Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Price
I t’s nothing new to me that my decision-making skills leave a lot to be desired.
Right now is one of those moments, because I’m following Daisy through the foyer of The Black Swan bed and breakfast instead of leaving her at the door and walking away.
A quick goodnight, nice to meet you, glad you’re safe…any of these would have worked. Then I could have turned and left, knowing the little bundle of hotness was safely back in her room, destined to be the fuel for an angry beat-off session in the shower back at camp.
Instead, my eyes are digging into the soft flesh of her lower ass cheeks hanging out the back of her shorts as she turns her face over her shoulder, holding a finger to her lips in a ‘ shhhhh ’ gesture, then points to a door at the top of the stairs.
“Follow me. My room is right there.”
Fuck me. My boots make clunking sounds on the wooden stairs, no matter how softly I try to step.
Daisy digs in her bag, retrieving a single key attached by a silver ring to a small, stuffed black swan, and aims it unsteadily at the door knob.
“Jussa sec.” Her balance seems to be deteriorating with each step. I knew I shouldn’t have bought her another shot. She gives me another one of her ‘shhhh’ gestures, only this time she adds a wink, and I already know this girl could ask me for my left nut, and I’d gladly deliver it to her on a silver platter. “The knob keeps moving.”
She taps the tip of the key all around its intended target, missing the jagged key slot four times before I can’t take it anymore.
“Here.” I slip my hand over hers, guiding the key into the slot, pushing it in as my mind takes the moment to think of how my dick would feel sliding into her soft silky warmth.
“You’re susha a gennleman,” she slurs with a cute little crinkle of her nose.
“You don’t know me. I’m no gentleman.”
Get your ass out of here before she can invite you in.
The door swings open, sending Daisy falling forward as her balance gives way. I catch her in the crook of my arm with a grunt, just inches before her face hits the floor. Holding her soft, curvy body against mine sends my balls into spasm.
“Mrs. Kelsey said after ten is quiet time.” She holds a finger to her lips, tipping her head twice in an invitation for me to come into her room.
Leave, asshole. You need to leave.
My feet ignore my brain. I set her onto her feet and lead us both, my arm still clutching around the soft skin of her exposed midriff, through the door and into the room.
Inside, it’s like a flower shop exploded. Everything that is not made of antique oak is a fury of floral patterns in pinks, lavenders and greens.
Daisy drifts away from my grip, leaving me staring around the ample bedroom, feeling like a two-hundred-and-seventy-pound sore thumb sticking out in this feminine space.
“You wanna drink?” She spins on her boot toward a bottle of Chardonnay that sits corked on the top of a small round table against the wall. She drops her bag on the floor next to the bed as she takes a few swaying steps toward the wine. “It came witha room.”
“No. And you don’t either,” I growl as she turns, staring at my mouth.
I sidestep, reaching out to snatch the bottle away, setting it on the floor by the closet door.
“But—” She looks like I took away her favorite toy, but she’s had enough. I can’t shake the low burning anger in my gut that she’s let a stranger into her room with her half in the bag.
What if that bald asshole had walked her back? Or any of the myriad lecherous locals that had their eye on her back in the bar?
“No buts.” I turn in a slow circle, spotting a six-pack of bottled water on the floor next to an open suitcase. “This is what you can drink.”
I step that way, taking a moment to memorize her scent, the way she makes me feel, all of it. I want to remember all of these moments, because I know this can’t go anywhere, and for the rest of my life I’ll be wishing things could have been different.
What’s one night? One last sendoff…
I crack open the twist-off cap, battling my urges and my conflicted conscience, then hold it to those puckered pink lips. “Drink. You need to hydrate.”
She keeps her lips shut for a beat, but I stand steady, nodding at her to comply, and with a roll of her eyes she draws a swig of the water into her mouth.
“One more,” I say as she blinks, giving me that doe-eyed look that could get her anything she asked for if she really tried.
I hold the bottle up, letting her take a long drink until I’m somewhat satisfied she’s got something other than alcohol in her stomach, then set it on the table next to her bag.
God, she’s fucking gorgeous, standing there with a single drip of the water traversing down her chin. I already know walking out that door is going to be painful. How will I function, knowing she’s out in the world without me?
Seeing other men. Fucking other men.
Christ, no, I don’t want to even imagine that. I’ll choose to believe she’s a fucking nun before I think of her in someone else’s arms.
That first moment I touched her, emotion surged through me, the same intensity as the first time I saw my daughter.
Those deep brown eyes watch me, and even through the alcohol I can see she’s no bimbo. The Daisy Duke stripper outfit aside, this girl is smart and alive. What’s a girl like her doing in Ompotomic, Michigan?
My mouth waters as she toes each of her boots off the opposite foot, then picks them up and sets them neatly next to her open suitcase.
“Isn’t this room great?” she asks, running her finger over a palm-sized, blooming pink rose on the wall.
I draw a breath through my teeth, taking note of her smile, watching her finger trace the petals of the wallpaper rose, imagining it tracing my lips, dancing down my neck, my chest, ending at the straining button of my pants, popping it open, then working the zipper down…
Lost in my progressing fantasy, I realize I didn’t answer her question.
“You’re in it, so yeah, it’s great.” That’s the truth, and from the way she’s biting into her bottom lip, something I said is working for her.
“You look a little out of place.” She steps my way. In her bare feet she’s a couple inches shorter than in the bar and our size difference is almost ridiculous.
My pulse hammers as I tell myself to step back and ball it out that door, but my feet are stuck rock solid on the pink and green rose-patterned rug.
I curse my moral compass, because all I want to do is drag this precious morsel over to that floral nightmare of a bed, rip off those shorts, and destroy that tart cherry like a wrecking ball.
I’d nut in three strokes, I’m sure. I’d fill her like a fucking bull.
“There’s a bed,” she chirps, with a little teasing sashay of her hips, and sweat trickles down my spine. Our proximity to a bed has my windpipe clogging with all the filthy things I want to say to her.
“Yeah, you should get in it,” I grumble, already knowing my heart has signed on the dotted line with this girl and the memory of her will haunt me to my grave.
“I should, you’re right. You should lay down with me. My big brother could tell me a story while I fall asleep.” She slides her hand down the flat of her chest, jiggling back and forth, and I can’t tell if it’s the booze or her just being a tease.
I bet it’s both.
“I should go,” I hear myself say as her eyes start to flutter, her head swings around on her neck like a bobblehead, knees buckling. Jesus, she’s passing out. I lunge forward my hand slipping around her middle as I groan and my eyes devour her fertile body before she hits the floor.
Panic sweeps through me. Once again, that thought that someone else could have come back here with her assaults me like a bullet to the chest.
Pulling her against me, her limbs are limp in my arms, her lips parted as fear ices my veins. “ Daisy ,” I hiss, realizing I don’t know her name.
I tell myself she’s just had too much to drink. She’ll sleep it off and wake up thirsty and craving a greasy burger, but seeing her in my arms, helpless and unconscious, has me as unsteady as I was that time Hailey dove into the swimming pool at her mother’s house and sank to the bottom.
This morsel of a girl is going to rip my heart out. That, I already know, and something else I know is I’d gladly let her, if it wasn’t for the promises I made to myself and my daughter.
“ Daisy ,” I say with more vigor this time, lowering her onto the bed on her side, tilting her head so that if that alcohol decides to turn her stomach inside out, she won’t choke.
I brush the backs of my fingers across her forehead, pushing a silky strand of that rich, coffee-colored hair behind her ear, cursing myself for buying her another drink.
God, I could take her right now. If I was a worse man, I’d strip her down to her birthday suit, spread her thick thighs and do as I please.
My fingers trail down. Over her temple, her jaw, traversing the side of her neck until I follow her collar bone to where her sternum begins.
Just a little lower and the billowing flesh of her breasts could be in my hand. God, I shouldn’t be here. I should have left her at the door. Or I could just beat off while she sleeps, leaving a surprise all over her tits and face to remember me by.
Jesus, the thought has me ready to nut right here.
A blip of anger smolders inside me. This isn’t fair. Meeting this girl, now, when my life is off limits to a relationship. What would have happened if she hadn’t passed out, and things…happened?
She’d expect more from me? Be a boyfriend and a good man? Fucking understand the nuances of a romantic relationship? I’m not even the drunk one, but I’m spinning and intoxicated. Confused and—
A smile crests her pink lips as her eyes flutter open, hazy but focused on me, and she says, “Guess you’re a gentleman after all. You could have done whatever you wanted with me…passed out.”
Jesus. This girl.
“You’re faking?” I grimace. She’s testing me for sure. “Don’t ever do that again, or I’ll turn you over and ripen that ass of yours.”
Her playful eyes turn shy and sad as she tugs a shoulder upward. “Yes, Sir. Big brothers are mean.”
Those words render me helpless and speechless.
Yes, Sir.
Big brother.
What the fuck is next? The tightness in my chest increases. I want to protect her with every inch of my being. Having her soft body against me, all the reasons this can’t happen blow away like ashes in the wind.
Lying next to me, she seems even smaller than before, but everywhere our bodies touch feels right.
Again, I mentally list all the reasons this can’t happen, but now, they don’t seem to matter.
If I walked away, I’d destroy this place on my way out. Flipping over all the little lace-covered tables and bloodying my knuckles on every mirror as I punched them, hating the sight of my own face.
As if she’s reading my mind, her hand comes to rest on my cheek. There’s a tightness in her face like she wants to smile, but something is holding it back.
“Just—” I grimace toward the ceiling, gathering the strength and courage to tell her I have to leave, but the trust in her eyes is throwing me for a loop. Her opulent tits are now spilling out of the top of her shirt. The snap that was holding them in must have popped when I caught her from fake-falling, and all I can think about is shoving my dick between those soft mounds, her mouth wide, tongue out as I buck my hips, straddling her body, delivering a creamy white shower all over her fucking face.
When her hand drifts south, fingers walking down my chest, over my clenched abs to stop on my belt buckle, I’m frozen in time.
“Are you faking, too?” she whisper-hisses, rubbing her knuckles down the obvious length of my arousal, and I’m one second from erupting in my pants.
I bolt up off the bed, the loss of her touch and her softness next to me sending me into a wave of dark grief, but there’s no way this can happen. It’s not just my no-women-until-my-daughter-is-grown-up vow, or my focus on the camp, but, Jesus, she’s half in the bag. I might not understand people, but I know the difference between right and wrong. No way I’m fucking a girl without her being present.
Correction, dick, no way you’re fucking any girl.
Confusion and the pain in my balls has me barreling toward the door I assume leads to the bathroom.
Inside, I don’t bother with the light, slamming the hard oak door behind me and falling against the nearest wall. My brains have gone offline, because within a second I’ve got my belt unbuckled, zipper down, rage fucking my fist, begging for a shred of relief so I can think straight and leave this perfect girl untouched.
But even in my lust blindness, I realize the space is stuffy and small, my breathing muffled.
I’m not in the bathroom. I’m in the fucking closet.
My engorged dick doesn’t care, my breathing is ragged as the vision of tit-fucking her on that nightmare of a comforter that looks like a flower shop threw up everywhere taunts me from behind my closed lids.
“Fuck!” I grunt, as I get my shaft in my hand and squeeze.
Even in my madness, I won’t touch her, no matter how tempting the offer. She’s drunk. Drunk enough that even with consent, it wouldn’t count.
So I’m leaning against the wall in a fucking closet, with my johnson in my hand, the taste of that god awful blow job shot like vomit in my mouth.
A soft knock on the door is followed immediately by the knob turning. In my haste, I didn’t bother with the small detail of seeing if the door had a lock.
“Are you okay?” Daisy’s concern is the calm to my bellowing storm, as my hand rifles back and forth on my shaft, desperate for a shred of relief.
“Fine. Just…” Another five strokes, faster, faster. “I need…a…minute.” I grimace against the impending orgasm, my hand moving in a fury in the darkness, her face taunting me in my imagination.
I grab at the knob. Just another stroke, two, and I’ll be done. Just keep the door closed a few more seconds---
The metal knob pulls off into my hand, the door swings open, a slice of light cutting across my face and down my body, illuminating the source of my madness.
Daisy’s cheeks ripen again, eyes wide as I thrust into my jacking grip, dropping the brass knob to the floor with a clunk.
Her hands fly to cover her open mouth, but I can’t stop.
I’m not available for what I see in her eyes. I’m not available, period. I had to do something to convince her of that fact. I need her to see me for what I am. A man without fucking availability. A man that has nothing to offer a girl like her.
My heart is already involved, and that’s more dangerous than any mountain I’ve climbed or wilderness I’ve conquered. She would expect attention, a home, time, a reasonable man, and she deserves to be the center of someone’s world, but I already orbit around Hailey. My bandwidth for anything else is non-existent.
“You like what you do to me?” I say, the words taking on a harder edge.
“I’m sorry?” she says breathlessly, and I notice she’s now barefooted. Her toenails are painted in various shades of pink and red, like the petals of the flowers all over the walls that surround her.
“I’m not the kind of man you need, Daisy.”
“How do you know what I need?” Her hands brush the crease of her cleavage, the tips of her fingers toying with the fabric where the snap is barely keeping the shirt from exposing her swelling breasts.
The charge of lust in her eyes tells me what she’s about to do before it happens, and I’m helpless to stop it.
Her fingers work the knot holding up the plaid shirt just under her breasts, then she works the snaps open as my hand moves in a blur, taking in the perfection in front of me. She’s wearing a lace-trimmed cotton bra slash tank top, which she pushes down under her breasts, letting them fall free over the fabric, and they are even better than I could have imagined.
Desire and anger merge inside of me again, as I imagine her coming here with someone else. Someone that would take everything she’s offering and probably more.
“You shouldn’t have let me come up here with you,” I say hoarsely, reaching out and taking a fist of her hair. “It’s dangerous. I won’t touch you. I just need…relief.”
To my shock, she’s fallen to her knees, tongue tracing on her lips. “You don’t have to touch me. But I can touch you.”
God, how do I teach her a lesson without giving in to my urges? I want her to kick me out, push me away. Why can’t she see me for what I am? Unavailable, broken and way below her paygrade.
“You know what men do to drunk girls that invite them back to their room?” I demand, my hand slowing, letting her see the monstrosity of what she’s done.
“No. I’ve never invited a man back to my room. Drunk or not. I’ve never done much of …anything.” She glides her tongue along her bottom lip, looking up at my dick as her hands press on the tension of my thighs.
“I’m going to teach you then.” Pain shoots behind my eyes and I snap. “Open your mouth, and I’m going to show you.”
“I’m ready for my lesson—”
I snuff out whatever else she was going to say with my dick between her lips. How much can a man take?
“That’s what men think about when you’re around. All those guys in the bar, this is what they were imagining while they were buying you shots.” My words are muffled in the enclosed closet. Folded sheets and blankets are piled on shelves, empty metal hangers rattling as I cling to the bar, my knees trembling with the warmth of her welcoming mouth.
I release her hair, my hand slipping around the granite-hard length, and I start to pump the skin up and down as her lips pop around the ridge of the head, encasing me in wet warmth.
“Jesus.” My eyes roll back as I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting off the orgasm that is already inching up from my balls, ready to empty before I get a single pump down her pretty throat.
I jack off as she pulls away and I watch in horror and awe as she makes a throaty sound, then drops a blob of spit on the swollen head, smiling like she just won the biggest stuffed animal at the country fair.
“I saw some Tiktok where the girl said ‘you gotta spit on that thang’.”
I’m speechless, which is nothing really new, as she starts to take me in and out, working her way down, her lips stretched around the girth as a low, pleasured moan vibrates through me.
“Play with your tits,” I order, barely remembering my own name by this point. My voice is hoarse as I watch her obey, hands cupping the weight of them, eyes locking with mine. No fear, but more understanding than I deserve right now.
Her mouth is magic, working faster, wetter, as I move my hand from my dick to the side of her head, fisting her hair once again, showing her the pace I need. I’m as drunk as she is, my vision wavering as knots gather in my belly.
If this girl has never done this, no one told her mouth.
I watch as she pinches her nipples, rolling them, moaning as the pleasure I was chasing becomes a mutual goal.
She gags and coughs, tears streaming down her blushed cheeks as I push harder, deeper, harder, deeper, thinking I’m pushing her away with my rough demands, but instead, she’s whimpering, kneading her soft flesh, her distended nipples tight as she works them between her fingers.
My hips jerk forward as I exert full control over her head, her hair twined between my thick fingers as I feel her throat open to me, and she delivers the final death blow.
She drops one hand from her breast, spreading her knees on the wood floor, grabbing between her legs as her hips start to rock.
I bite back the roar that gathers in my throat as her eyes tell me she would give me her all right now, if only I’d take it.
My orgasm breaks free, as I choke and bellow in broken, inhuman sounds. Hot spurts of cum race from my balls, bursting down her throat as I drive myself deeper than she should be able to take. My orgasm locks its jaws around my protests, taking on a life of its own, betraying me with its power and intensity.
I’m not just coming, I’m delivering part of me into her. Part of me I swore I wouldn’t share.
I come and come until I’m shaking, sweat dripping down the crease of my back, my breathing ragged and unsteady.
I draw my spent dick from her gaping mouth, her hands frozen in place. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of her tit, her others gripping between the apex of her thighs. She’s so fucking beautiful, it makes me choke.
I hate myself for giving in and putting her here, in front of a man that can’t give himself to her the way her eyes tell me she would do for me.
I battle away the urge to walk, to leave her there on her knees with my cum in her belly. Instead, I tuck my erection back into my pants, smart enough to realize I don’t have the right words for this moment.
“Brother,” she sighs, and that word hits me like a locomotive. “Or, do you prefer Daddy? You seem like you’d be a great daddy.”
Did she just say what I think she said?
Holy shit. Did that word just carve out a place in my heart for her forever?
“Daisy.” I reach down, taking her hands in mine, lifting her from her knees, tits swaying with each step as I walk her toward the bed. “Time for sleep,” I grunt, the words sticking in my throat as the confusion and disappointment in her eyes becomes my shackle of guilt.
I fling the bedding back, hoping I can last one more minute, one more test, as she slips between the flowered sheets. “Lay with me…Daddy.” Her whisper is a soft order I can’t refuse. “I don’t want to be alone.”
How this girl is ever alone, I can’t puzzle through. “My clothes stay on, but I’ll stay,” I say as the alarm bells and sirens scream in my head.
I cover her, tucking the bedding around her making sure there’s another layer between us, then lower my massive body onto the bed, listening to the frame and the springs struggle under my weight.
I’m thankful that we both seem to realize talking isn’t what either of us needs right now. Jesus, how I want to give her what she gave me, but I’m already so far over the line, I may never find my way back. If I taste that sweet pussy, it will break me.
Her light breathing turns heavy, as I stare at the stained glass light fixture over the bed replaying every second since the moment I walked into Earl’s and set my eyes on her.
I lie like that until I lose feeling in my hand and I really need to piss. As much as I am enjoying being in bed with her, nature calls.
I ease my arm out, allowing myself this one last night of indulgence before I go back to camp, back to my new life, leaving the memory of this night and the girl in the bar I only know as Daisy forever.
I take slow, easy steps toward the bathroom door. As I walk by her suitcase, I see it.
There, folded in the clothes of her open suitcase, is a lime green t-shirt. Nobody would choose that shade of green. I know nothing about fashion, but I know that. I told Ted when I took the job as Camp WanderLust director that I’m not wearing one, and he reluctantly agreed, knowing when I say I’m not doing something, I’m not fucking doing it.
I reach down, tugging it out from the other clothes and turn it over, and sure enough, there on the front is the camp insignia. With a name printed above.
Summer Greer. Counselor, Summer 2024.
Fuck.