Chapter Ten

DAISY

My mind is troubled as I head to the bathroom and change into a sleep shirt. It's soft and fuzzy, all warm and flannel. It's not cold in the house, but I feel obligated to Nick to wear thicker clothing to sleep in so I don't bother him. He looks exhausted and doesn't want to have sex, so I won't torment him by wearing one of the silky nighties I got when we went shopping together.

I exit the bathroom and give the cans strung above the door a quick look and then glance away as if they are no big deal. The sight of them bothers me. Not because they are there, but because they represent secrets. They make me think of my past with my father, and the many ways he had to ensure that we would never be surprised by intruders. I remember bubble wrap placed on windowsills.

I wonder if that is why I am so drawn to Nick—underneath it all, we are more alike than either of us realizes.

There are dark shadows under his eyes, but his gaze is watchful even as he relaxes in my bed. The frame is pushed against one wall, and Nick is lying on the outside. I will have to crawl over him to get into bed. I wonder if he does this on purpose because he wants to see me drag my body over his? The thought excites me, and I crawl into bed over him, blushing, my gaze averted. I lie stiffly, hoping, waiting for a furtive touch on my breasts, my sex.

But all he does is put an arm around my shoulders and draw me against him. My cheek rests on his shirt, and I lay a hand on his stomach.

"Priyatnykh snov," he says in Russian, and I guess he is wishing me pleasant dreams.

"Night," I murmur back to him, and he clicks off the light.

I listen to his breathing, my ear on his chest, but I'm wide awake. I can't possibly sleep with his big, firm body lying against mine. My hand is relaxed on his stomach, but I want to move it. I want to brush over his skin, feel the warmth of him, explore his body at my leisure.

But he's so tired. I don't want to bother him. I'm torn. I'm aching to explore him, but I'm frozen in place. It's like I've been offered the world and told not to touch.

His big hand strokes over my back. "What troubles you, dasha?"

"I'm fine."

Nick chuckles. "I can feel the stiffness in your body, little flower."

"Can I….should I get off you? I don't want to bother you." My hand smooths over his stomach, wishing I was feeling skin instead of fabric. "You need to sleep."

His arm tightens around me. "I enjoy the feel of your body against mine, Daisy. Your touch brings nothing but comfort. Now, relax."

I do, and my hand brushes over him in soft patterns as I wait for his breathing to even out. It does, and I am glad he has finally fallen asleep.

Ever so slowly, my hand creeps to the edge of his shirt. It is untucked. I am inches away from feeling bare skin, and it is a temptation I can't resist. My hand glides lower, and my fingertips graze warmth. His skin is scorching underneath my touch, but soft. So soft. I am riveted.

"Daisy," he murmurs, and his voice is thick.

I snatch my hand away, scalded by the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry. You're trying to sleep, and I'm bothering you."

He reaches over and grasps my hand again, replacing it on his lower stomach. "Do you want to touch me, Daisy? I will not object."

"I…you don't mind? I'm not going to keep you up?"

"I will not sleep, but nyet, I do not mind." His fingers caress my cheek. "How can I mind when my woman wishes to explore my body? It is not possible."

My hand lies on his stomach, unmoving for a long moment. I'm afraid to give in to my desires, feeling a bit put on the spot now that I know he is paying attention. In the end, though, my curiosity and my need win out, and I slide my hand fully under his shirt, pressing my palm to the warm flesh there.

Nick groans and shifts his hips, and I notice that the crotch of his jeans has risen. He's erect down there, all from my simple touch.

I'm fascinated by his erection and by the feel of his stomach under my hand. His skin is taut, and there are crisp hairs in a line down the center of his stomach. My hand has grown bolder, moving under his shirt, exploring. His bellybutton is a soft dip of skin surrounded by nothing but muscle. I trail my fingers along that line of hair, up and down, though I pause at the waistband of his jeans.

How much do I dare?

Nick takes that question out of my mind when, in the next moment, he reaches over my exploring hands and unbuttons his jeans. They have no zipper but five buttons, and I watch with amazement at the rapidity in which he dispatches them. Then his hand moves away again.

I see the stiff form of his cock pressing against the fabric of his underwear. As my fingers play with the hair below his bellybutton, I feel his breathing quicken. He's excited by my touch, and his excitement fuels mine, chasing away my shyness.

He likes my exploring, and that makes me bold.

I slide my hand to the bulge of his penis, and I stroke over the fabric-covered flesh. A low noise hisses from Nick's mouth, but he doesn't pull me away. He likes this. It makes me want to do more. I push at the fabric of his underwear, and the head of his cock is revealed.

It's thick and round, larger than I remembered it. The head glistens with a droplet beading the crown, and it makes me lick my lips. I remember the taste of him from last time, and I want more.

"Nick," I breathe, and my hand slides under the band of his underwear so I can grasp that heated rod of flesh. "Can I put my mouth on you?"

He mutters something in Russian, voice strained. His hand strokes my hair. "I am yours, little flower. Do anything you like."

"Will you like it?" I squeeze my fist around him, fascinated by how hard his length is, how hot and smooth and silky the delicate skin covering it is.

"Da," he says, and the word is thick. "I would love it."

I want it, then. I want to drive him crazy. I love the thought of my Nick losing control because of something that I've done to him. So I slide down his belly and move forward until I can brush my tongue against the head of his penis. I catch that droplet with my tongue, and I taste him. He is salty, the taste almost bitter, but strong. I am intrigued by it, and by the droplet that arrives to take its place immediately.

I tongue the head of his penis again, fascinated by the velvety texture of him against my tongue and by the way Nick goes all stiff with each motion of my tongue. I know that stiffness; it's a good one. It's a sign of him trying to keep control.

It's my goal to make him lose that control.

I press a kiss to the head of his sex, wanting to brush my lips over that impossibly soft skin. I like the feel of him against my lips. In the books I've read at the library, the heroine always takes the hero in her mouth and sucks on him. But it feels like there is too much of Nick to fit into my mouth. I ponder this even as I press small kisses to the head of his penis, letting my lips explore him gently. I don't want to do this wrong.

His hips shift again, and his penis brushes between my parted lips. If that's not an invitation, I don't know what is. I open my mouth wider, let my lips circle the head of it, and then I pull back, uncertain once more.

"Can I take your penis in my mouth, Nick?"

I look back at him for my answer, and his eyes are glittering in the darkness, his gaze intent on me. He gives me a small, jerking nod. "It is a cock, Daisy. A khui. Say that for me."

"Khui," I say. "I want to taste your khui."

I'm rewarded by his groan of pleasure, and his eyes close. I love that, the tension on his face, the way his body hums under mine. I'm the cause of this, and it's a delicious feeling. My hand tightens around the base of his penis—no, his cock, his khui—and I bend to take the head of it into my mouth again.

And I suck.

His breath hisses. "Teeth, Daisy—"

"Oh," I say. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"It is okay, dasha." His hand soothes along my back, on the stupidly thick nightie I'm wearing. "A man's skin is sensitive there."

And he trusts me enough to let me put his cock into my mouth. I'm pleased. I open my mouth wider and take the head into my mouth again, this time letting it rest against my tongue. I turn my head and look to him for approval.

Nick only groans and brushes my long hair aside so he can see my mouth on him. "God have mercy, but you are beautiful."

He's so hard that I don't need to hold him to guide him into my mouth—the long, smooth curve of his cock seems to point right at it, and I gently suck on the head and move my mouth over it, exploring. I'm not sure how to do this, but I seem to be doing okay, if Nick's stiff body and softly muttered Russian epithets are any indication. But I'm not sure how to get him off. In the books, it's simply a process of putting a mouth to a penis and then the hero pulls the heroine away. Nick doesn't seem like he wants to pull me away.

And I'm having too much fun to leave.

So I change things up a little, and press small kisses to his cock in exploration. I move over the length of him, licking and nibbling with my lips. There is a vein on the underside of his cock, and I kiss it, too. The base of his cock is surrounded by springy, dark hair, and I find his balls oddly delicate. I'm not sure what to do with them, so I go back to his cock and begin at the head again.

I'm huddled over him in an awkward crouch, but I don't realize how close I am to pushing my bottom into the air until his hand slides over my backside, caressing and exploring. I suck in a breath when he pushes up my flannel nightie, exposing my panties, and his hand strokes over the seam of my buttocks and glides between my legs.

Oh, my legs are pressed too tightly together. I want his hand there. I shift on the bed and ease my knees apart so he can touch me again, if he wants to.

I hope he wants to.

I take the head of his cock into my mouth again and rub my tongue against it.

He groans once more, and his fingers glide along the silky line of my panties, heading back toward my sex. Unconsciously, I raise my hips, needing his touch. I'm distracted, my breath is coming as quick little pants as I tongue and lick at the head of his cock. I'm waiting for him to touch me, to rub me through my panties.

But he doesn't; instead, his fingers slide under the band of my panties, and I feel him glide one through the folds of my sex.

"Bozhe moi, Daisy. You're so fucking wet." I feel his finger searching for my opening, and then he thrusts it deep inside me.

I whimper, because it feels invasive…and yet good. I press back against his hand and my mouth flutters against his cock. The beads of arousal that drip down the head of his cock drags over my lips, wetting them, and I moan when his finger thrusts deep inside me again. What we're doing is so incredibly wicked…and delicious.

His finger thrusts inside me again, and I'm so wet that I hear the sound of his fingers moving in my panties. He mutters something else in Russian and then pulls his fingers out, and I make a noise of protest. It is replaced a moment later with another finger—no, his thumb, and I feel his index finger seeking out my clitoris.

And I'm suddenly having a hard time lining up his cock with my mouth. I'm trembling, weak with need. I was in control, but now he's driving me just as wild as I was driving him. I don't want him to stop, either. His finger finds my clit, and I cry out against his cock as he gives it a stroke with a fingertip.

"Take me in your mouth, Daisy," he tells me. "Like you will pull me into your throat."

Oh. Realization dawns, and I picture this and want to do it for him. I suck on the head of his cock again, even as he continues to work on my cunt with his fingers, and it takes everything I have to concentrate. I open my mouth wide, and his cock rubs along my tongue. With a little movement of his hips, he's pushing deeper into my mouth, and I open as wide as I can, taking him as far back as I can. My gag reflex works, and I release him, coughing, and then take him deep again.

"Ah, Daisy," he grits. His fingers move against my clit, his thumb grinding inside me. "You are perfection. Will you come for me? With your little bottom in my hands as I pleasure you? With your mouth on my cock?"

His words are exciting, and I can't help but push back against his invasive, wonderful fingers. I'm making small noises in my throat, even as I try to take him deeper into my mouth. I pull on his cock with my tongue and my mouth, and he hits the back of my throat, which startles both of us. I rear back, and Nick cusses. But he liked that, so I try it again.

It's getting harder for me to concentrate; his fingers are hammering into my panties, and I'm losing control. I can't keep his cock in my mouth. My lips are greedy for him, but my body is quivering and distracted, and my breath is coming in weird little pants. All the while, Nick is murmuring encouragement. I settle for rolling the thick, blunt head of his cock against my lips, letting the wetness move over them as I kiss it frantically and work my hips against his fingers.

Then, it's there; that odd, wonderful tightening deep inside me that tells me I'm coming. I cry out, my body shuddering, and then Nick's cock jerks in my hands. A warm spurt splashes across my lips, and then I realize he's coming too. I pull back, but he continues to come, and it's on my hands and face, and now his belly and jeans.

He cusses something again, and I feel his fingers slide out of my body. There's an embarrassingly wet sound as they leave my sex, and then he's rolling off the bed, heading to the bathroom.

And I'm left there, crouching on the bed with his semen splattered on my face and hands, my sex throbbing and slick from my own release. And I'm not entirely sure what to do. We didn't cover this when we played around in the car.

To my relief, Nick returns a moment later, and comes to my side with a towel. Tenderly, he wipes at my face and hands. I can do it myself, but there's a possessive look in his eyes that dares me to contradict him, so I don't. He cleans me up, wipes down his belly, and then tosses the towel into the laundry hamper near the bathroom door. To my surprise, he returns back to the bathroom, and I hear water running. A moment later, he appears with a wet washcloth.

"Take your panties off."

I gasp. "Why?"

"So I can take care of you."

My face burns with embarrassment as I slide off my now-wet panties. Nick draws me close to him and moves the warm, wet washcloth between my legs, bathing me. His gaze is on my face the entire time, and to my horror, I begin to get aroused all over again.

"Are you sore, Daisy?"

His whispered words are embarrassing to me. "It hurt a little, but it wasn't a bad hurt."

He brushes my hair away from my face and tenderly kisses my mouth. "I must remember to be more careful with you. You are treasure, and I don't want to hurt you. I just…lost control of myself. I had to touch you."

"I'm glad you did," I say shyly, and I wrap my arms around his neck.

He gives me another long kiss, and then he nods at the bed. "Come. Now we sleep, da?"

And this time, when he pulls me against his side, I'm able to relax and go to sleep. I curl up against him and think that Nick being in my bed—and in my life—is the best thing ever.

I'm so glad I ran away. My hand pets Nick, but it's not an exploratory petting, not like before. It's a comforting, soothing, just-checking-to-make-sure-you're-really-there sort of motion. I think of the circles under Nick's eyes, and I feel a momentary stab of guilt that I've kept him awake. He's exhausted, and whatever his job is, it must be taking a lot out of him.

I consider this for a moment. "Nick."

"Mmm?" His voice is sleepy, and he hugs me tighter.

"Do you still watch me?" It's occurred to me that I work late hours, and he seems to know intimate details of my job.

"Da."

"While I'm at work?"

He is silent for a long, long moment, which means he is trying to cobble together a bad lie. After a moment, he heaves a sigh. "Da. It is not a safe job. I worry."

I sit up in bed, regarding him. "You're exhausted. You can't be up all hours watching me."

His eyes regard me in the dark, now wide awake. "You said you did not mind."

"I said I don't mind if you watch me and I know about it. But there's a difference between watching and stalking. I'm fine at work. They have security cameras and everything." I give him my most stubborn look. "I don't want you watching me there, okay?"

"Is not up for discussion—"

"Nick," I say in a warning tone. "I'm serious. If you can't respect that about our relationship, I don't know that we can have one."

His eyes go cold. "Do you put an ultimatum on me, Daisy?"

"Yes, I do," I say. And my heart squeezes with pain, but this is important. "My father trapped me in our house for twenty-one years because he needed to control everything I did. The reason why we—why you and I—work so well is because you let me have as much control as I want." I reach a hand out and lay it flat on his chest, a silent entreaty. "But if you can't respect my boundaries, you're no better than him."

He is silent for so long that I know he's angry. I expect him to get out of bed and leave. But he doesn't. Instead, he looks at me with those sad, tortured eyes and brushes a finger along my jawline. "Da. I do this for you, Daisy. I will only watch you here in your apartment. This is all right?"

"Yes," I say, relieved. "Spasiba."

He laughs, surprised at my Russian. "Why do you thank me?"

"For caring enough to care about how I feel."

He pulls me close again, snuggling with me on the bed. "I do not think you realize, Daisy. You are everything to me."