CHAPTER TWELVE
“Why are you being so secretive? Why can’t you just tell me what your plans are for this place?” Daff asked, crunching into a crisp green apple while she spoke and peering at Spencer closely. He’d been making vague references to potential changes and expansions to SCSS for weeks now, and it was driving her crazy.
He was peeling an orange and gave her one of those inscrutable looks that always drove her a little crazy over the top of his glasses. He just looked so freaking hot and stern. He couldn’t seem to maintain the stern expression this time and grinned, looking almost boyish in his excitement.
“I think I can talk about it without jinxing it now. Since the plans were approved this morning,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m adding a gym and juice bar up here. Top-of-the-line equipment, world-class instructors, and we’ll be offering everything from personal fitness training to Pilates to yoga to kickboxing. I want SCSS to be a one-stop shop for all your fitness needs. Buy the gear downstairs; use it upstairs.”
“Oh my God, Spencer, that’s freaking amazing!” Daff enthused, and his chest expanded at her praise. He looked prouder than a new father.
“Better still, I’m opening a second branch in George early next year. Claude will run it for me.”
Daff squealed, genuinely excited for him. She knew how much the store meant to him. After weeks of shared lunches, she still learned something new about him every day, but his pride in this store was something that had always been evident.
She leaned back in the rickety desk chair that she had claimed as her own and stared at the ceiling.
“You know that once you start renovating up here, you’re going to lose Nelly, right?” she asked, referring to the elephant-shaped stain above his desk. She had named it Nelly the very first time she’d brought him lunch here.
“Nah, I’ll ask them to save that ceiling board for me and frame it or something. I need something to look at when I’m concentrating.”
They talked about the expansion plans a bit more, while at the same time spitballing ideas for Daff’s future career.
“Maybe you could be a yoga instructor,” Spencer speculated. “You’re constantly wearing yoga pants in your free time anyway.”
He’d noticed that, had he? Since they’d put an end to their no-sex sex thing, he’d been really good about not flirting or treating her in any overtly sexual way, but she’d caught him staring at her ass a few times. Mostly when she wore yoga pants, come to think of it. It made her feel better about the hankering she felt for him every time she got within five feet of the man.
“I’m sure it would be a great career opportunity for me if I didn’t suck at yoga,” she dismissed, and his eyes widened.
“For someone who’s not very good at it, you own a shitload of yoga pants.”
“Yeah? I also own a ton of jumpsuits, but that doesn’t mean I want to be a fighter pilot.” He choked at her words and then laughed.
“I’m picturing a fighter pilot in some of those jumpsuits women wear these days,” he elaborated, and she giggled. “In all seriousness, when Claude leaves this branch, I’ll be looking for a new manager,” he said pointedly.
“Keep looking, mister,” she said, taking another bite from her apple. “Because I’m leaving the whole managing gig behind permanently.”
She just wished she knew what to do instead. The two months had practically flown by and she had just a week of work left. She was already training a new woman to take her place, but Daff still had no clue what she wanted to do.
“So has Charlie loosened up about moving?” Daff asked, changing the subject, and Spencer winced. It was a bit of a sore subject. Charlie was still living with the McGregors and, after a rocky start—she’d attempted to run away twice—seemed to be settling in nicely. Mason and Spencer had contacted an attorney, and because Charlie had no other living relatives, there was no disputing their claim to dual guardianship. They’d had social workers in for interviews, undergone rigorous evaluations, and had both been deemed fit guardians for the girl. It was a lengthy process, but the ball was rolling.
The only hitch was Charlie. She refused to accept that she required any form of care and barely gave Spencer the time of day. She was getting along well with Mason now, thanks to Daisy, and had even spent a weekend with them, sleeping on the new sofa bed Mason had acquired especially for her.
Daff knew that the girl’s rejection troubled Spencer. It was clear that he desperately wanted to find a way to communicate with her, but every word he said to her sounded like a command, and Charlie didn’t respond well to orders. It was painful to watch. Daff had attended a couple of his youth outreach sessions, and it wasn’t like the man didn’t know how to speak to teens. He just sucked at talking to Charlie.
And Daff was beginning to understand that when someone meant more to him, his attempts at communication became even clumsier. It made her view all those past aborted attempts at flirtation in a whole new light.
“I asked her if she wanted to choose the decor for her room. She told me she didn’t care, since she wouldn’t be staying there anyway.” His dark brows furrowed at the recollection.
“Did you ask her? Or tell her?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Spencer, when you speak with Charlie, you have this tendency to”—how to put this tactfully?—“bark orders at her. She doesn’t seem to respond well to that.”
“She doesn’t seem to respond well to me,” he said somewhat morosely. “She hates me. Leaves the room every time I enter it. But of course, she and Mason get on like a house on fire.”
And he felt excluded.
Her stupid heart just about broke at that revelation. And she wasn’t sentimental. Except, where Spencer was concerned, she found she had a sentimental and emotional streak a mile wide.
“You just have to be patient, Spencer,” she said. “She doesn’t hate you, she just doesn’t know you very well yet. And you have to use a different approach when speaking with her. Suggest instead of command. Request, don’t order.”
“She’s a kid. What good are suggestions and requests when she has no idea what’s good for her?”
“She’s a teenage girl. A confused one. She went from being an only child to a youngest sister, with just about everyone telling her what she can or can’t do. She undoubtedly feels powerless. You and she are more similar than you know. And I’m not just talking about those matching glares . . . think about it. From the bits and pieces she’s revealed over the last few weeks, it’s safe to assume that she ran the house, took care of her dying parent, and kept things from falling apart. That was your job growing up. Of course you’re going to butt heads now. You’re both used to steering the ship . . . oh my God, I sound like my father.” She raised a horrified hand to her mouth. Her father—unhappy that she would be unemployed soon—had been giving her his seafaring-themed pep talks/lectures, pretty much like Lia had predicted he would. Apparently Daff had absorbed more of his words than she knew.
Still, Spencer looked thoughtful. Something she’d said clearly resonated with him.
“Think about what approach would work on you and go with that,” she suggested.
He rested his elbow on the desk and his chin on his thumb and absently stroked his index finger over his lower lip. Back and forth, back and forth . . . Daff was mesmerized by the movement and longed to run her own finger and then definitely her tongue over the firm softness of that lip as well. He was staring up at Nelly while he considered her words. He started plucking at the lip with thumb and index finger, and Daff bit back a groan.
The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted him. She couldn’t recall ever really desiring a man this much, and she couldn’t be sure if it was because he was now off-limits or because every moment spent with him was quite wonderful, really.
He was so easy to be with. She never had to put up a pretense with him. In his own gruff way, he always had something kind to say. Just last week when she had sprouted a zit, he had grinned and told her she looked cute, even though Daff had known she looked downright hideous. She didn’t feel the need to dress up; he always had a gleam of appreciation in his eyes no matter what she wore. It was nice. He was nice.
Watching him with the teens he tried to help was also eye-opening. The patience and care he exhibited. She recalled how willing he’d been to put his entire life on hold to help Charlie, even before he knew what she was to him. The man would give the clothes off his back to help a child in need, and Daff often felt a little intimidated by his sheer goodness. She wasn’t good. She wasn’t kind. And even though she wanted him, she knew that what they had now was best. Spencer needed someone like him. Someone who was kind and decent.
“What time’s the meeting tonight?” she asked in an attempt to break free of her melancholy thoughts. He was still dead set on building the youth center and would be meeting with the town committee that night to pitch the proposal he and Mason had been working on for weeks.
“Seven.” His eyes dropped back to hers and he stopped worrying at his lip.
“How do you think it’ll go?”
“I know Oom Herbert, Principal Kane, and your dad are on board. I think Father O’Grady would be keen on the idea, too, but I’m not too sure about Alderman Motlaung and Mrs. Salie.” Mrs. Salie was the librarian.
“I don’t think Mrs. Salie is a concern. But you may have your work cut out with the alderman. There’s been talk about him being a mayoral candidate next year, and a lot of his party’s campaign sponsors probably won’t support the youth center.”
“Hmm.” He went back to worrying his lip, and Daff stifled a moan.
“Anyway,” she said, starting to pack up the remnants of their lunch, “I should get back to work.”
“Hmm.” He was staring at Nelly again and only shifted his attention back to her after Daff got up to leave. “Daff?”
She stilled and watched him cautiously.
“Yes?”
“Do you think Charlie would like a day out? Maybe to explore and shop and stuff?”
“I think she’d like that.”
“Would you . . .” He paused as he considered his words carefully. “Could you join us? She probably won’t go if it’s just me.”
“When are you thinking of doing this?”
“Sunday?” Just two days away. The thought of spending an entire day with him definitely appealed.
“Suits me,” she said, striving for casual, and he looked relieved. As if she weren’t at the point where she would move heaven and earth for this man.
“Appreciate it.”
“I’ll see you soon,” she promised him and turned to leave again.
“Daff?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad we’re friends.” The words were soft and heartfelt and yet left Daff feeling hollow and disheartened. Because it didn’t matter if what they had now was best—she definitely no longer wanted to be this man’s friend. She wasn’t sure what she wanted, but it was definitely more than what they currently had.
“Me too,” she said, her voice muted and her smile an effort.
She left without another word.
Spencer watched Daff leave and heaved a frustrated sigh before running both hands through his hair. The woman was driving him crazy. Her warm smiles, so scarce in the past—and never aimed at him—were ever present these days. Sometimes it physically hurt not to reach out and touch her. He still wasn’t able to convince his body that they were just friends, and the amount of self-relief and/or cold showers he’d been forced to submit to over the last six weeks was becoming ridiculous. He had to consider the possibility of lessening his exposure to her.
Maybe depriving himself of her company, going cold turkey, as it were, would be the eventual solution to his dilemma. But it was something he could only consider doing after the wedding. Luckily, that was just a month away now. After that he’d be sure to keep his distance. It would be easier once she was no longer working down the road and the lunches stopped.
And he definitely wouldn’t be seeing much of the McGregors after Mason and Daisy left. Which was why he had to get Charlie comfortably situated at his place before that happened. If she didn’t wind up going to Grahamstown with Daisy and Mason after all—something that was starting to look like a distinct possibility.
Asking Daff to join him and Charlie on Sunday probably hadn’t been the wisest move, either. But if he asked Mason and Daisy to come, Charlie would give all her attention to Mason. He’d noticed her doing that more and more lately. Mason and Daisy had suggested a small family dinner, just the four of them, a couple of weeks ago, and the girl hadn’t said a single word to Spencer the entire evening. And yet, she and Mason seemed to have hit it off immediately.
Spencer felt left out.
Every night he went home yearning for Daff, missing his brother, and longing to spend time with his new sister. Occasionally he went out to Ralphie’s, often inviting Mason, who always joined him but rarely stayed out longer than a couple of hours. The younger man was too distracted with wedding and moving plans. So Spencer was usually left to finish his drinks alone. Someone would occasionally stop by for a word, but for the most part everyone left him alone. He felt like a fucking island, being buffeted by heavy winds, rain, and waves from all sides and at risk of disappearing completely beneath the raging waters.
On the bright side, his plans for expansion were steaming ahead, and the youth center looked like it would become a reality soon. At least that was something in the huge ocean of nothing his life had become.
He shook his head firmly. God, he was turning into a morose fucker. It was time to get his life back under control. And he would start with Carlotta “Charlie” Carlisle. A fourteen-year-old little wiseass who had seen way too much shit in her life wasn’t about to get the better of him.
Daff was at Daisy’s later that evening, helping her sisters and mother with seating arrangements for the wedding, when Mason came striding in. Charlie was idly fidgeting with the little magnetized cards, looking bored out of her mind. They all—with the exception of Charlie—sat up expectantly and watched Mason’s face closely. His expression gave nothing away and he dropped a kiss on Daisy’s neck on his way to the refrigerator for a beer.
“Well?” Daff prompted when he twisted the cap off, leaned against the kitchen counter, and took a thirsty drink, still without saying a word.
“The project got the green light,” he said with a grin, and the women squealed in excitement. Daff’s eyes went to the front door, looking for Spencer. He would be thrilled and shouldn’t be left to celebrate this momentous occasion alone.
“Where’s Spencer?” she asked. “He must be ecstatic.”
“Whatever that looks like,” Charlie droned, and Daff shot the girl an irritated look, even though it was probably exactly what Daff herself would have said just a few months ago.
“Watch it, Carlotta Carlisle,” she warned, and the girl glared at her. Daff had sussed out pretty early on that Charlie absolutely hated her given name—join the club, sister—and had filed that useful bit of knowledge away until she could use it.
“He stayed behind to go over a few additional details with the committee.”
“What was the overall reaction?” their mother asked.
“Pretty good. A few naysayers as we expected, but when Captain Van Breda wholeheartedly backed the project, saying he was all for something that was likely to keep problem teens off the streets, most of the town got behind it, too.”
“That’s fantastic,” Lia exclaimed. Daisy couldn’t stop grinning, and Daff felt quite uncharacteristically giddy with happiness. She knew how much this meant to Spencer and had desperately wanted it for him. She’d wanted to attend the town meeting and voice her encouragement but had promised Daisy ages ago that she would help with the seating arrangements. They’d considered changing their plans, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of them postponing anything and their father had promised to be very vocal in his support of the project.
“So how’s this going?” Mason asked, coming up to focus on the seating chart on a mini whiteboard. “Need my help?”
“Not this time,” Daisy said with an easy smile. Mason had proven invaluable when they’d been struggling over the same task for Lia’s wedding. Because of her asshole ex-fiancé’s extended family and her need to please everyone, Lia had invited some problematic guests, and it had been a nightmare trying to find the right tables for them. Mason had sorted it out with admirable efficiency.
Fortunately, Daisy’s guest list was smaller and her guests less complicated. Everybody started discussing the wedding again, and Daff bit back a frustrated groan. She wanted to hear more about the youth center and to ask what Spencer’s reaction had been. It was annoying that everybody else seemed to have moved on from something so momentous.
She got out her phone and checked her messages. Nothing from Spencer. Why hadn’t he texted to tell her his news? Surely he’d want to share it with her?
Congratulations! So happy for you!!! She sent the message hastily and waited. But the message remained unread. Disappointed, she watched the screen a moment longer before shoving the phone into her pocket. And then dragging it back out a second later to check it again. Still nothing. She checked the alert volume and put it back into her pocket.
The next half hour dragged by, and even though Daff constantly checked her messages, Spencer didn’t contact her. She knew he was probably busy with those “additional details,” but it was killing her not to talk to him about this. After six weeks of hearing about all the hopes he had for that place, for it to finally come to fruition . . . Daff wanted to share in that joy with him. It almost physically hurt her not to be there with him right now.
“Daffy,” Daisy exclaimed, and Charlie sniggered when Daff glared at her sister. “What’s going on with you? You’re squirming like you have ants in your pants.”
“Well, you’d know what that looks like, wouldn’t you?” Daff scowled. Daisy and Lia burst into laughter.
“Yeah, sorry not sorry!” Daisy hooted, and Mason frowned.
“What’s this now?”
“We once put actual ants in her pants.” Lia chortled at the recollection.
“Oh, I remember that.” Now their mother was laughing, too.
“God, sometimes you guys really suck,” Daff muttered when Mason and even Charlie joined in on the laughter. “Some of those little bastards nearly crawled up my cooch.”
“Daffodil! Language!” their mother admonished, clapping her hands over Charlie’s ears. The teen squirmed, still laughing, as she tried to free her head from Millicent McGregor’s hold.
“You put soap on our toothbrushes,” Daisy reminded her gleefully. “You had it coming.”
“Ugh. Keep laughing, I’m heading home . . . to chuck your caterpillars in the dustbin.”
“You wouldn’t!” Daisy gasped.
“That’s where the caterpillars disappeared to?” Mason asked, his eyes still alight with laughter.
“I so would! Come and find them in the trash tomorrow,” she taunted with a wave as she grabbed up her purse and hastened to the front door.
“Daff!”
“Night, all!” Daff called cheerfully as she slammed out of the house to a chorus of Daisy’s frantic calls and everybody else’s laughter. Once she was outside in the cool night air, she leaned back against the front door and turned her attention on Spencer’s dark home just yards away. She could sit on his porch and wait for him, but it was a chilly spring night and there was no telling when he’d be back. Especially since he wasn’t answering his texts.
She considered calling him, but knew that if he hadn’t even seen her text, then his phone was probably off.
I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with you tonight. I know how much this means to you. I wish I could have been there. She contemplated her message for a long time before adding a sad face, followed by a heart and a kiss. Before she could think about it too long, she sent the message and trudged to her car.
She was getting ready to climb into bed nearly an hour later when her doorbell rang. Startled, she froze for a second, wondering who on earth it could be at nearly twelve at night.
Her phone buzzed and she picked it up from the nightstand and grinned when she saw the message: Open the door, Daffodil.
She hastened to the front door and, after a quick peek through the window to confirm who it was, threw back the bolts and yanked the door open. He strode inside without a word and shut the door purposefully behind him.
“You know I hate it when you call me Daffo—” Her words were cut off when his strong arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her to his chest. He sighed and buried his face in her hair. She smiled contentedly and snuggled there, rubbing her face against his well-defined pecs, while her own arms wound around his back and held on tight.
This.
This, right here, was perfection.
“You did it,” she whispered, and he shook in her arms, mute testimony to how much that center meant to him and how afraid he’d been that it would be rejected. His grip around her waist loosened, and his hands reached up to cup her face and tilt her head back.
“Daff . . . darling.” He hadn’t used the endearment in weeks, and Daff shuddered in response to it. He watched her for a moment and then, without any hesitation at all, lowered his head to claim her lips in the hungriest, hottest kiss she’d ever experienced. There was no subtlety as his tongue swooped into her mouth and simply claimed her, and for once, Daff was happy to be claimed. Her hands trailed to his shoulders and up around his neck as she gave and received in equal measure.
He moved, hooking an arm around her waist and carrying her with him until she felt the wall at her back. He lifted his head and caged her with his body while she quivered in his hold. His forearms rested on the wall on either side of her head.
“I can’t be your friend,” he whispered, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear and nuzzling. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want more.”
She nodded in response to his words, unable to find her voice, her body warmed by the intense waves of heat coming off him. In this moment, she wanted more, too. No reservations, no insecurities, and no worrying about who was in control of what. They could both be captains of this freaking ship and ride out this storm together.
“God, Daff, I burn for you.” He lifted his mouth and swept it up her throat and seared his way to her hungry mouth. He cupped her face again, palms on her cheeks. He used his thumbs to tilt her head back. His tongue found her mouth, and it felt like she was welcoming him home. Her hands stroked over the hard planes of his torso and up over his chest, where her fingers found the taut masculine beads of his nipples, evident even through the thick fabric of his shirt. She smiled when he jerked beneath her touch—it thrilled her when he reacted to her like that. Made her feel powerful.
With Spencer, she felt sexy and confident because she had no doubt that he wanted her, just the way she was. With all her flaws and quirks and craziness, he still wanted her.
“Again,” he demanded, and Daff’s hands moved back up to his chest, kneading and exploring hungrily along the way.
“Daff, darling,” he grated, lifting his lips just enough to say the words. “You know what I want, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it,” he commanded, and she smiled again.
“To take a shower and watch a movie?” she teased, and he half laughed, half groaned, clearly recognizing the ludicrous suggestion as his own.
“Never mind. I’ll just show you.” He kissed her again. A little more roughly this time, his tongue unapologetically forging its way into her mouth. She sighed happily when it demanded a response from hers. She buried her hands in his soft, springy hair and pushed herself against him while he murmured something inaudible against her lips. He swung her into his arms, the gesture outrageously romantic, and, without lifting his mouth from hers, strode blindly toward the bathroom.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked with a breathless giggle, and he paused outside her open bedroom door.
“I do now,” he growled, and she thrilled at the intense masculinity in his voice. Forceful men didn’t usually do it for her, but on Spencer it was mind-blowingly sexy. Because she knew he’d never do anything to hurt her. He strode into the room and then paused to shove the door shut with his booted foot.
His mouth was on hers again, and Daff was dimly aware of a dizzying sensation that could be attributed to either his fantastic, all-consuming kiss or the fact that he’d swung her around to deposit her on the bed. He settled himself between her spread-eagled thighs and unabashedly ground his hard length up against her aching core.
The move had her nearly arching off the bed in reaction, but he settled her down with a gentler kiss before lifting his mouth and staring down into her flushed, dazed face with his wondering, heated gaze.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said thickly. He reached for her tank top and shoved it up over her small, naked breasts. Daff lifted her chest toward him, proudly displaying herself to him, inviting him to taste and touch, but he simply knelt between her thighs and stared at her with such burning intensity that she uncharacteristically found herself blushing.
“Hmm.” This time it really was just a sound. One of yearning and appreciation. The sound a starving man would make at the dinner table.
He reached out and thumbed both nipples gently and she nearly came off the bed in response to that.
“Love how sensitive these are,” he muttered, his thumbs circling the aching centers now, tormenting her by not touching her the way she needed to be touched.
“Spencer, please,” she begged, and he reluctantly lifted his burning regard from her breasts to her eyes.
“Still trying to meet that sex deadline, are you? There’s no rush, darling,” he teased gently. He dropped another hot kiss on her lips, and she wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into his strong back. He was still wearing too many clothes. Why was he always wearing too many clothes?
She forgot about the disparity seconds later when he lifted his head and trailed his mouth over her sensitive skin, all the way down to her chest. Once he reached the slope of one aching, taut breast, he planted soft, gentle kisses around the crest of her nipple and Daff shuddered when she felt his hot breath against her sensitive flesh.
“Oh God, Spencer. Oh please. Please,” she begged unashamedly, and he put her out of her misery by drawing the tight, aching bud into his hot mouth, suckling so hard that the pleasure was almost pain. He lifted his head and planted a sweet, apologetic kiss on the aching nipple before moving over and gracing her other breast with the same treatment.
He straightened, still kneeling between her spread thighs, looking as fiercely beautiful as a demigod. She didn’t know how it had happened, but she noticed that the fly of his jeans was unsnapped, revealing that hard, gorgeous column of flesh straining between his thighs. She reached for it, and he gently pushed her hand away.
“Not now, darling,” he denied her, and she cried out in frustration.
“I want to touch you.”
“I know. I want you to. But that thing has a hair trigger right now. One touch from you and it’s going off.”
She huffed impatiently and he smiled at her, the strain evident on his face. He gently pushed her hair out of her face and kissed her again.
“Beautiful Daff, you mean the world to me,” he said, and the words caused a lump to form in her throat. Did she? How could she? She wasn’t sweet like Lia, or clever and witty like Daisy, she didn’t have a kind heart like Spencer. She was just Daff. Mouthy, sarcastic, and confused.
“Stop thinking about it,” he instructed firmly. “And stay right here in this moment with me.”
“Spencer,” she whispered helplessly.
“Right here, with me,” he maintained. “Daff. Look at me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and he grinned.
“Keep looking,” he coaxed and then rewarded her by unfastening the top button of his shirt and dragging it over his head. He tossed the shirt aside and she nearly sighed at the familiar sight of his gorgeous chest. She reached up to touch all that smooth, firm flesh and was delighted when his muscles bunched and jumped beneath her fluttering touch.
“Oh God, Spencer. You’re magnificent,” she said in awe, and his grin widened. She lifted her head and started trailing her lips over his warm, smooth, and slightly salty skin. Her mouth found his taut nipples and began to voraciously lick and suck the sensitive flesh.
“You’re just so—” The rest of whatever he was saying was muffled against her neck, which he kissed and sucked before he found his way back to the lure of her mouth.
He dragged his head up to peer down to her pouting breasts in unabashed hunger. They were both topless now, Daff in her panties and Spencer in his jeans. He reached down reverently to cup her breasts with both hands, testing their weight in his palms, his thumbs finding and teasing her nipples again. He stalled there, spending so much time on her nipples, Daff found herself uncomfortably overstimulated, dizzy and disoriented. He had to stop—he was literally driving her insane with pleasure.
“Spencer,” she pleaded. “I can’t stand it anymore. Please.”
“Hmm.” His mouth clamped over a nipple, the suction bordering on painful, and his hand burrowed beneath her panties, where his thumb stroked her clit while his middle and index fingers buried themselves inside her tight, wet sheath. She shuddered and screamed as she came almost immediately. He continued suckling on her nipple while his free hand stroked the other, prolonging and intensifying her powerful orgasm. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and fought for breath. Her complete focus was on the pleasure he was giving her.
When she finally stopped clenching around his fingers, she melted onto the bed in a boneless, exhausted, sweaty heap of satisfaction. She was still trembling from her release and feeling more than a little shattered by the sheer magnitude of her orgasm. Spencer dragged her panties off, tearing them a little and leaving the ruined and soaked garment tangled around one of her ankles.
“Okay, darling?” he asked gently, and Daff barely found the energy to shake her head.
“No. Damn you. I’m not.” It took everything in her not to cry like a baby again. What was it about the orgasms this man gave her that made her dissolve into an emotional heap every single freaking time? He kissed her again, and she was vaguely aware of him tugging something from the back pocket of his jeans. He got off the bed to very carefully drag off the offending denim garment. Good thing, too. Those damned jeans had overstayed their welcome.
God, he had superlative thighs. Heavy, well defined, and gorgeously muscled. A sportsman’s thighs. Her mouth went dry as she watched him climb back onto the bed. Brandishing that massive erection like a club, he clambered between her thighs, and she gawked at that huge thing so comfortably resting on top of her naked mound. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the red, plum-size glans shone with moisture. She unthinkingly reached down to pet it.
“Uh-uh,” he rasped, intercepting her hand. “Hair trigger, remember?”
Daff stared mutely up into his beautiful, savage face.
She couldn’t believe they were finally going to do this. It felt so right. There was no overthinking it, and she was happy in this moment to trust Spencer not to abuse the power she was ceding to him.
She watched him open the little foil package and drag the latex up over his hardness. Afterward he sawed that sheathed column up and down against her cleft and she groaned, more than ready to go again.
“Spencer,” she whispered, thrusting up against him, wanting so much more. She felt open and exposed, but she didn’t care if he could see right into her soul. Not anymore.
“Darling Daff,” he growled, intensifying the sawing against her clit. He never quite allowed her to come down from her previous climax, and it was driving her crazy because while she felt sated, she didn’t feel finished. Finally, he reached between them and took hold of his shaft, placing himself at her entrance. Very slowly and very gently he eased himself inside. Daff whimpered at his impossible size, bigger than anything she’d ever felt before. She craved more and moved impatiently against him, even while his largeness felt uncomfortable. He refused to rush, doing this in Spencer time. And Spencer time crept along at a snail’s pace.
“You’re so tiny, tell me if it hurts.” Everybody was tiny next to him, but Daff appreciated his concern and, considering the size of him, was grateful now for the slow pace he had set. She sobbed slightly at the stretching fullness. He really was uncomfortably big. Sensing her uneasiness, he reached down and found her clit with his thumb. All thoughts of discomfort fled as her body blindly followed instinct and moved restlessly beneath his. He hissed in reaction when she thrust her hips against him.
“No, darling, don’t move. I don’t think I can—” She ignored him and pushed up even farther, grinding herself against his hand as she sheathed him almost completely. Spencer groaned, sounding almost pained, and swore shakily when she slid down, guiding the rhythm for now, before pushing back up to gain another inch.
Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes shut in concentration as he remained completely still, allowing her to set the pace. Daff widened her thighs even more and planted her feet flat on the mattress as she slowly slid down his hard length again. He moved his knees under her butt, giving her more control, while her shoulders remained flat on the bed. Her bum was on his lap and angled just enough to give her complete and unrestricted access to his penis. Using only her feet for leverage, she slid slowly up and down his shaft. His hands moved to her straining breasts, strumming her nipples, while his eyes slid back and forth between her face and the sight of his hardness sliding in and out of her softness.
“Spencer,” she whispered, one hand reaching up toward his face, and he lowered himself just enough for her to hook her palm around his neck and drag herself up until she was straddling his lap and her breasts were flattened against his chest.
“You feel so good,” she sobbed, loving this so much. Her other arm flung around his neck, and he buried his face in her neck. She felt him huffing for breath against her skin while his arms wrapped around her waist.
She wasn’t sure who was directing the pace anymore, and she didn’t really care. It was all give and take in this moment, and she felt his breath quickening against her.
“I can’t much longer, Daff,” he groaned. “Going to fucking come.”
“Good,” she huffed as she continued to rock against him. He felt wonderful inside her. Filled her completely. He belonged right there for all eternity. The thought scared her, but she shoved it aside as she focused on her building orgasm.
“Spencer,” she entreated, not sure why she was pleading with him when he was doing everything right. He yanked her closer with one strong arm while bracing his other hand on the mattress behind her. He maneuvered her until she was flat on her back and he was propped above her, and this time there was no mistaking who was in charge as he slammed into her. His face hovered above hers, his eyes entangled with hers. He was dripping with sweat, his biceps and shoulders bulging as he held his weight off her.
She grunted with each thrust, the sound guttural and in no way, shape, or form ladylike. There was nothing ladylike about her at all in this moment, and she didn’t care. This was primal, it was fierce, it was perfect.
Her legs drew up and wrapped around his taut, thrusting butt, and she felt everything inside her draw tight. His green eyes shone into hers, bright with emotion and gleaming with moisture.
“Come for me, Daff,” he whispered. His voice—the quietest thing in the room—was barely audible against the wet, slapping sounds of their lovemaking. And because he asked, she did. With a single high-pitched cry, she came. Hard. Endlessly and agonizingly. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her, and she was glad, fiercely glad, that she was sharing it with Spencer.
She was still at the pinnacle when she felt him tense, groan, and then shudder in her arms, and they both floated down to earth together. He wrapped himself protectively around her, as if to shelter her from the world, and in his own quiet way made her feel safe and protected and cherished.