The Rogue and His Flower (Princetown Heirs #2)

Chapter 23

DAISY

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I’m here again, in this nightmare, my adult self watching the memory as it unravels before me. Both a part of it, and separate. Before me a tiny child who’s never known love, doesn’t yet know the healing warmth of being loved, is curled up in a tight ball, her tiny hands pressed over her ears as she tries desperately to drown out the hateful words cascading over her.

I feel every one of them. I remember the pain they caused, they still cause, and I wish… Oh, how I wish I could tell her that it won’t be much longer, that very soon she’ll be free.

I wish I could wrap myself around her, protect her from the abuse, but I can’t. All I can do is watch, a silent witness to my past, forever a part of it, always haunted by it.

Never, ever, free from it.

There on the dirty mattress, my younger self presses tiny hands against her ears as she tries to drown out our father’s voice, but they're useless against the onslaught as he spits fire at her, burning her body with spite, and incinerating her innocence one hateful word at a time.

“Useless little wretch… Snivelling little shit… Worthless bag of bones…”

He knows.

He knows that the words he uses hurt her the most. That somehow her tiny little body can switch off and go someplace far, far away when his meaty hands crush her skinny little limbs and his knuckles bruise her fragile body. So he uses his words like a blade, slicing through her body, cutting her up until she’s nothing more than a pulpy, hollow mess.

Broken, trembling, she wraps herself up into the tiniest of balls hoping he’ll leave her alone, that he’ll tire of being evil, and he’ll just leave her to rot in this disgusting room. She hopes for release, and an end to this cycle of horrible, incomparable abuse, not knowing that it’s death she’s wishing for.

This time, however, he’s at his worst. A cruel creature wanting nothing more than to inflict pain with hateful words that shatter her very soul. Those times… they’re the worst.

“You’re not wanted,” he sneers, looming over her, a monster made of fire and brimstone, daggers and blades, lancing at her skin, sinking his hate into the very innermost parts of her, of me. Her fragile innocence is no match against his brutality. “No one will ever want you. No one could ever love you. Your mother should’ve had you aborted. Instead we’re stuck with you. I can’t bear to look at you. You dirty little bitch. You should be dead.”

“Please stop, please stop, please stop,” she chants, crying, her eyes sore from the acidic tears, from the lack of sleep, from the years of relentless abuse. I hear her say those words, my own voice hoarse and cracked as I say them too…

“Please stop, please stop. PLEASE STOP!”

The scream that rips out of my throat, yanks me out of my nightmare. Thrashing at the covers, I fight against the ghost of the memory, and the very real horrors that haunt me still.

“Daisy?!”

The door to my bedroom slams open as my chest heaves and I sob uncontrollably now. Tears stream down my face, giving me little relief from the harrowing, debilitating grief that pulls me to shreds and scatters me into tiny sharp-edged pieces.

Broken. I’m broken.

“Daisy? Jesus, are you okay?” Dalton asks, rushing to my side, hauling me into his arms as I beat my fists against him, caught between wakefulness and nightmares. My father’s claws are still buried inside my chest, squeezing the life from my heart, making me question what’s real and what isn’t.

“Please no, please no, please no,” I cry, sobbing uncontrollable as Dalton grasps me to his chest, holding me as I tremble. I’m nothing more than metres and metres of brightly coloured thread, unspooling and unravelling into a messy, tangled heap, colour leaching from the strands.

“Daisy, you’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s just a nightmare,” he says, doing his best to soothe me.

It’s just a nightmare.

Only it isn’t. It’s a memory. It was real. I lived it, breathed it… I survived it.

I survived. I hold onto that.

“I’m here. I’m here. It’s just me. It’s just me,” Dalton repeats, his voice harrowed, hoarse, affected by my pain as I curl into his body and hold on tight. My limbs wrap around his body as I press myself against his chest, anchoring myself to him. Needing him, a man who can never soothe me, not really, not truly, not deep down. He can’t mend my shattered heart. He can’t fix what’s broken. He can’t ever love me.

“I’m going to be sick,” I cry, sobbing, shaking, feeling my stomach churn and twist violently.

Pushing out of his arms, I scramble off the bed and run towards the bathroom, hot scalding tears blinding me as I lift up the toilet seat and retch. My body tries to rid itself of the gut-churning, acidic memories, but my stomach is empty and nothing comes up as I choke and heave.

“Daisy, fuck,” Dalton stutters out, dropping to his knees behind me as he pulls back my hair with one hand and rubs my back with the other.

I retch and retch, trying to purge the memories and those hateful words, imagining them releasing from my throat and into the basin, wishing I could see the physical expulsion empty into the bowl instead of air and bitter sobs. When I’m spent, I collapse onto my arse, breathing heavily, inhaling oxygen as I try to regain control.

“I’ve got you,” Dalton repeats, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close as I curl into him. Seeking comfort. Desperate for it.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cry, curling my fingers into his t-shirt, my tears soaking into the material, wanting things from him that he cannot give me. Yet, here I am trying to steal them anyway, sapping him of his strength so I can try to gather my own.

“Don’t be sorry, Daisy,” he croons, stroking my hair, rocking me in his arms. They feel protective, I feel safe in them, and that only makes me cry harder.

I cry and cry for what seems like hours, but lasts only minutes, until eventually the tears dry up and I’m a hollowed out mess.

“I–” I begin, but the words won’t come. There are no more tears, there’s just an empty, shattered shell, tattered and bleeding from the wounds my parents inflicted on me all those years ago.

“What can I do? What should I do?” he asks, pressing a kiss against my temple, cupping my face as he stares at me, eyes wide, afraid, concerned.

“I–I need to w—wash it away,” I hiccup, blinking up at him, my teeth chattering, my bones rattling as my body tries and fails to find strength from somewhere, anywhere.

He nods, pushing upright, helping me to stand on shivering, shaky legs. He leads me to the edge of the bath, pushing me gently downwards to sit on the lip.

“Let me run a bath. Just sit there, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, my hands falling to my lap as I teeter on the edge, not just of this bath, but my grip on reality, my father’s voice still whispering cruel words in my mind.

Beside me, he turns on the taps, unaware of how close I am to free falling into a terribly dark place. He plugs the hole, before dropping to his knees before me. His hands are warm as he cups my bare knees, looking up at me.

“Just concentrate on me, okay? Just breathe. I’m here.”

Our gazes clash as I nod, doing as he asks. He breathes with me, dragging in deep breaths through flared nostrils, blowing air back out of parted lips. We do that for long minutes, our breaths mingling as the bath fills and steam curls up into the air, eddying between us, covering our skin in a sheen of dampness. It’s as though my whole body is weeping, oozing with past hurts. Every second that passes is another second where I try to mentally lock up the nightmare, but it lingers like a nasty stain, darkening everything with bitterness.

“What time is it?” I eventually ask, noticing the shadows beneath his eyes, his mussed up hair. Needing to hold onto his image, needing to remain in the present, forcing myself not to spiral further.

“Early hours of the morning. Just after two am, I think.”

“I woke you up. I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be. I’m not,” he replies, reaching up to gently rub my arm, his eyes flicking to the bath. “It’s almost full. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” I reply on a panicked breath. “Please, don’t leave me. I’m not ready to face the rest of the night alone. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Then I’ll stay. I’ll do anything you need, Daisy,” he reassures me as I reach for the buttons of my pyjama top. My hands are shaking so much that I can’t seem to undo them. Dalton covers my hands with his. “Let me.”

Caught in the warmth of his concern, my hands fall away as he slowly unbuttons my top. Cool air pools over my bare skin as the material parts, revealing not just my naked skin, but the heart of me, the damaged, broken core.

I wonder if he sees it, what he thinks of me now?

“Stand, Daisy,” he gently commands, taking my hands as I lift up onto my feet robotically.

Silently, he slides the material off my shoulders, his warm hands coasting over my skin as the material falls to my feet. He drops his gaze to my sleep shorts, and I just nod, giving him permission to remove them. Unable to do much more than that.

Dalton drags in another deep breath, his fingers brushing my hips as he starts to slide the fabric down my legs. My heart hiccups at his tenderness, and I sway on my feet as I step out of them. For the briefest of moments, he captures me in his arms, holding me close as I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the heady scent of him, my stupid, foolish heart desperate to find solace there.

“Let me help you into the bath,” he offers, taking my hand as I gingerly step over the lip, sinking below the surface as he turns off the taps. Despite the heat of the water I shiver, unable, incapable of getting warm.

“Get in with me?” I ask, but it’s more of a plea than a question.

Dalton nods, stripping off his clothes, revealing his lean, tattooed body before climbing into the bath, facing me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, hating the pity I see in his gaze as I draw up my knees and wrap my arms around them.

“Stop saying that. Stop it, Daisy.”

“I can’t… I… Oh, Dalton…” I whimper, and his hands press against my crossed arms, gently prying them apart.

“Come here,” he whispers, pressing his hands beneath my armpits, hauling my body against his as water spills over the ledge and onto the floor.

My legs slide over his thighs, my chest pressed against his chest as I fall into his embrace. His hands glide over my back, gentle fingers gingerly tracing my skin as he rocks us both.

“Close your eyes, Daisy,” he whispers. “Turn off your mind, just concentrate on my touch.”

I try to do as he asks, but every time I close my eyes all I can see is that monster who hurt me so thoroughly. The memory isn’t tightly locked away. It hovers still, waiting for the opportunity to drag me back under.

Snivelling little shit…

My father’s voice is loud in my head, and more wracking sobs bubble up my throat, spilling out of my mouth, staining him with tears.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” I cry.

“Then look at me, Daisy. Look at me,” he commands, his hand coming up to the back of my head, his fingers curling into my hair, tugging hard.

My scalp tingles with sharp pain, blotting out my father’s voice for one blissful moment. I hiss out a breath, focusing on the man before me, revelling in the pain.

“Dalton…” I whimper. “Make it go away.”

“But–” His fingers loosen in my hair, and the darkness creeps back over me.

Worthless bag of bones…

“Please, Dalton. Make it go away.”

“How?”

“The pain…” I mutter.

“What?” His voice catches, body stiffening beneath me.

“Hurt me,” I whisper, the words tripping from my tongue.

“Hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you, Daisy,” he replies, shaking his head.

Useless little wretch…

I reach up, placing my hand over his, curling my fingers around his hand, forcing him to tug once more. The sharpness erases my father’s voice, every thought, every feeling of despair. I cling onto that, needing escape. I can’t unravel why the pain causes my mind to blank out, but it does, and right now I crave oblivion most of all.

“It helps to blot it out, the pain I mean…”

“Pain helps you to blot out the memories?” he questions, confused by my request.

“Yes,” I reply, voice quivering.

“But your parents hurt you too. I don’t want to do that.”

“You spanked me in the Hall of Mirrors, I liked it… I don’t know why, but… I…I liked it,” I admit, clinging onto that feeling, that almost catatonic state I went to.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Daisy. You’re so vulnerable right now.”

“I need this. Please.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze piercing mine. “I know that there can be pleasure in pain, release. I know this, but…”

“Don’t deny me. Please, Dalton. Don’t deny me this.”

“This isn’t something we should be experimenting with right now, Daisy. You’ve just woken up from a terrible nightmare. This isn’t how this is supposed to happen. There’s too much at stake. You’re not emotionally fit enough for this right now. I could make this worse, not better. No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t.”

“Dalton, he’s still in my head. I can hear his voice,” I say, pressing my palms against my temples, trying and failing to drown out the sound. “When you tugged on my hair, his voice disappeared. For the briefest of moments, I didn’t hear him anymore.”

“Jesus, Daisy. I’m not sure I’m equipped for this…”

“I trust you not to take it too far. I trust you,” I say, meaning it.

For long moments he just stares at me, battling with himself, but as he reflexively tugs on my hair more, that simple act has my mouth dropping open in bliss. I let out a soft mewl, everything going blank.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“Please.”

“Okay,” he relents, releasing me from his hold before placing his hands on my hips and urging me to rise. “Lean your body over my shoulder, Daisy. Grab the back of the bath to steady yourself. I’m going to spank you five times, but that’s it, that’s all I’m prepared to do. Don’t ask any more of me.”

“I won’t,” I agree, rising out of the water and draping myself over his shoulder as he wraps one arm around the back of my thighs.

Grasping the edge of the bath, I bite down on my bottom lip, my father’s voice getting louder and louder inside my head with every passing second.

“I’m going to count them down, okay. Ready?”

“Yes…”

“One!” he says almost immediately, and then his palm lands across my arse, slapping me so hard that for a moment all I’m aware of is white-hot heat. It’s painful, blissfully so, and I cry out, my fingers curling around the bath. The sharp sting fades as quickly as it came, and behind it follows a soothing blankness that envelops me right before he spanks me again.

“Two!”

Another sharp slap. More pain. More bliss.

“Three!”

Tears burst from my eyes, my body stiffening then relaxing as the sting spreads out, reaching every crevice, filling up the cracks with a sense of relief as my father’s voice fades into the distance.

“Four!” he grinds out, his arm tightening across my thighs, as my body turns liquid.

My cries become mewls of pleasure, the pain transforming into a peaceful kind of euphoria, a dizzying, buffeting lust, that I willingly fall headfirst into.

“Five!” he finishes, and the second his palm meets my sore arse, he reaches upwards, dragging me back down onto his lap. The warm water hits my stinging skin and I hiss from the pain as I fall into him, my body limp, my mind empty as I drag in deep lungfuls of air, quivering against him.

“Daisy?” Dalton questions, his voice gravelly, thick, as he gently nudges me upright, cupping my face as my eyes try to focus. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

I’m more than okay, I feel… free.

I feel… turned on.

My pussy contracts, my clit throbbing as the stinging fades, one intense feeling merging with another as pain gives way to pleasure.

“Kiss me,” I demand, my fingers gliding up his chest, my pussy pressing against the thick ridge of his cock.

With his gaze never leaving mine, Dalton nods once, his eyes glittering with fire, with empathy, with something else I can’t quite decipher, as he presses his lips to mine and kisses the air from my lungs, and any lingering memories from my mind.

This kiss is fervent, desperate, heightened in a way I haven’t experienced before, and I sink into it, caught up in this incredible connection forming between us. I trusted him enough not to hurt me, and he cared for me enough to give me what I craved.

Clinging onto him, my fingers glide up and over his shoulders, tangling in his hair as I pull him closer, hold him tighter. Between us his cock thickens, and he groans, jerking his hips against my pussy that I shamelessly rub against him. Heat gathers, building, growing, expanding as my body weeps for him, and my heart aches to be loved.

“Daisy,” he warns, his voice rough, like boulders falling over a cliff.

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” I beg, reaching between us, my fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him.

His mouth drops open, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as I fist him, needing him to want me as much as I want him.

“This is...” he gasps.

“Exactly what we both need,” I whisper, lifting up as I hover over his dick.

"You're hurting," he replies, his cheeks flushed and his pupils dilated as he gazes up at me. I can see him questioning the morality of our actions, but it's too late for that now. We've already crossed that line, and all I need at this moment is him.

“Not any more,” I say. “I need you to fuck me. Please, Dalton.”