Chapter 25- Daisy
E ven paper marriages can get messy.
“Cerulean blue… mixed with crimson.” I swirl the colors, seeking something between serene and stormy skies. “Perhaps I want the storm today,” I mutter, stirring in some black.
This is the largest canvas I’ve ever worked with. I may need a step ladder to reach the top section but I wanted to create. I wanted to lose myself in painting something bigger than my worries. The brush moves across the surface, covering the stark blankness with the picture in my heart but it’s not going the way I want. Nothing goes the way I want.
Last night was amazing. Then, worrisome. Then, lovely. Then, sad. Then, amazing. Why am I so angry today?
“Daisy! Where are you?!”
Sounds like my husband is home and he’s angry, too. He’s already left more than one message making that clear. “Why did you leave without saying anything? What were you thinking?! I don’t want you around that man without me there!”
Guiltily, I acknowledge he cares about my safety. He cares more than I expected about many things. When I awoke this morning, I was wrapped up in Grant’s arms and he was fast asleep. I never would’ve guessed he’s a cuddler. His tenderness had tugged on my heart strings while his erection poking me in the butt had stirred other parts. I’d been frightened by how much I’d loved it.
I promised myself I wouldn’t be another Potter lady falling for the wrong man and getting my heart broken. I don’t know for certain that Grant’s the wrong man. I only know he doesn’t want to be my man indefinitely.
With puffy eyes and confused emotions, I’d snuck out of bed early to find coffee and my equilibrium. I’d found Jewel on her way out the door with her freshly charged phone instead. Rod had called and apologized. I think he probably just missed having breakfast ready for him.
I’d tried to convince her to stay, we’d argued and Mimi had been upset by it. When I’d given up changing her mind, I’d insisted on going with her, just to be certain that she would be okay. For once, he hadn’t been a complete asshole when we arrived but I wonder how long that will last.
I can’t believe she’s so quick to run back to him. “ Not all of us win the golden ticket like you, Daisy. A real relationship takes work.”
That had stung. She sees me living in the lap of luxury and had only wondered what the hell he could possibly be getting out of our marriage. She didn’t once question if he might actually love me once I said it was an arrangement. I’d asked her not to tell Rod but now I don’t know if I should’ve trusted her with the truth.
“How do you convince someone to leave their toxic partner?” I ask the canvas.
“How do I convince you to obey me?”
Whirling around, I find my husband standing in the doorway. He’s in a suit but his hair is still a mess like it was when I left him peacefully snoozing and his eyes are brimming with fury. The whole morning I’d spent with Jewel and then getting Anders to drive me back to the estate I’d pictured Grant going about his routine like usual despite the new territories we crossed last night.
“Obey you?” I repeat, fresh flames of anger shooting through me. The way I want to defy him, I’m playing with fire. The way he’s making me tremble with need just being here is dangerous in another way. We’re a candle and powder keg about to meet.
“Yes, dammit,” he seethes, stalking across the room. “Honor and obey and all that.”
“They didn’t use that antiquated phrase in our vows at City Hall and you forgot the first one of those - love . Paper marriages don’t have that and you can forget about total obedience from me.”
“I don’t want total obedience! I want you to stay away from that man and that area of the city and anything that might put you in harm’s way unless I’m with you! How difficult is that to comprehend?”
“She’s my sister,” I argue as he comes to a stop in front of me.
“And, you’re my wife.”
“For one year.”
“For one year. And, during that year, you will avoid trouble to the best of your ability of every variety, for my sanity if not for your own sake.”
“Why? Are you really worried about me or more worried about what people might say?”
“When the hell did I suggest that?”
“That’s why you like keeping me here at the estate, isn’t it? Daisy, my homeless, cleaning girl wife, best to keep her out of sight and out of the press except when I require her for an appearance.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Daisy. No one’s locking you away.”
“But, you want to make sure I’m dressed and styled appropriately when I’m seen, right? Not when I have on overalls with paint under my fingernails, right? You want to make sure my ‘finger painting hobby’ doesn’t cause you any embarrassment which is why I’m stuck up here in this forgotten room!”
He takes a step back as if I’ve struck him. “You… you think that’s why I moved your studio up here?”
“I know it is!”
“You don’t know shit!”
“Liar!”
My frustration and the reckless need to get under Grant’s skin boils over. Grabbing the tube of crimson paint, I take aim and squeeze. A jet of red lands across his chest.
With wide eyes, he surveys the damage. “That’s the second time you’ve ruined one of my suits.” That husky growl activates something primal inside me, something wanton.
“You could use a little more color in your wardrobe and I’m not finished with this one.” I grab the blue and squeeze again. What the hell has come over me? It catches his chin before the thin rope of paint marks the front of his trousers.
“That’s enough, goddammit,” he rasps, turning me on way more than anything should.
“Is it?” I pick up the tube of onyx like it’s a mischievous game I can’t stop playing. I want to scream and laugh at the same time. I want to throw more paint around. I want Grant to… discipline me.
His powerful hand closes over mine before I can get him again and he squeezes. Not too hard but hard enough to cause the color to ooze out the tube opening all over our joined hands and… there. His eyes dart up to meet mine and, beneath the frustration, I see his lips twitch. He’s fighting a smile. It’s a losing battle for me as my anger is swiftly morphing into something else. I feel my belly start to quiver. I try biting my tongue to contain the worst case of the giggles I’ve ever known.
“Is this shit toxic?” he asks about the paint when I start cackling like a mad woman.
“No, it’s safe for skin. It’s for finger painting.”
A relieved huff as he looks around us. “This room belonged to my mother. I never considered you would feel… I wasn’t trying to hide you away.”
Oh. “Is that you on the wall over there then?” I ask, pointing at the portrait.
“Yes.”
“Aww, you were so cute but you said the child wasn’t a Bar-”
“You really are my unpredictable little wildflower. I never know what to expect from you.” Despite his words, his voice is teasing as he interlaces our paint-covered fingers. He starts caressing mine and my core tightens.
“Strays tend to be unpredictable that way but I’m sorry about your ring,” I say, nodding at the gold band he always wears, the ring that says he’s mine.
“Paint won’t stain the gold.” Without warning, he reaches up and dots my cheek with a dab of blue. “There, now you’re officially perfect,” he chuckles. I gasp with feigned outrage but it’s the only sound I manage before he murmurs, “You’re not a stray. You’re my spirited, artistic and beautiful girl. My Goldilocks.”
For a weighted moment, he gazes at me and my heart yearns for the impossible.
Then, his mouth crashes into mine.
One hurried breath and I’m kissing him back. A second hurried breath and we exchange an unmistakable look that screams, “Yes!”
Neither of us care about the paint as our messy hands grapple with each other’s clothes. Is this really happening? It is. He has the easier job as my overalls drop in seconds. His shirt has too many tiny buttons for slick fingers.
He’s torn my t-shirt over my head before I can start on his belt. “No,” he growls, pushing my hands away from him. “It’s my turn to paint you.”
Thrumming with excitement, I watch him unhook my bra and then kneel on the drop cloth. He slides my panties to the floor, patting my calf to get me to step out of them. Completely naked, I suddenly feel modest.
“I want to make you mine, Daisy, like I should’ve done on our wedding night.” The rush of being wanted banishes my modesty but he takes his time admiring me as if I’m the work of art, allowing his eyes to wander over every inch of my pale flesh. He even turns me so he may admire my backside. Heat pools between my legs as he lightly kisses my hip. “So gorgeous, so sexy, my wife.”
Looking over my shoulder, I watch as he picks up the discarded tube of crimson, squeezing what’s left onto his palms, spreading it evenly. He holds them up, showing me. I tilt my head to the side, not sure what he means to do. And then, quick as a snake, he slaps my ass, one firm thwack on each cheek. “OW!”
“That’s for making me worry this morning, wife.”
My butt cheeks are stinging and the ones on my face are, too, but I drop to my knees so we’re face to face and card my messy, paint-covered fingers through his hair. “You were really worried about me, weren’t you?”
He nods, picking up a cloth to wipe away most of the paint from our hands. “Mad with worry. Daisy, if you don’t want-”
“This wasn’t our arrangement, was it?”
“No, it’s not. I’d rather burn in hell than stop but one word from you...”
I slowly undo his belt buckle, pulling it free from his trousers. His throat bobs as he watches. “Stopping is the last thing I want, too.”
We kiss again and the frenzied lust takes back over. Like a wild animal, I rip Grant’s shirt away, scattering buttons everywhere. My hands caress his tanned skin, leaving faint trails of paint in their wake. “You're my husband. On paper but in this way, too.”
“And, you’re my wife. On paper and in this way, too.”
He dips his head, capturing one of my breasts between his teeth. A nip and then delicious suction, I moan his name while fumbling with his trousers. He helps me until his cock bounces free, hard and long, thick and veiny. He’s perfect. I try to touch him but he pulls back.
“No. Can’t hold out right now,” he groans. “I’m afraid it’s going to be over too fast this time.”
“I don’t care.Take me.”
His eyes blaze with a new level of lust and he turns me away from him. He’s going to take me right here on the floor and I want it. On hands and knees, I whimper with need, not caring about the discomfort from the hard floor. I spread my hips and lower my shoulders, desperate to be claimed.
“I’m not finished painting you but first...”
His hot breath gives me little warning before his tongue darts out to lick my pussy. I crush the drop cloth between my fingers and moan his name. He tastes my arousal, teases my clit, taking his time and ensuring I’m dripping and delirious. “Please…”
Begging does me no good. “You’re going to come this way before I come on you.”
On me? God, the thought makes me burn even hotter and I shimmy my hips as he keeps licking me.
“Rub your clit,” he orders and I happily obey. His tongue fucks me and the stimulation makes the rising tide build at a tremendous pace until the bliss carries me away. It’s magnificent.
Just as I’m floating back to reality, he roughly grips my hips. “I need you, Daisy.” Strange that his gruff plea should make my heart flutter so.
With a nod, I reach between my thighs to touch his hot cock, sliding it along my slick folds to wet the head. He’s so big and I love the weight of him. “I want to suck you.”
“I couldn’t handle it. I’d come all over your face like a teenager.” He grunts helplessly when I cup his balls. “Fuck…”
There’s something intoxicating about the thought of this powerful man turning to putty in my hands but first things first. “Yes, Grant. Fuck your wife.”
Growling, he centers himself and thrusts, one quick, possessive burn. I gasp and grip the cloth between my fingers harder but quickly adjust to the pleasure-pain as he finds his rhythm. God, it’s so good. My nipples brush across the drop cloth, stimulating them while Grant reaches around to tease my clit. His thick cock fills me, sliding all the way in and then nearly pulling out before he pounds me yet again.
My eyes roll back as his thrusts edge me toward another crest, harder and faster. My next climax is building. Glancing at the canvas I was working on, I no longer see a storm. I see passion in all its wild, chaotic glory. And, that’s exactly how I feel being taken by my husband for the first time.
A long wail of ecstasy tears its way past my lips just as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. “Yessss…”
I’m still in the midst of my orgasm when Grant pulls out in a rush with a most ungentlemanly curse. But, his hand keeps working me through my throbbing, echoing pleasure as the hot jets of his cum streak my back. I shudder and find an unbelievable second wave, knowing he’s marked me this way.
Like a rag doll, I start to collapse but Grant wraps his arm around my belly. With panted breaths, he pulls me up, leaning in to kiss my neck. “Fuck…”
“Yes, we did,” I say, giggling. Our clothes are scattered around the space. Our naked bodies are covered with paint, sweat and his cum. “We need a shower.”
“Agreed.” He stands, pulling me to my feet and effortlessly lifting me into his arms before he delicately kisses the cheek he dabbed paint on earlier. He’s impossibly irresistible with blue lips and that devilish grin. My heart is in serious danger here but I don’t care.
“Any chance we can avoid being seen?”
“Christ, let’s hope. We don’t want to kill poor Mrs. Keating.”
He swiftly carries me down to our suite, practically running. “There’s more than one bathroom in this house,” I tease.
“There’s not a chance in hell I’m taking my shower anywhere but with you.”