18. Safety Mummy
18
SAFETY MUMMY
DAISY
“Why would you do such a thing?” I gape at Charles, horror lacing my voice.
“Because I’d just received a phone call that you were nowhere to be found, and since you were busy playing Wonder Woman, I had no way to know if you were even safe. And apparently, I was right to be cautious.”
I’m quite familiar with this low menacing tone of Charles’, but until today, I never noticed how his eyes narrow, his lips twist, and above all, how his heart rises and falls like a raging storm, each beat echoing his turmoil. With his face inches away from mine and my hands resting over his warm bare chest, I experience the complete package of pissed-off Charles Hawthorne.
“You left for me?” I ask slowly, unable to believe it.
There’s a 99.9 percent chance that the board was ready to announce that they’d vote in his favor. How the heck could he walk away from something like that, when becoming the CEO has been his biggest dream?
He freaking married me for this, and now he left it all like it was nothing.
“How much of an asshole do you really think I am?” He grits his teeth.
But right now, he doesn’t look like an asshole. Sitting before me, he looks like a man pulled out of my every dream.
Caring. Loving. Protecting.
“We need to fix this, Charles.” I jump out of the bed, forgetting the scrapes on my knees, and a hiss escapes my lips.
“You need to sit down.”
He pulls me back, right against his chest. My lips brush the side of his neck.
The subtle foresty smell of his cologne and the feel of his prickling five o’clock shadow against my soft lips is enough to bloom heat in my stomach, spreading like wildfire across my skin. Everything about this moment feels unreal, including the man before me.
The way he’s looking at me, talking to me, caressing my arms for Christ’s sake—this version of Charles is almost like a familiar stranger who feels safe yet gives my heart those first meeting sparks.
But what curls my insides the most is the knowledge that he left something important… for me . I can’t just sit here and let everything Charles has worked for over the years go down the toilet.
“We need to find out what happened in the meeting. I’ll be damned if they don’t make you the CEO. I’ll threaten, beg, or kiss every board member if they don’t give you what you deserve.”
An amused grin takes over his face. I thought Charles Hawthorne had no facial muscles to smile, but right now, I’m thankful for the lack of it all these years. Because when those lips curl up, Charles is like my personalized wet dream.
“First, calm down. I’m going to call Grandma tomorrow morning. Second, I’ll remember about your threatening capabilities should the need arise. Other than that, you’re my wife. You don’t beg and kiss anyone.”
“Anyone?” I gulp.
Showing that killer grin once again, he grabs my hand so lightly that I almost want to die. Mindful of the gauze, he nods toward my diamond wedding band and the beloved daisy engagement ring.
“These give me the right to do some things that might involve begging and kissing. Don’t you think?”
I’m not prepared for the quick kiss he places on my lips, and it takes me a few seconds to calm down my breathing.
“I hope it’s on your part, because I’m not begging you, Charles A. Hawthorne.”
The smirk that lights up his face gives me the same feeling as if I’m sitting beside the fireplace in my parents’ home with a cup of hot cocoa on Christmas Eve. It’s personal and a prelude to the best happiness.
“I can’t wait to abolish these nonsense thoughts out of your mind, my dear wife.”
I’m just about floating in a fluffy pink cloud, which is probably what heaven feels like.
“For someone who hated the idea of marriage, don’t you think you like calling me that a tad too much?”
“Believe me, I’m equally surprised.”
The clock in his bedroom hits as the hour completes, and a cuckoo comes out. Last night, every time it did that, I almost jerked out of bed.
“Why do you have it in your bedroom? Doesn’t it disturb you repeatedly?”
I spot a familiar look of irritation on Charles’ face, the one I’ve seen numerous times whenever anyone tries to get a peek of his private life.
“I’m sorry. I—” I pause.
I, what?
I’m sorry I intervened?
Yes, as his executive assistant, it’s none of my concern. But what about his wife? The wife who, a few minutes ago, was sitting over his hard-on.
Um, and let’s just say impressive wouldn’t be enough to describe how he felt under me.
As if he’s thinking the same thing, Charles gently runs the back of his hand against my cheek. “It also reminds me that I’m in my room, in my bed, and everything is okay.”
Even though his words are simple, there’s a raw honesty on his face, which resembles something like…fear.
That’s nonsense.
Charles Hawthorne, the most powerful man in this town, isn’t scared of anything.
“But you’re no longer in your bed now that I’m here?” My fingers dig into his biceps.
“Then it tells me you’re safe in my bed.”
I don’t know what changes in the air around us. The playful, sensual warmth morphs into something dense.
My heart says Charles just confessed something huge, and I know I’ll spend countless minutes tomorrow dissecting his words to find out the hidden meaning behind them.
“But I don’t feel safe tonight,” I whisper. His earlier admission allows me to share my fears.
“I’m here. I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, butterfly.” Charles’ voice is so calm and relaxed, in a way I’ve never seen him before.
“I never thought there’d be a day when you’d call someone by such a cheesy nickname,” I whisper again.
“Me neither.” He smiles. “Guess I’ve made another exception for you.”
“What’s the first?”
“First?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You just said you’ve made another exception for me. What’s the first one?”
“You can take your pick. You’re the first person other than me who’s sleeping in my bed. Today is the first time I’ve left a meeting before it even began. It’s also the first time I didn’t fire someone when they failed to do their job.”
“Are you talking about me?” I ask, despite knowing that he’s going to reply in the negative.
Charles slowly shakes his head.
“Steve’s job was to keep you safe and he failed.”
“I love Steve.” I grab his hands as they hold my face.
“This is the last time I want to hear the word love and any other man’s name on your lips. You are my wife now.”
Possessiveness oozes from him like molten lava. On one hand, my feminism is bursting to give him a fitting reply on claiming me like a possession, but there’s also a part of me that loves every bit of this jealous side of him.
“You know I don’t mean it that way.”
“It doesn’t matter, butterfly.” He grins as if knowing well the impact his soft words are having on me. “Now go to sleep.”
He places me back on the bed. The moment my head rests against the pillow, thoughts of being trapped under the rubble hit me like a tsunami. Before he can take another step away, I grab his hand.
He looks over his shoulder. Before tonight, I could say in a heartbeat that I’ve never met a more impatient man than my boss, but right now, his patience rivals that of the mom of a cranky toddler.
“You’re safe, Daisy. I promise.”
“I’m sorry for acting like a baby. But…will you please sleep here? On the bed?”
The smile on his face drops, and I know Charles is about to decline.
“Please. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t take advantage of you, Charles.” I try to make a joke, but neither of us smile.
Comforting each other. Sleeping on the same bed.
These were not the conditions of our marriage contract. But I still can’t ignore the fear in my chest.
“I swear I’ll sleep on my side.” When he just stands there, saying nothing, my voice cracks. “Are you really going to make me beg?”
“Fuck,” he groans softly before pulling the covers down and getting in on the other side of the bed. “Are you done or are you planning on torturing me some more tonight?”
My lips twitch. “It depends. Do you consider my talking torture?”
“Does it matter? You’re going to say whatever you want anyway.”
“You know me so well.” I pull the covers up to my neck, all the while thankful that I’m getting a front-row view of Charles’ bare chest.
“What are you smiling at, Mrs. Hawthorne?”
“That I finally get to appreciate what you were hiding under those fitted suits all these years.”
He laughs!
Charles Hawthorne, my boss and husband, the man who smiles so rarely that there’s a better chance of seeing a shooting star, lets go of full-blown laughter.
“You’re pulling no punches tonight. Are you, butterfly?”
My heart is so full that I feel it’ll just combust.
“Based on how you felt under me, I think you can take a tiny person like me.”
“You don’t know the power you hold.”
Over me.
I don’t know if he said those two additional words or if it was my imagination.
“Now sleep. We both have work tomorrow. And remember your promise—no taking advantage of me.”
“Pinky promise.” I intertwine my pinky finger with his, completely oblivious to the fact that I’ll not just break the promise but thrash it with my hands, legs, face, and body.
“How much longer are you going to pretend you’re asleep?” Charles’ voice is more like a groan.
I don’t just hear his words but feel them moving in his throat where my mouth is pressed. It’s not just my mouth, though—every inch of me is pressed to him.
His one arm is functioning as a pillow, taking the weight of my head, while the other is wrapped around my waist. My feet are trapped between his legs, and my thigh is over his erection, which has surged to life.
“Since when are you awake?” I ask, making no attempt to pull away.
“Since you started breathing hard and making tiny circles all over me.”
My hand drifting over his stiffening nipple halts. “Sorry.”
Charles pulls back, and with a single digit under my chin, tugs my face up to his. “That wasn’t a complaint, butterfly. But sometimes even saints fail to restrain themselves.”
“Charles Hawthorne! Whoever is accusing you of being a saint, please bring them to me. I’ll fix their misplaced beliefs.”
My hands, which were resting on his chest, now land on his cheeks. I have a faint awareness that this is Charles Hawthorne.
My boss, the man who I’ve nicknamed asshole.
But right now, as the morning rays filter through the tall windows and graze his face, it’s so hard to see him as anyone but my husband, who left all his important work behind in order to save me .
“What are you thinking?” He caresses my cheek. Since last night, he’s repeated the move so many times, as if he just can’t stop touching me. “You’re so flushed.” His voice turns hoarse.
My eyes fall closed as Charles leans in. I wait for his kiss, but instead, his nose runs against the column of my neck. My world tips when he inhales slowly, his hot breath coasting my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. My whole body is on fire when his lips touch my bare skin, just a brush, but I can’t stop my moan.
So far, Charles and I have only kissed, and this is the first time his lips have treaded below my face. I never knew my neck was such an erogenous zone.
“What are you doing?”
“I love the way you smell.”
My head rolls back and my back arches as if offering more of whatever he’s willing to take. But Charles pulls back. My eyes open to find him staring at my chest. I follow his gaze, and one of my boobs is almost falling out of my camisole top. When I removed my bra the previous night, I wasn’t expecting to wake up beside Charles.
His hand lightly rests against my rib cage, the heat of his touch searing my skin through the silk.
His eyes meet mine, and my breath is almost in my throat when his thumb starts its journey upward.
I don’t think I’m even breathing until his digit touches my nipple, a part peeking out, a part still hiding beneath the frill of my top’s neckline. That’s my undoing. I moan shamelessly.
“Fuck.” Charles’ curse echoes in the room.
I don’t remember if I’ve ever been touched this way, where the other person is in no hurry. Jax’s definition of foreplay was to kiss me for two seconds, and we were done with everything in the next sixty. But this is magic.
My nipple is so hard, it could be used to cut diamonds when Charles finally moves his thumb away.
“Do you know how beautiful you look right now?”
“Charles,” I whisper, trying to free my feet still captive between his muscular thighs.
I need movement. I need friction.
But he doesn’t budge. If anything, his grip on me tightens.
“I—I need…please let me go.”
“Never.” He grins and his thumb returns again.
How the heck is this simple graze turning me on so freaking much?
When Charles chuckles I realize I’ve said it out loud.
“For the first time, I’m grateful you don’t think before speaking.”
My eyes open, and even though I’m still a hot mess of hormones needing release, I can’t help my smile.
“I told you someday you’d see the benefit.”
“I definitely do now.” He smiles back before letting me go and tucking me into the covers like a burrito.
“Um, why do I look like a mummy?”
“Because I can’t think straight when you’re lying down before me looking so pretty and so mine and so fucking turned on.”
“And you need your brain to do the next thing?”
He smirks. “Mrs. Hawthorne, you’ll be the end of me someday.”
I love how my new name slips from his lips effortlessly.
“I need my brain and you do too, because I want you to think before we do anything.” He moves his hand between us. “This was not what we agreed upon in the contract.”
The light in my chest loses some of its spark at the mention of the contract.
But why am I surprised?
This man considers his every step, and us sleeping together was never a part of his plan.
Yours either, Daisy.
“And by this”—I repeat his action, trying to move my trapped hand under the duvet between us—“you mean sex. Right?”
“Yes, butterfly.” He leans in and kisses my lips. So light that I want to cry. “I mean sex. You and me on this bed, not stopping until you’re crying my name,” he adds after pulling back and getting out of bed in a single move.
I lift my head. “Where are you going?”
“I need a long shower.”
My gaze travels past his face, lower to his spotless skin, which glows under the warm morning light filtering through the curtains. There’s not even a hint of hair on his muscular chest. I explore further down to his rippling abs, lower to his navel, below which rests the waistband of his track pants—the ones he put on for my benefit.
But they’re more of an inconvenience now, and despite not being able to have my full fill of Charles Hawthorne, my pulse pounds at the sight of his erection proudly jutting out.
“Wow,” I whisper, equal parts nervous and mesmerized.
“You’re going to be the death of me, my dear wife.” Charles chuckles, and this time when he turns around, he doesn’t stop until the bathroom door shuts with a loud thud behind him.
I’m also tempted to follow him or push my hand under my shorts. Thanks to how wet I am, and with the light sound of the running shower, where I know Charles is jerking off, it’ll take less than a second for me to experience the biggest orgasm of my life.
But suddenly I’m into delayed gratification, especially if the reward is Charles.