Chapter 24
DALTON
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Not any more,” Daisy whispers, her red-rimmed eyes locking with mine. “I need you to fuck me. Please, Dalton.”
I can’t deny her.
God-fucking-help-me, I can’t deny her this anymore than I could the pain she begged I inflict on her not moments before, not when she looks at me the way she is doing now, as though, somehow, I’m worthy enough of fixing her, of healing her pain.
When I’d heard her screams, I’d been lying awake unable to fucking sleep after our conversation at the ruins earlier. She’d told me that she sees something in me, something that I don’t, that others never have. For the first time in my fucking life I felt hope, hope that I can be a better man and not end up like my father. Ruthless, callous, heartless.
I don’t want to be like him, alone with nothing but his riches to measure his worth. It’s a sad life, fucking lonely, I see that now. I understand what she was trying to tell me.
“Dalton,” she whimpers, her nails digging into the flesh of my shoulders. “Please.”
Rightly or wrongly, her brokenness has given me a twisted sense of comfort, and that maybe, somehow, I can find peace in it, and more importantly, that she can find peace in me. So I don’t deny her, I simply nod, and as she lowers herself onto my dick, inch by torturous inch, my eyes stutter shut at how her body fists mine, at the blissful awareness she draws out of me.
Everything feels heightened, my senses, my… feelings.
Feelings.
Christ, she drags them all to the surface with her whimpers of pleasure, with her tears of pain, with her faith in me as a man. I don’t know when her opinion of me shifted from one of hate and annoyance to affection and acceptance. Was it that night she revealed her past and I refused to fuck her? Was it when she clung onto me tightly around the racetrack, putting her trust in me to keep her safe? Was it before either of those times when I brought her a dress and supported her right to wear colour because I understood how much it meant to her? When I stood up for her in the garden of this very mansion? Was it at the arcade when we’d laughed so much our bellies hurt? Was it when we fucked that first time, overcome with need for each other? Or was it a culmination of all those moments?
I guess it doesn’t matter now.
What matters is that she isn’t hurting any more. What matters is that the happiness and joy my father tried so hard to extinguish is still alive inside my chest. It’s still there.
And it’s because of her. Daisy.
The girl I once loved to hate has become the very reason I want to feel joy, happiness, acceptance… Maybe, eventually, love. Is that really possible for me? It’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over again. I still don’t know the answer.
Right here and now, confined by the walls of the bath, all I can do is hold her in my arms as she rocks against me, the soft mewling sounds releasing from her parted lips making my cock thicken and grow within her. The way she grinds against me, using my body as a talisman to ward off her demons, only makes me more protective of her. She can fuck me like this forever if she wants, and I would welcome it.
My hands find their way to her breasts, cupping them, and beneath my palms I feel the steady thrum of her heart thrashing against her rib cage, a reminder that it still has the capacity to beat despite her trauma, and the people who tried so hard to break it.
I’m in awe of her, swept up in her courage as she grinds against my cock, taking everything that I give her willingly. Mouth parted, her gaze never leaving mine, she rides me harder. Gripping my shoulders, she anchors herself to me, and my hands fall to her hips, supporting her, my pelvis rocking in time to her rhythm.
Minutes pass, and I’m in no hurry to come. This isn’t the frantic, all-consuming fucking we’ve shared before, where we’ve both sought the welcome release of orgasm. This is different, it’s more… and I’m not able to fully comprehend what’s happening between us. I don’t even want to. I need to just live in this moment, wrap myself up in it, let it consume me, guide me.
As we move in sync, the horror of her trauma has faded to bliss as her features soften, and this sense of belonging washes over me. She needs me, and God help me, I need her, need this, whatever this is.
She’s my friend, my lover.
She’s a woman unafraid to point out my flaws.
She’s brave, and stubborn. Fierce and kind.
She’s colourful and bright. Determined and focused.
And in just a few days time she’ll be my wife.
My wife.
“Dalton,” she murmurs, caressing my cheek, her lips lowering to mine in a kiss that begins to unravel everything I’ve built to protect myself.
My arrogance is torn to shreds by her vulnerability.
My selfishness is pulled apart by her courage.
My isolation is destroyed by her affection.
At this moment, I’m not just helping to heal her pain, she’s helping to heal mine too. Just by existing, by being herself, she is shaping me into someone new, someone I could be proud of.
Sex has never been like this for me. Never.
I can feel everything, her heart beating wildly as she plasters herself to my chest, her breath catching in her throat as we kiss, the little gasps of pleasure that escape her lips and cascade over my skin in a soothing balm.
I’m lost, utterly fucking lost in her.
She takes and I give.
But this isn’t one way, I fall into her as much as she falls into me.
Her wounds are mine, and we stitch them back together with every kiss, with every gentle thrust of my hips, and every downward stroke of her pussy.
Time seems to slow down as our joining fuses us together, soothing sharpened edges, grinding pain into dust. We’ve become one, and as I continue to hold her, to wrap my arms around her back and press kisses against her chest. I can’t help but marvel at the strength she possesses. She’s carried this burden of her past for so long. A smothering heaviness that has broken her heart but has also built resilience, a determination to not let it rule her life.
I’m in awe of her.
So completely and utterly in awe.
Our gazes meet once more as I arch my neck to look up at her, and in that moment I see the unfiltered truth of Daisy, of the woman I’m about to marry, and in turn I see the man I can become with her by my side.
“Look at you,” I whisper.
She smiles down at me. It’s just a gentle curve of her lips, a caress of joy that warms every single part of me. This moment, as I’m nestled between her legs, my cock buried deep inside of her, feels so fucking right.
“I’m going to come,” she murmurs, her breath quickening, her core gripping my cock so tightly that I’m drugged by the feel of her.
Pleasure ricochets up and down my spine, expanding outwards to every taut muscle, seeping into my bones, gathering in the tightness of my balls, loosening the breath from my lungs, smashing through the barriers around my heart.
“I feel it,” I say, and I don’t just mean the way she grips me so tightly, or how my body responds to hers.
I feel… more.
I feel the first fluttering of something bigger than me and my selfish needs, something worth exploring, something indescribable, something special.
As her hips buck against me, and her inner muscles clench and release, milking my cock, I feel my own orgasm taking hold, gathering and swirling deep inside. The sensation is exhilarating, intoxicating as she jerks against me, her mouth dropping open, whimpers releasing from parted, kiss-bruised lips. I reach between us, pressing the pad of my thumb against her thickened nub, adding more pleasure, wanting her to come undone. Needing to be the man who makes her fall apart, so I can put her back together again.
“Yes,” she hisses, as I rub her clit and thrust up into her, matching her stroke for stroke.
“Fuck, Daisy,” I groan, my own orgasm looming near as the world around us fades and collapses, until there’s only us. Two bodies drowning in pleasure, two people connected by lust and desire, by friendship and affection, by pain and hope.
I’m almost there now, on the very edge, teetering on the precipice of my release. “Now, Daisy,” I pant. “Come… Now… With me.”
I thrust one last time as our gazes clash, and our hips collide. She jerks, clamping down on my dick with a cry, and I explode, my orgasm barrelling out of me like a bullet from a gun, obliterating every thought that enters my head and replacing it with a white-hot, lightning strike of bliss. Our bodies stiffen, slick with sweat, both of us are caught up in the moment as she falls into me, gasping, sucking in deep breaths as we hold onto each other, caught in our little bubble of peace and pleasure.
Which bursts the moment she pulls back.
“Dalton, I…” she begins, her lip trembling, her eyes wide and gleaming with tears that trickle down her cheeks.
Fuck.
My throat constricts, fear shuddering through my body. Have I done the wrong thing? Have I taken advantage of her vulnerability? Did I make this worse, not better? Oh, fuck, what have I done?
“What is it?” I ask, as she lifts off of me, her gaze flicking away as I run a shaky hand through my hair.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she whispers, giving me a quivering smile as she shakes her head.
A better man than me would haul her back into their arms and deal with this moment with kindness and empathy, but I’m still finding my feet, grappling with my own emotions. If she was raw and bleeding from her nightmare, then I am a reflection of that right now. I feel as though my chest has been ripped open, my heart stuttering behind the raggedy bones of my ribcage. So I don’t press her. I let her tend to herself, as I do. We wash ourselves in silence, no longer touching, cleaning our bodies distractedly. Whatever had connected us in those intense few minutes evaporates alongside the steam curling up into the air.
“Daisy,” I begin, but she just gives me a broken smile and rises upwards, stepping out of the bath.
“It’s late. I should go to bed,” she says, gathering a towel and wrapping it around herself, as though protecting herself from me.
I nod. “You’re right.”
She slips out of the bathroom, disappearing into the bedroom. By the time I’ve dried myself and dressed, she’s lying on her side on the bed, the cover pulled up beneath her chin. For a moment I stand beside her, uncertain what to do. My skin feels too tight, my breath too shallow. I itch to touch her, to make her talk to me, but I don’t know if I have the right words to soothe whatever it is she’s feeling. Perhaps it’s better if I leave?
Yet my body refuses to, even as my fight and flight instincts kick in.
Not sure if I’m doing the right thing, I climb onto the bed and lay down beside her. I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if my closeness is welcome now, but despite all of that I spoon her body, pressing my chest against her back, dropping my arm over her waist.
She heaves out a sigh, and the sound guts me, because it doesn’t sound like a sigh of contentment, it sounds like an exhale of sadness. I feel it thicken the air between us, shrouding what has just come to pass in grief, and even worse, regret.
We lay like that, together yet distant. I’m not sure how much time passes, but as the sky outside begins to slowly lighten, turning the black of night into the grey twilight of dawn, I lean over and press a kiss against Daisy’s temple, then leave.