re safe and secure in my home. Or I can stay at yours. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together.”
“I think I love you, I do, but I’m not sure. What if I change my mind?”
“I’d have to accept your decision. I’m not trying to trap you. I want to care for you. To protect you.”
Like he couldn’t protect his mother. I shouldn’t think of that now, but it scares me a little. “I need to keep my independence. My little house. To keep working at the shop. I won’t leave my aunts.”
“I understand.”
I had no idea he was even thinking of this. Even with my reservations, I’m so damn happy to know he wants to marry me.
“Daisy, I’m dying over here.”
“Will you let me care for you?”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Talk to me more about what you do. Not be so closed off about yourself. You know, share more of yourself with me.” I place my hand on his chest. “Like at dinner when you told me about your childhood.”
He tilts his head to the side. “When I can, I will.”
“Roy…”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
Is this insane? My heart is telling me this is the right thing. “Will you stop worrying about hurting me and make love to me like you did last night?” I can’t stop my smile from exploding.
“I’ll never stop worrying about hurting you.”
I bite my lip.
His eyebrow lifts, and a cocky grin replaces his worried look. “And I promise to make love to you whenever you want.”
“Is this crazy?”
“No, this makes sense.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He pulls me into his warm chest, wrapping his muscled arms around me. “I love you.” He takes my left hand and slips the ring on my finger. “For now. Tomorrow, you can pick out your engagement ring.”
“Why?” I’m admiring the ring on my finger. “This is exactly what I want.”
He eyes the sapphire on my finger. “It’s nice, but I want to get you a diamond.”
“This has lots of diamonds.”
“Why must you always argue with me?”
“I’m not, you are, and it’s my ring, after all.”
He kisses my cheek. “Do you want this as an engagement ring?”
“I do.”
“So be it.” He stands with me in his arms. “Where would you like to make passionate love with your fiancé?”
Everything is so new, so unexpected. At any moment, anything could happen, both good and bad. This leads me to ask, “What if it’s not the same?”
“Hmm.” He’s running his tongue up my neck.
A few more seconds of this, and I’ll have lost all recollection of what I was going to ask. “The sex,” I whisper, directly in his ear this time. “What if it isn’t as good?”
I feel the vibration on my breasts and belly before the laugh fills the room and causes him to heft me over his shoulder like a sack of feed.
“Wait.” There were more words to be spoken, but I’m spitting out my hair, which is trying to invade my mouth. I lift my head to see us pass from inside to outside. The distant waves fill my ears, as does the breeze rustling the languid palms.
I’m preparing to be dropped onto a chaise, but he continues and turns left, like we’re going back to the house, then stops. I hear a door, a box, a lid—I’m not sure—being opened and then darkness.
“Roy,” I call out.
“Shhh,” is his response.
He’s walking, but the darkness is complete. Then I am dropped onto a chaise.
“We’ll make love out in the open, under the heavens, with only the stars to hear our cries.”
I lean against the back cushion, not afraid but unsure.
“I know what you’re thinking. All this has been a fluke, and your frigidity will return.” His hands travel up my calves, my thighs; his thumbs hook around my panties and pull them down my legs. “I’m going to suck and lick and love and fuck you until you believe in that beautiful, hard head of yours that you are not frigid.”
There’s something about being outside with the warm breeze blowing over my body and the pitch black of the night surrounding us that has all my senses heightened. I can hear him unzip his pants, his shoes being kicked off. The clink of his watchband as his shirt gets caught.
“Can anyone see us up here?” Irrational, I know, but what if someone’s on a boat with binoculars or something, or a drone flying overhead?
“No.” The cushion dips with his weight. “Tell me; since we’re out here in the dark, where no one can see, what do you have planned for tonight?”
I don’t understand why I’m shy now when in the daylight, on the boat, I was confident.
“I can hear you thinking.” He rolls me onto my stomach. His legs bookend mine until they’re pressed together. His cock slides between my cheeks. His hands take mine and pull my arms above my head. The short stubble of facial hair rubs against my shoulder. “I need you to tell me, baby.”
I buck my hips up against him. He immediately lifts some of his weight off me. It’s not what I want, and I groan, needing him pressed against me again.
We stay like this, in a stalemate with him waiting and me afraid to open my mouth because I don’t want him to think I’m a freak.
“We played one of your fantasies today. It was nice. I liked it. Tell me another.” Lightly, he runs his teeth along my shoulder.
“Oh God,” I moan. “I like it when you talk dirty to me.”
“I’ve noticed.” He shifts his weight. “And I remember the first time I touched you here.” His tongue glides up to the nape of my neck. “How your lips quivered, and the blood rushed to your face. Tell me, my beautiful girl,” he purrs into my ear like Lucifer.
My heart is beating so fast I fear it will escape my chest. “I don’t know exactly how to describe it.”
His body slides to my side. My eyes are acclimating to the dark. I can see his profile. “Go on.”
“You could spank me.” Like love and hate tattooed on Reverend Harry Powell’s knuckles, I struggle with the desire for it and the shame of it.
He’s so quick. I hear the smack before the sting. “Ahh,” I exhale.
“I promised to do what you wanted tonight.”
Deep inside, my desire unfurls and, with his reassurance, rises up and through my lips. “Dominate me.” I’m glad I can’t see his face.
“Tell me more.”
I was afraid he’d laugh or think I was crazy or flat-out refuse. His lips graze my ear.
“I’m waiting,” he whispers.
“You’re always so careful. Like I’m going to break. I won’t. I need you to let go. To…” My hand covers my mouth, but he stops it. The truth, unfiltered, finally slips out. “Pain.” I quickly clarify. “Not a lot, but some, you know?”
He’s tense against me and I know I’m asking him to go against his nature with me. “Please,” I add.
He doesn’t say yes or no, lifts me up and carries me back inside the house and places me on the dining room table. The pedestals are thick as hundred-year-old tree trunks, the top a thick live-edge plank. Roy could probably dance on it, and it wouldn’t move.
“Stay there,” he orders. He pulls out a chair and sits with his legs wide. “Take the dress off.”
I’m naked underneath, and the chandelier above is blazing bright. This is what I wanted, I tell myself.
“Don’t think,” he says.
He’s so deep into my head; he probably knows my thoughts before I do. I pull the dress over my head. He grunts when my breasts bounce free.
“Those fucking tits.” His eyes are glued on them. “Get on all fours, ass toward me.”
I love his tone. I love the way he’s ordering me about. I love his eyes like lasers staring at me. A part of me thinks this is so fucking wrong, but I don’t have to worry because I’ve given him control.
“Knees wide apart.”
I had eight years of dance class. I’m as flexible as a sapling and hear him groan as I slide a few inches shy of the splits.
His chair scrapes against the tile floor.
I jump when his hand presses my shoulder flat against the table. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes.”
“Say no if there is anything you don’t like.”
I smile. “I promise.”
His fingers wrap around my neck. “I think you can do better.” He pushes my ass the last few inches until I’m flat against the table. “Perfect height.” In one quick stroke, he thrusts inside me. “Only mine.” He thrusts again. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours,” I repeat and struggle to keep from whimpering. He’s giving me no quarter. I’m too open to him, and there’s a little pain each time he slams into the back of me. Along with a lot of pleasure, and it makes my mind jack-saw between right and wrong and how fucked up I must be to like this until he pulls out and slaps my ass, hard.
“I told you to get out of your head.” He slaps me again, harder. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I whimper. “Please no.”
His fingers are hard, gripping my inner thighs as he lifts me up and slams his cock into me. It’s brutal. It’s stripping me to my most fundamental components.
“You’re going to come like a train for me.”
I have no idea what he means, and I don’t care as long as he keeps doing this. It’s animalistic and base and I’m not Daisy anymore. I’m a toy wrapped around his cock to do with as he wants. I’m already sore. My muscles are screaming at being stretched past the splits. My thoughts have lost any semblance of coherence.
He’s changed the angle of his thrusts and going impossibly deeper. I scream. I’m not sure why. Everything is mixed up. Is it pain? Is it pleasure? I’m sure he must be tearing me up inside, remaking me to fit him, and I relish it, want it, need it. I’m shaking uncontrollably, but there is no relief from his cock as it slides into me. Is that him I hear? No, it’s me. Grunting and groaning like an animal in the throes of labor. And there’s nothing but my pussy contracting and gripping and sucking so hard on his cock my stomach muscles are on fire. And I am screaming like a train, screaming his name and pounding my hands on the table until it passes and I’m limp and used.
He rolls me over on my back and looms over me. “You’re going to clean off the pussy juice.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, but moves me around until my head is hanging off the edge and slides his cock into my mouth. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”
I’m defenseless as he slides it deep down my throat.
“So fucking good.” His fingers find my hard nipples and pinch.
I groan around him. This is what I want. This is what I need.
“I told you I’d take care of you.” His fingers continue their work.
I can’t swallow, can’t suck. Spit slides off my lips. I’m mortified. I’m serving at the feet of a god.
“Baby.” He slides out of my mouth and sits me up. “Look at you. So beautiful.” He cups my face and slides his tongue between my swollen lips. Taking his time, exploring my mouth, letting my tongue dance with him, until pulling out and sucking hard on my sore lip. “Have you had enough?”
My muddled brain isn’t sure whether to shake my head or nod. I know I can’t speak.
“More?”
This is an easy question. “So much more.”
“So greedy.” He cups my ass and moves me closer to him. “I’ve had your pussy.” He runs his thumb over my lower lip. “This mouth of yours.” He blinks and runs his thumb over my nipple. “Should I take your ass?”
My lips form a perfect O. I clench my ass cheeks. Of course he catches the movement and gives me a slow, sexy smile.
“I’m waiting.”
I’m freaked the fuck out about it, but I want it.
“Hmmm. Not good enough. You’ll need to use your words for this one. Do I have your permission to shove my cock into that fine little ass of yours?”
He’s taking dirty talk to a whole new level. I begged him to take every scrap of innocence from me tonight. Before I can change my mind, I say, “Yes, please.”
His cock lifts and bounces on its own. “You sure? Your pussy is going to be sore tomorrow.”
“That’s what I want.” I love the soreness.
He scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom, carefully placing me on the bed before opening the doors all the way until the room is flooded with the rustles of the banana tree leaves and the distant surf and the calls of wild birds. Thankfully, he dims the lights enough to cast the room in a soft glow. I curl up against the soft sheets and press my head into the pillow. I’m relaxed. I’m excited. I’m all things at once. I close my eyes and listen as he moves about the room. He runs water in the sink. A drawer opens and closes. Something is placed on the nightstand.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he purrs and kisses my neck.
I think I drift off for a moment. I wake with his hands sliding up my leg.
“Baby, you need to take these.”
My eyelids are heavy.
“It’s your pills,” he explains and smiles. “Don’t want to forget.”
I smile too enjoying the intimacy of the moment.
“Why don’t I tuck you in for the night?”
“No, you promised.”
He takes the glass away and sets it on the table. “And I’m a man of my word.” His face gets serious. “You promise to tell me to stop if you don’t like this.”
I bite my lip. “I promise.”
“I didn’t take it easy on you.”
I lean in and circle his nipple with my tongue, bite it hard before pulling away, and repeat. “Nothing left you haven’t touched.”
He groans and kisses me deep and hard. “Lie on your back, legs wide.”
I don’t hesitate.
He reaches over to the table and picks something up. It’s the size of a tube of lipstick. “This is going inside your pussy. It vibrates.” He doesn’t wait for a reply before sliding it inside me. Almost immediately it begins to buzz and vibrate. “Like?”
I do.
“On your side.” He tucks in behind me and places his leg between mine and lifts one of mine up and over his thigh. He shifts, and I hear the squeeze of a bottle. I’ve heard this before. It’s the lubricant. “It’s going to be cold,” he warns before slathering it over my backside. His arm slides under my head. His hand grabs my breast. I’m imprisoned by him. “I had no idea,” he whispers.
I don’t have long to mull over what he means.
His pelvis pulls back, and his cock slides straight into my ass. It’s sexy and dirty all at the same time. In small, precise movements, he rocks forward and back, barely opening me.
My nipple is on fire between his fingers. My pussy is dripping. My ass is sweet and sore, and I want him to fill me up.
“You’re all mine now.” He goes deeper.
I scream, not out of pain but shock. I’m stretched to the breaking point. He retreats. He slides in again, a little farther. It goes on like this until I’m moaning and saying his name like it’s a mantra. This is divine, heaven and hell.
He leaves my nipple, and I cry out. “Baby,” he whispers. His fingers work my clitoris. The vibrator speed increases, and my hips piston on his cock. It hurts, and I want it to. I drive him deeper, and he responds until he’s fucking me with his cock, working me with his fingers, my pussy contracting.
“Fuck!” He bites my shoulder. “I can’t hold out much longer.”
He doesn’t need to because I’m lost in my orgasm and have no thoughts, only the pounding of my blood racing through my body until I dissolve into nothingness.