Chapter 25 The Fall #3
He looked at her, wrapped up like a goddess painted in firelight. “I don’t want to be your friend, Daisy.” When her expression fell, he continued, “But I don’t know if I can be more.”
“Oh.” She licked her lip then reached for the champagne, taking two long sips. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can always ask. Whether I have an answer depends on the question.”
She took another sip, gently touching her nose as if the bubbles tickled it. “What happens at dawn?”
“The bells ring, and everyone returns to the ballroom.”
“Then what?”
“Limos come and take everyone home—well, to the hotels. The flights aren’t scheduled until later tonight.” He refilled her glass. “My turn. Do you like your job?”
“At the laundry?” She laughed, the sound bubbly and light. “God, no. I like my coworkers, but that’s about it.”
“What do you plan to do with your prize?”
She took a slow sip, her posture loosening as the champagne took effect. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I really don’t. I can’t even conceive of that kind of money. I was shocked just to receive the thousand pounds in good faith.”
“What did you buy?”
“Rent, new shoes, and a filling.”
He frowned. “You bought dental work?”
“It’s amazing how much healthcare can feel like a luxury to those who don’t have it.”
He thought of his mother, of how desperate she was for drugs. Desperate enough to sell her own son. “You didn’t buy one thing for yourself?”
She twisted her lips. “I bought a coffee.”
“That’s food.”
She shook her head. “Not this kind. It was made from one of those fancy machines with frothed milk and a design in the top.”
“What was the design?”
“A clover. Why are you scowling?”
“I think I need to raise the price of things if all you were able to buy was a coffee, a filling, and a pair of shoes.”
“Don’t forget rent.” She drained her cup again and hummed. “I actually think I really like champagne. Can I have some more?”
He refilled her glass, waiting for her to sip. When she did, he pulled her lips to his, stealing it right out of her mouth. She moaned and softened under his kiss, melting a little more into her chair. A little too much.
“Shit.” She jumped up when the champagne spilled onto her lap, soaking the sheet. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I think I’m a little drunk.” She brushed a hand over the spill. “And wet.”
“Let me help.” He tugged the sheet, drawing her into the space between his knees, then letting it fall to her feet.
A delicate blush climbed over her breasts as his gaze traveled upward. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her to his lap.
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I want to try something.”
She lowered to his lap, her knees sliding to frame his hips. His body responded instantly. He set her hands on either arm of the Chesterfield, bringing her breast level with his mouth. Leaning forward, he slowly licked the tips, sucking each one into a damp, pink point.
Parted lips. Dilated eyes. So patient. So perfect.
He glanced between her legs at the downy nest of curls. Slowly, he dragged his thumb over the soft patch until he found her little nub. He rubbed slow circles, and her breath caught. He loved how responsive she was to his touch and resented how little time they had left.
The sky had shifted to a dark violet. He despised every responsibility awaiting him. They were running out of time, and he wasn’t in any position to rush.
“What if I said don’t leave at dawn?”
“What?”
“Do you have—” His stomach twisted. “Someone waiting for you to return?”
“I… I have a job.”
“In two hours, you’ll be a millionaire, Daisy. You’re not going back to that job.”
“My co-workers will be worried. We weren’t allowed to tell anyone where we were going, and I never go anywhere.”
“So you’d need to make a phone call?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Daisy, I know I’m asking a lot. And I’m not even sure what I’m asking. My life… It’s very private. That’s not accidental. Every single part is by my own design. I’m meticulous and guarded, and for good reason. I never let outsiders in. And I’ve always liked that about me. Until you.”
Heat rose under his clothes. He wasn’t sure what he was asking of her or himself.
“I can’t do what you wanted to do tonight—at least not yet.”
“Jack, that’s okay—”
“It’s not because I don’t want to. I see you, and I want to touch you and taste you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before. There’s something different about you. You’re smart and gentle and so fucking gorgeous it makes me ache just to look at you.”
“Jack,” she whispered, only making it harder to explain why he was so fucked up.
“I want more time. I need more time with you. And I don’t want you to say yes for any reason other than you want the same—”
“Yes.”
“—regardless of—What?”
“Yes. I’d like more time to get to know you, too.”
“You would?”
“Yes.” She laughed. “Is that so hard to believe?”
A stunned sound left his throat. “I had more to say.”
“You can still say it.”
“I…”
She said yes.
Her agreement was an unexpected distraction, making it that much harder to express himself.
“I want you…” He confessed, still shocked by the truth of such a statement. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this. It…consumes me. And I know I’m fucked up. I know what I look like and what you must see—”
Her mouth pressed to his, hard and silencing. He stiffened out of habit, then pulled her close, deepening the kiss.
“I see a good man,” she whispered against his lips.
Eventually, she’d see the real him, and that perception would change. But for now, he let it stand.
Lifting her in one fluid motion, she wrapped her legs around his hips and let him carry her back to the bed. He followed her to the mattress, gazing down at her like a man surveying territory he intended to claim.
The firelight painted her in amber and shadow, gilding the soft swell of her breasts, the valley of her waist, the pale thighs she kept nervously pressed together.
“Let me see you,” he said, easing her thighs apart.
Not a request. A command.
Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, letting her knees fall wider at the gentlest touch. The vulnerability of the position sent a flush spreading across her chest, up her throat, until it bloomed pink beneath her freckled cheeks.
Jack’s gaze dropped to the soft thatch of honey curls between her legs, already glistening in the low light. His cock strained painfully against his trousers, but he ignored it. This wasn’t about him. This was about proving that his hands could bring pleasure rather than pain.
“Like a flower glistening in morning dew,” he rasped, voice rougher than intended.
Her eyes widened as he moved her arms above her head, pressing them into the bedding with a silent command. The position arched her back, lifting her breasts toward him like an offering.
“Beautiful.”
Daisy’s lips parted on a soft exhale, and her nipples tightened to hard points under his praise.
He bent over her slowly, bracing one hand beside her head while the other traced a path from her collarbone to the swell of her breast. Such impossibly soft skin.
When he murmured against her throat, “ You’re shaking,” she shivered beneath his palm.
“I can’t help it.”
Grazing his teeth across her fluttering pulse—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make her gasp—he smiled.
Her hips lifted instinctively, eagerly seeking friction that wasn’t there. His mouth traced lower, following the graceful line of her throat to the hollow between her collarbones as his fingers teased her flat stomach.
He might not be able to bear her touch, but she was going to come to expect his. He breathed in her scent, licked and nipped at the places she was most sensitive. Every breath, gasp, and delicate moan affirmed she was enjoying his touch.
When his lips closed around her nipple, she cried out.
The sound shot straight to his groin, but he channeled the ache into focus. Into precision. He drew the tight bud deeper into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make her writhe. Her back arched off the mattress.
“Jack…”
He switched to her other breast, lavishing the neglected peak with the same torturous attention.
She was so responsive, every touch amplified, every sensation written across her face.
The flutter of her lashes when he sucked harder, the way her breath stuttered when his teeth teased her sensitive flesh, the unconscious roll of her hips searching for relief.
He let her wanting build.
His free hand slid down her stomach, feeling the muscles jump and flutter beneath his palm. He paused at her navel, circling it lazily while his mouth continued its worship.
“Please,” she whimpered.
“Please, what?” He needed to hear her say it.
“I want…you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.
“Touch me there, Jack. Please.”
The desperation in her voice nearly undid him. Flushed and trembling, arms stretched above her head, chest heaving with shallow breaths, she looked thoroughly undone, and he’d barely begun.
“Here?” His fingers drifted lower, brushing through the soft curls but stopping just short of where she needed him.
“Lower.”
“Here?” His knuckles grazed her smooth lips, feather-light and maddening.
“Jack.” His name was a sob.
He rewarded her patience by sinking one finger between her folds.
The tight, slick heat that greeted him made his vision swim.
She was molten silk, drenched with wanting, and his finger glided through her folds like a blade through warm honey.
Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing friction, and he let her ride the sensation while he circled her entrance with aching patience.
“So wet,” he murmured against her breast, dragging his tongue across her nipple in time with the lazy stroke of his finger. “All of this, just from my hands on you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
He notched his fingertip at her opening, mindful of her inexperience but unclear what that actually meant. “Daisy.” He kissed her shoulder reverently. “Have you done this before?”