Chapter 27
DAISY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After spending the following day exploring our surroundings and swimming in the turquoise ocean, Dalton and I sit on the porch of our beautiful, secluded bungalow, eating ripened fruit and crudités, washing them down with sparkling champagne. The shade of the vine-covered pergola above us creates a mosaic of warm afternoon light that dances across our skin, and I feel slightly intoxicated. Not just from the single glass of champagne I’ve just consumed, but from a heady mix of emotions swirly inside of me, and the memory of Dalton’s tongue and mouth on my pussy last night.
It was the single most erotic experience of my life.
Yes, we’ve had sex. Yes, I’ve come all over his cock, but this was different.
It was… more.
It wasn’t just the way he brought me to orgasm with his lips and his tongue, and didn’t expect anything in return. It wasn’t just the way he called me his wife, or the way he’d pulled me into his arms afterwards and held me like I was someone precious to him. It wasn’t just the way he kissed me like he’d never get enough of me, or the way he danced with me, sung to me. It was all of that, and it was so much more.
I felt worshipped.
Right there on the jetty, with stars sparkling above us and Dalton’s baritone voice filling up an emptiness deep inside of me, I felt our connection strengthen into something powerful. That feeling of being utterly adored lingers still, and as I slowly chew on the sweet slice of mango, I feel Dalton staring at me, the heat of his gaze caressing me with sin. Everything seems so heightened, and I’ve spent the day walking around in a daze of arousal, wanting nothing more than to submit to the pleasure he can, apparently, so easily conjure within me. Instead, we’ve taken the time to just be… With each other, ourselves, and it’s been such a beautiful day of hand-holding, laughter, and heightened awareness.
But my heart is yearning for more.
I want him to fuck me again.
No, I want him to make love to me.
“Daisy, what’s on your mind?” Dalton asks, breaking the silence between us as a warm breeze coasts over my skin, the scent of the ocean only serving to remind me of the way I’d so willingly submitted to him last night.
“Do you want the truth?” I reply softly, turning to face him, my pulse thrumming in my ears, between my legs.
“Yes, I want the truth,” he replies, his gaze locking with mine.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night,” I admit. “I feel…”
“You feel what, Daisy?” he gently prods, resting his empty glass of champagne back on the table, his strong fingers and wide palms pressed against his thighs as he waits for me to answer.
My gaze falls to his bare chest, and the way his open shirt reveals the beautiful tattoos that adorn his sun-kissed skin, darkened a little after a couple of days in the sun. He’s cut to perfection, a Grecian god, made of marble, dipped in ink.
“I feel aroused,” I whisper, my cheeks heating at all the other words on the tip of my tongue. Does he feel that closeness too, the beautiful connection between us? The joy of finding the other part of you?
“You’re aroused now?” he says, his voice strained.
“Yes. I feel wound up tight, and…”
“And?”
Shit. A sudden wave of uncertainty washes over me. What if I’ve read this all wrong? What if he doesn’t feel what I feel? What if this is all in my head? He’s told me on countless occasions that he can’t love me, that he doesn’t know how. Then again last night he’d said he’d regretted a lot of the things he’d said, that he wants to build on our friendship. Do I trust what I felt between us? Do I listen to my head, or to what he’s told me? Should I be truthful and open my heart, sharing my doubts with him, or should I keep them underwraps?
I chew on my lip, trying to decide.
“Daisy?” he questions, canting his head to the side, frowning a little as he stares at me. “Talk to me.”
“I’m afraid, Dalton,” I admit.
“Of what?”
“I’m afraid that my need to feel so desperately wanted is blinding me from the truth,” I rush out as a sudden sharp pain lacerates my heart. I flick my gaze away, dragging in a shuddering breath.
“What truth?”
“That you?—”
“Daisy, what truth?” he persists, reaching for me, his hand wrapping around mine, squeezing gently.
“That you truly are incapable of ever loving me.”
He hesitates for a moment, a frown appearing between his eyebrows. “Do you want that, Daisy? Do you want me to love you?”
“I’ve always wanted to feel loved, Dalton,” I say, blinking back hot tears, refusing to let them fall.
“But do you want me to love you? Do you want me to make love to you, wife?” he persists, and the way he calls me his wife makes me tremble with need.
“I want that more than anything. I want to be loved, Dalton. I want it so badly that it hurts,” I whisper, rubbing my chest where my heart swells painfully. “But more than that, I want you, and it terrifies me that you only want me for one thing. Part of me still believes that I’m just a means to an end, an itch you need to scratch, an addiction you need to appease, and I’m scared that what I’m beginning to feel forming between us isn’t real.”
“Daisy, look at me,” he demands softly, urgently.
I don’t. I can’t. More tears well in my eyes, and I hate that I’m so vulnerable.
“Look at me now,” he repeats, more forcefully this time, and my eyes snap up to meet his.
I suck in a breath at the heat in them, at the way he seems to drink me in like a man desperate to quench his thirst.
“I’m not a sex addict, Daisy,” he says, leaning closer and cupping my face, his thumb trailing over the tears that glisten on my skin. “Despite really enjoying sex, and despite what everyone thinks, it’s more complicated than that,” he explains, blowing out a shuddering breath of his own. “If I’m being honest with myself, it isn’t the sex so much as…”
“What, Dalton?”
He levels his gaze with mine. “When I’ve fucked women before, for a brief moment in time, I was their everything. That made me feel wanted, adored, desired, loved,” he adds softly. “And as much as everyone thinks I’ve used those women to get myself off, they’ve used me too for the exact same thing. No one has ever fought to keep me. No one has ever cared for me, not really, not in the way that matters. The women I’ve been with before have only ever truly wanted me for my money, for the notoriety of ensnaring the heir to a fortune. I walked away before they could do the same to me. Just like my own mother did. You’re the only one who’s stayed. I know you’re bound to me, but the sheer fact you’ve not run, that you aren’t interested in my family’s fortune, that you want to be friends, that you trust me with your pain, that you see something in me that others never have, it means a great deal.”
“Dalton, I didn’t realise,” I say, my heart aching for him.
“It’s different with you,” he continues, pressing on. “I want you. God help me, I do. But I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to make love to you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. So much, and I will, one day, when I truly understand the meaning of the word,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, mirroring me. His honesty both causes a crack in my heart, and simultaneously heals it.
“You truly want me, for me? You could love me?”
“Yes, Daisy. Yes,” he replies emphatically, pressing a tender kiss against my knuckles, his lips lingering against my skin. “I think I’ve wanted you for a long time now, but I kept you at a distance. I encouraged the animosity between us because you were off-limits to me. I refused to look too closely at why it drove me crazy when I saw you with other men,” he admits.
My heart rate kicks up a notch at the honesty of his confession, at the helplessness he so clearly feels. Like me, he’s been cast adrift, consumed by the current of our developing feelings, helpless against them.
“What do we do now?” I ask, hopeful, willing to tread water, to keep afloat whilst we learn how to swim, together.
“Right now, I need you to bear with me, Daisy. Will you do that? Will you be patient? Will you give me the time to explore what’s growing between us? Because the next time I sink inside of you I want it to be out of love.”
“Yes,” I reply without a moment’s hesitation, wanting to give him that, wanting it more than anything. Then I push back my chair and stand, tugging on his hand. “Come with me?”
He nods, rising to his feet as he follows me into the lounge. I guide him towards the main bedroom suite where I’ve been sleeping. There are two bedrooms in this bungalow, but we haven’t shared a bed since we arrived. Perhaps it was because we felt the need to give each other space, or maybe it was because we were both afraid of what sharing a bed for an entire night could mean. There’s something about holding each other in sleep that is far more intimate than fucking, and I guess neither of us were truly ready for that, but none of that matters now as I stop at the end of the bed, turning to face him.
“What are we doing?” he asks. There’s a wariness in his gaze, but also a willingness, and it emboldens me.
“Take your clothes off, Dalton,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because loving someone isn’t just about sex,” I reply, feathering my fingers against his stubbled jaw.
“Yet you want me naked?” he asks, a soft laugh releasing from his lips.
“Loving someone also means taking care of them,” I continue, gently. “Sex is wonderful, of course it is, but kindness, care, empathy, tenderness, that’s a huge part of it too. I think you’re beginning to see that, at least I thought you were when we…”
“When we what, Daisy?”
“That night when I had the nightmare. It was so… I felt.. It seemed as though you… cared for me,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
“Christ, Daisy. I do care for you. I did what you asked of me because I care.”
“But…”
“But, what?” he asks.
“After we had sex, when I looked in your eyes, I saw so much fear there, hesitancy, and it threw me. I thought perhaps you wished we hadn’t had sex that night, that maybe I’d cornered you into doing something you didn’t want, that you pity-fucked me.”
“Fuck, no. I hate that you thought that,” he exclaims, swiping a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t what I felt at all. I wanted to ease your pain, Daisy. I wanted you to escape from your memories. I wanted you to feel good, but when it was over and you were crying, I was afraid I took advantage of your emotional state. That I made things worse, that I did the wrong thing like I’m prone to do.”
“You didn’t. You did exactly the right thing,” I say, dragging in a deep breath. “You saw me at my worst, you held me with care and affection, you helped me overcome the memories by giving me what I craved. You did ease my pain. It was, and forever will be, a perfect moment in time. All of it, not just the sex, or the spanking, or the way you held me both before and after. Every single moment.”
“Fuck, it was perfect wasn’t it? It was as though… It was as if…” His voice trails off as he winces. “Why is this so damn hard for me to talk about? I’m sorry I’m not able to express myself very well. I should’ve explained how I felt at the time, but like now I couldn’t find the words.”
“I understand, and now that I do, I’ll make sure I don’t rush to any conclusions, ” I reply, feeling an immense sense of relief.
“So what now?” he questions, giving me a lopsided grin.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, sliding my palms up over the firm muscles of his chest, my fingers pushing the material of his shirt over his shoulder.
“Yes,” he whispers, as I remove his shirt, allowing the material to flutter to the floor.
Reaching for the waistband of his swim shorts next, I slip my fingers beneath the material at his hips and slide them off until he’s naked before me. His dick hangs heavy between his thighs, not completely erect, but not soft either. And whilst I want nothing more than to touch him and bring him to orgasm like he did for me on the jetty, I don’t, I simply say, “Get on the bed, lie down on your stomach.”
Without uttering a word, Dalton does as I ask. He lays down on the huge bed, resting his cheek on his folded hands. For a moment I just stare at his beautiful body, at his broad shoulders and back covered in stunning abstract black tattoos, that curl and loop around each other. I allow my gaze to coast over his strong muscular arms and legs, before finally resting my gaze on his profile.
“You’re a beautiful man, Dalton,” I say, climbing onto the bed, straddling his firm arse as I gently lower myself over him, my cotton dress gathered around the top of my thighs. “I’ve always thought so. I guess I was hiding my own attraction for fear of being rejected,” I admit. “Now I don’t have to.”
Dalton sucks in a breath, and I know he must feel the dampness of my knickers, how I’m wet for him, but he doesn’t try to move, and I don’t grind against him to relieve the ache I feel. Instead, I rest my hands on the centre of his back, then gently run my fingers up and down the length of his spine, caressing him with fondness and affection, with care and tenderness.
“That feels good,” he murmurs, as I stroke his skin, soothing him.
“I want you to feel good,” I reply and as my fingers continue to glide over Dalton’s skin, his muscles start to relax beneath me as the tension in his body begins to dissipate. “I want you to feel cared for.”
Taking a moment to savour the sensation, I begin to massage his shoulders, kneading the muscles gently until I hear a soft moan escape his lips. I’m not doing this to get him off, to make him hard, though given the sounds he’s making I suspect that’s happening anyway. I’m doing it because I want him to feel taken care of. So I continue to massage him, interspersing the kneading of his muscles with soft strokes of my fingers over his skin. Then slowly, tentatively, I lean over and press soft kisses against his skin, imbuing tenderness into his flesh, wanting him to know that he is treasured, that I treasure him.
Part of me expects him to turn beneath me, to succumb to the sexual attraction between us, but he doesn’t, he simply allows me to stroke him, soothe him, and as time passes his eyelids drift shut and his breathing settles into an even rhythm. When I’m certain that he’s fallen asleep, I climb off him and lay by his side, my hand pressed against the middle of his back as I stare at the man I now call husband. Before long I’m drifting off to sleep too, thoughts of a happy, loving future with Dalton whispering across my mind.
The next morning I wake up to the press of firm, warm lips against mine, and my eyelids flutter open as Dalton reaches up and brushes a strand of hair off my face.
“Morning, wife,” he says, rubbing the tip of his nose against the bridge of mine.
“Morning, husband,” I whisper back, twisting in his arms that have somehow wound themselves around my body as he stares at me. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like a baby. Speaking of which…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he runs his hand over my hip, the warmth of his fingers dragging fire across my skin as he grins. “There’s no time like the present.”
“Dalton, I think maybe we should–” but my words are abruptly cut off as his hand reaches between my legs and he cups my pussy, making me forget everything I was about to say.
“I woke up to dirty thoughts of filling you with my cum,” he says, dropping his lips to mine and kissing me as the heel of his palm presses against my clit. “Last night you bewitched me with your touch. I was so soothed by it that I fucking fell asleep. Believe me when I say, that will never happen again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with…” I moan, his hand moving over my tender flesh.
“Nothing wrong with what, wife?” he softly goads, nuzzling my neck.
“Feeling relaxed enough to fall asleep.” I gasp as he gently strokes his finger over the fabric of my knickers.
“I was turned on, you know. So fucking turned on, I want you to know that, but I forced myself to remain still, wanting to know what would happen if I just allowed the moment to play out,” he explains, his fingers sliding beneath my panties, a groan releasing from his lips as he finds me soaking for him.
“L–like I said, loving someone isn’t just about sex, Dalton,” I mutter, my words tripping awkwardly off my tongue as he fingers me slowly.
“Are you saying you love me?” he jokes, a sexy smile pulling up his lips as he pulls back slightly, looking down at me.
“There’s so much about you worth lov–” I begin, but he dips his finger inside of me deeper, and I forget how to breathe, let alone speak.
“You don’t need to say anything. I wasn’t searching for any affirmations,” he adds, his smile slowly fading as heat and lust glimmers in his eyes. “In fact, the only sound I want coming out of your mouth are those pretty little moans that turn me on so much. So will you let me touch you, kiss you, taste you?”
“Only if you let me do that to you in return. This isn’t one sided, Dalton. If you’re going to pleasure me, then I want to pleasure you too,” I reply, drugged by his attention, caught up in the moment, needing his touch, wanting his kisses, wanting to taste him.
“Good girl,” he replies as he removes his hand from my pulsing core then sits up, sliding off the end of the bed. I can’t help but stare at his beautiful body, at the way his erection bobs between his thighs as he stares down at me. “Take your dress off, wife,” he orders.
I bite my lip, drawing upright to do as he commands, slipping off my dress until I’m left in just my lace knickers. I hadn’t worn a bra yesterday, the humidity making it too uncomfortable, and Dalton’s gaze flares with more heat at my bare breasts, his gaze slowly lowering to my knickers.
“Those too.”
He holds his hand out to me and I wriggle out of my panties, passing them to him. Dalton bunches them up in his hand and lifts them to his nose, breathing in deep.
“Fuck, you smell delicious,” he grinds out, before lowering his hand to his cock, and using my knickers to fist his length.
I gasp at the eroticism of the moment, how he stands there and fucks himself with my arousal-stained panties. “Jesus,” I mutter, my body lighting up with desire.
“Do you like watching me pleasure myself?”
“Yes,” I breathe, turned on beyond belief.
“Good, but we’re both going to enjoy this more,” he grinds out, dropping my underwear to the floor, and grasping my ankles with a wicked grin on his face as he pulls me to the end of the bed.
My legs hang over the mattress, my toes grazing the floor as he parts my knees, licking his lips as he stares at my pussy. As much as I want him to eat me out, I want to taste him more, so I push upright before he has a chance to drop to his knees.
“It’s my turn,” I say, grabbing his cock gently before he has time to protest.
“Fuck, Daisy,” he mutters, his chin dropping to his chest as he looks down at me, at my fingers grasping him.
“This isn’t just about me,” I remind him, gently fisting his cock. “I want to make you feel good too.”
“You already make me feel good, Daisy. Just being in your presence makes me feel so fucking good,” he admits, resting his hand on my head, stroking my hair. “I fucking adore you.”
My heart clenches as I drag in a sharp breath. “Are you saying you love me?” I whisper, half-joking, half-serious.
Our eyes clash, but when he doesn’t answer, I simply smile then press a gentle kiss against the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, jerking in my hands as his fingers slide into my hair and tighten around the strands.
Emboldened, I tentatively lick his crown, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum, humming around the taste before I lick the round head of his cock.
“Jesus, fuck,” he mutters, eyelids drooping as he looks down at me, and I look up at him. “Look at you. So fucking pretty, so fucking mine. My pretty, little flower.”
“Flower?” I question, smiling as I brush my lips against his cock.
“You’re not just a single petal, Daisy. You’re a whole fucking flower, and perfectly, wholly mine.”
His words fill me with pride, with lust, and I take him further down my throat, suctioning my lips around his cock as he thrusts gently into my mouth, groaning. The noises he makes turn me on, and I drag my lips and tongue back up his length, swiping the head of his cock over my lips before gently gripping him in my hand and licking him from base to tip, over and over again, making sure I pay particular attention to his crown and the thick vein running beneath his skin.
“I’ve never seen anything more fucking erotic than you sucking on my cock, Daisy. It feels so fucking good, so fucking right,” he exclaims, palming the back of my head, urging me to take him into my mouth.
I smile up at him, a moan releasing from my lips at the almost feral way he stares at me as I take him into my mouth. He’s trembling, but I can tell he’s holding back, that he wants to sink himself deeper. He’s so big, I don’t know whether he’ll fit without making me gag. As though sensing my thoughts, he gently strokes my hair as I caress him with my tongue.
“Put your other hand on my hip, Daisy. If I go too deep, tap me, and I will pull back,” he directs me.
Following his instructions, I rest my hand on his hip, the other still stroking the base of his cock, which is now slippery and wet with my saliva.
“That’s my good girl,” he mutters, sliding his hands into my hair, behind my ear. “As you take me deeper, breathe in, it will help.”
I nod softly, trusting him to not force himself down my throat, the feeling of power and control overwhelming me as his mouth drops open and his eyes roll into the back of his head. My mind is hazy with desire as I suck on him, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum and the muskiness of his arousal. He continues to gently thrust into my mouth, his hips moving with a rhythm that synchronises with my breathing. Every now and then my hand presses firmly into his hip, letting him know when he goes too deep, but he’s gentle and attentive, always pulling back when necessary.
Pleasure courses through my body, my pussy growing wetter with each lick and suck of his cock, and as much as I want to touch myself whilst pleasuring him, I keep my focus on his erection, wanting to please him, to make sure he enjoys this just as much as I do.
“That’s it, wife, take my cock. You take me so well,” he groans, his words only adding to the intensity of the moment. I whimper around him, my clit pulsing, aching to be touched as heat climbs up my chest and neck.
His eyes snap open at the sound of my whimpers, and with blazing eyes filled with lust he says, “Do you like sucking my cock?”
I nod, the slippery sounds of me sucking him off turning me on.
“Good,” he moans. “Because I fucking love it too. I love seeing my cock slipping between your plump lips, how your skin blushes a pretty pink for me. Look at you, so fucking willing to take me deep.”
Encouraged by his praise, I take him deeper, the soft tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat briefly before he pulls back. My nostrils flare as I breathe in deep.
“That’s it, just like that,” he stutters out, his chest heaving as both of his hands gently hold my head, guiding my movement as his thrusts become more and more erratic.
“I’m close, Daisy. I’m so fucking close. You need to let me go. You need to let me go before I come down your throat,” he gasps, a deep guttural sound ripping out of his chest as his dick seems to grow impossibly large in my mouth.
I pull back, panting as I stare up at him with wide eyes. “Dalton,” I whimper, my hand falling to my crotch, needing to touch myself, to relieve some of the building pressure between my legs.
His eyes flare with heat, noticing what I’m about to do, and he growls, fisting his cock almost violently.
“Lie on the bed. Open your legs wide. Do it now!” he cries, squeezing his cock tight as I shuffle backwards on the bed, my cheeks flaming as I widen my legs, giving him a full view of my slick pussy.
“Fuck, look at your pretty cunt, so wet, so pink, so fucking beautiful,” he groans, still fisting his dick as he kneels between my parted legs. My hand flies to my clit, but he shakes his head. “Don’t you dare touch what’s mine,” he demands, glaring at me, fierce in his lust. “I’m going to cover you with my come, Daisy, then I’m going to use my fingers to fuck you with it.”
“Oh God,” I whimper as my hands fall away.
“Say my name, wife!” he demands. “I want you to say my name when I cover you with my seed, and finger-fuck you with it until you come so fucking hard it will obliterate every memory of other men and replace them with me.”
“Dalton,” I cry, wound up tight, almost coming from his words alone.
“That’s it, say it again,” he grinds out, the veins in his forearms and hands bulging as he relentlessly strokes himself.
“Dalton. Please come. Please come all over me,” I say, gasping at how dirty that sounds. “I want you to come all over me.”
“Yes, wife,” he groans, a deep guttural sound that seems to vibrate the air between us as his hips thrust and his cum spurts into the air, splattering across my stomach and chest in thick, white streams.
The slickness of his cum, and the sound of his heaving rasps as he falls forward pressing his hands into the mattress either side of my head, makes my pussy throb with need. The sight of my husband, his cock still pumping, his eyes pressed shut in ecstacy and his face contorted in lust, sends my arousal soaring. Once again my hand moves to my pussy, and I press my finger against my clit, almost bucking off the bed from that slight touch.
“Don’t you dare,” he growls, his eyes snapping open as he reaches between us, knocking my hand away, replacing it with his own as he slides two fingers into my soaked core in one firm thrust. “This is mine as much as it is yours, and now I’m going to fill it with my cum.”
“Yes,” I hiss, writhing beneath him, not caring how desperate I must look.
As he continues to thrust his fingers inside me, he rises upwards and uses his other hand to scoop up some of his cum. Our eyes meet and the possession in his has my heart rate thundering, matching the building orgasm deep inside of me.
“I’m going to stuff you full of my seed, wife. I’m going to fill you up with every last drop, and you’re going to take it all. You’re going to take my seed and you’re going to come so fucking hard that the stars behind your eyelids are going to be brighter than any in the night sky,” he exclaims, chest heaving, arms flexing, eyes blazing.
“Fill me up, Dalton. Make me come,” I growl, so close to free-falling. His words like fuel to the fire building inside of me, making my whole body clench in anticipation.
Dalton smiles wickedly and removes his hand from between my legs, replacing them with his cum-soaked fingers and plunging them inside of me. I gasp as he works them in and out with fervour. I writhe beneath him as he scoops up more cum and coats his fingers with the sticky liquid once again, alternating his fingers, making sure I take every last drop.
“Take what I give you,” he says, his voice pitched in lust, his expression twisted with desire and dominance.
“Yes, Dalton. Yes!” I cry, trying to hold on to reality as my body trembles with the intensity of my impending climax.
“Call me your husband, wife,” he commands.
“Fuck me with your cum, husband,” I cry out, my orgasm barrelling out of nowhere, a cascade of bright white stars bursting behind my closed eyelids as I come.
My orgasm is intense. Powerful, and I feel it unravel deep inside as my internal muscles clench around his fingers, drawing his sperm deep into my womb.
“That’s it,” he soothes, as tears trickle from my eyes. “Take everything I have to give. Take it all.”
I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m so overwhelmed, so overtaken by lust and desire, connection and pure animal need. It’s all that I’ve ever wanted.
I’m a mess of emotions, of rawness, as my orgasm ebbs away, leaving me satiated, depleted, and thoroughly and blissfully content as he drapes himself over me, his still hard cock pressing against my lower stomach.
“You’re mine…” he says, his voice thick, and as I look up at him, at the almost shocked expression on his face, I know that I am his. That I belong to Dalton Gunn, and that he belongs to me.
“As you are mine,” I whisper back.