21. Danny
21
DANNY
P alming my dick, I urge it to settle the fuck down while I wait on the couch to see what she’ll do. After speaking to Penn earlier, I know she’s been as pissed as hell all day, so it’s clear to me that she hasn’t made herself come.
The relief at knowing that she’d rather be needy than give me up makes the first full surge of hope flare to life in my chest. I fucking love her. I’m angry at her, but I fucking love her, and I think she loves me too.
While I’d been waiting for her to come home, I cooked dinner for us, simply because I needed something to do rather than just sitting and watching the clock. It’s only chili, but it smells good, and it’s ready to eat once she comes downstairs. If she comes downstairs.
I hadn’t actually planned to play with her again today. I’m not really sure what I planned to do, but after I spoke to Penn, I realized that doing nothing wasn’t an option either. When she’d come downstairs last night in that shirt and panties with the toy pushing into her body, I’d only planned to edge her a little. But the need to make her feel some of the frustration and longing that I felt was too much to resist. Even now, a part of me is glad that she’s had a terrible, frustrating, unsatisfying twenty-four hours, but the rest of me kind of feels like a douchebag.
After she rejected me at the airport, I thought I could make her want me in increments, but after she came to me and we fucked, I assumed we were both all in. Having her reject me a second time hurt, and now I honestly have no fucking clue where we stand.
I know she likes my cock and my ability to make her come, but is it more than that? If this was just about sex, then me refusing to allow her to come should show that. Because why would she come back to me if I’m not giving her the orgasms she wants so much?
But after I left her needy and desperate last night, she still sought me out. She crawled into my bed and fell asleep in my arms, her cunt swollen and wet but completely unsatisfied. She could have climbed her sexy ass onto my dick, and despite what I told her, I probably wouldn’t have pushed her away. But she didn’t. She was plenty pissed at me. She’s still pissed at me, but she left herself needy and wanting because she doesn’t want this to be over.
Earlier I went into her room, and for a moment I contemplated taking her drawer of toys again, but I didn’t. Instead, I laid out that teasing fucking romper for her, then left one of the mid-sized plugs and a bottle of lube, with a note telling her to bring them to me.
If she does, then we’ll keep playing, if not, then I need to finally accept that this is over, and I’ll have to figure out a way to just be her friend. If that’s even possible anymore.
The urge to storm upstairs, barge into her room, and fuck her until she forgets what the word no even means hums enticingly beneath my skin. She’s mine. I feel it so completely that my soul doesn’t understand why we’re giving her the option to stop what’s happening between us. But I can’t quite push away the need for her to want me, just as desperately as I want her.
The longer she stays upstairs, the closer I feel to adopting the Barnett School of Romance, and I’m on my feet and locking the front door before I even realize I’ve done it. Glancing at my watch, I decide to give her five more minutes to come downstairs on her own; that’s how long I have left until I lose my control.
A relieved puff of air bursts from my lips when I hear her bedroom door open and the sound of her moving across the landing. As she slowly descends the stairs, a soft smile spreads across my lips as I see the first glimpse of the cream-colored fabric of the romper I laid out for her to wear.
With each step closer she takes, I see more of her delicious curves wrapped in soft cotton fabric that hugs her full breasts, her spankable ass, and everything in between. She’s a fucking vision, and knowing that she’s wearing what I left out for her fills me with unexpected hope. I refuse to look at her hands to see if she’s brought the toy and lube with her, instead, I lock my gaze with hers and try to silently tell her how fucking happy I am that this isn’t over.
“Hey,” she says quietly, her voice breathy and desperate.
“Hey. How was work?”
“Awful,” she whispers, descending the final step and walking toward me until she’s standing between my legs.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” I rasp, finally allowing my gaze to dip down to the metal plug and the bottle of lube that’s gripped tightly in her hands.
“Are you going to make it better?” she asks, lifting her arm and opening her palm, offering the things to me like a gift.
“Do you want me to?”
Slowly, her gaze lifts to meet mine. Licking her lips, she swallows thickly. “If that’s what you want,” she says, pushing the ball back into my court.
My lips twitch into a smile, and I take the toy and lube from her, then motion for her to turn around. She spins so quickly she stumbles, and I jump off the couch to steady her, curling my arm around her waist and pulling her back.
She fits into the curve of my body like she was made to belong there, and I can’t help rolling my hips and pressing my hard dick into her ass.
“Danny,” she whines.
Leaning forward, I guide her to bend at the waist, running my hands along her arms and positioning her so her palms are flat on the coffee table in front of her. I don’t want to move away from her, but I force myself to, sitting back down on the couch behind her. Her full, thick ass is right in my face, and I don’t bother trying to stop myself from reaching out and touching her.
Palming her cheeks, I pull them apart slightly, grabbing two handfuls and squeezing hard enough that she sucks in a hiss of air, pushing up onto her tiptoes. The fabric covering her thighs and ass rises up her legs, and my eyes widen with lust as her creamy skin is revealed to me.
Just like I intended her to be, she’s bare beneath the romper, and as I drag the wet crotch of the suit to the side, it clings to the lips of her cunt. Running my fingers through her folds, I find her clit and rub slow circles against the bundle of nerves, waiting until I hear her breath hitch before I pull away.
“I can’t take you toying with me again all night,” she pleads, her voice ragged and full of emotion.
“Shh,” I soothe, parting her sex and pushing a finger into her core.
“Danny.”
“Shhh,” I say again, slowly pumping my finger in and out of her wetness. Her cunt starts to tighten almost immediately, and I can feel her body’s desperation to come. “You need this so much, don’t you?” I taunt.
“Please, please, please.”
Oddly, I don’t like the sound of her desperate begging. In the past, listening to a woman beg was a highlight, but with Parker, her ragged need almost feels like my failure. Pushing a second finger into her pussy, I find her clit with my thumb and fuck her hard and fast, finding her G-spot and forcing her over the edge and into release so quickly, her body crumbles the moment the orgasm barrels through her.
Her scream isn’t about pleasure, it’s almost hauntingly painful, and even though my dick twitches excitedly, I don’t feel good about it. Not giving her a chance to come down, I push her into a second, then third orgasm, forcing the pleasure out of her, until her cries become sobs.
Turning her head, she twists her tear-soaked face in my direction, and I can’t take it anymore. I don’t care about playing, I just want her.
She must see something on my face because her hands reach for me at the same time I reach for her. Our clothes are ripped away moments before I lift her up and sit her back down on my dick.
Her cunt welcomes me home, and I palm her hips and help guide her up and down my length. Our lips crash together in a wet, angry kiss that fills my soul with all her hurt while I give her all of mine.
There’re no declarations of love or sweet words. This is simply hard, rough, desperate fucking. Precum surges from the head of my cock every time she sinks down onto me, and her body never stops pulsing with the aftershocks of the three orgasms I forced onto her. Her tits bounce up and down, and tears fall from her eyes as I fuck her into another screaming release, following her over the edge as I pump spurt after spurt of hot cum into her channel.
“Oh god,” she rasps, her voice hoarse and rough.
Opening my mouth, I try to speak, but no sounds come out. I don’t know what this is or what it means. My dick is still inside of her, her body is full of my cum, but I don’t feel any closer to her.
Still incapable of finding any words, I lift her off my softening dick, holding her in the air long enough to watch my cum drip out of her stretched and well-used cunt. Placing her down on the couch beside me, I find my T-shirt and drop it over her head, holding the fabric up until she pushes her arms into the sleeves.
Words come easier when her perfect body is covered, and after pulling on my boxers, I pad into the kitchen and pull out two bowls. “Are you hungry?”
Her confused gaze follows me, but she nods. “Sure.”
Filling two bowls, I grab spoons, then carry them both over to the couch, handing her one, before I sit back down beside her.
The room smells of sex, and the air is thick with unresolved questions, but I ignore it all, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on to some mindless documentary about red pandas. Taking my silence as an unspoken request not to talk, Parker pulls her knees up and rests her feet on the couch. Dragging my shirt over her legs, she shuffles back against the cushions and turns to watch the TV while she eats.
Once we’ve both finished, she takes my bowl and her own, rinses them, then loads them into the dishwasher. Standing, I close up for the night, then take her hand and lead her up to my room.
With her fingers still entwined with mine, I lead her into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Pulling my shirt up and over her head, I push down my boxers, then lift her off the floor and carry her into the stall. Neither of us has spoken for nearly two hours, and the silence that’s stretched between us feels daunting. But even though I can’t find anything to say, I know that I can’t allow her to leave me.
I’d rather spend every second of forever in silence with her than let her go.
Squeezing shampoo into her hand, I coat her body in soap while she washes her hair. Despite having never showered together before, we easily fall into a rhythm that is familiar, without any awkwardness. Once we’re both clean, I wrap her in a towel, then grab one for myself, rushing to dry the water droplets from my skin.
Taking the towel I’d used on myself, I blot the water from her hair, then finger comb her curls, watching as the wet strands form into the crazy ringlets that I love so much. I have no idea if she needs to do anything else with her hair, and I don’t ask. Instead, I entwine my fingers with hers again and lead her out of the bathroom and toward my bed.
Lifting the comforter, I motion for her to climb in first, and she turns to glance at me before she crawls onto the mattress. I doubt her movements are intended to be provocative, but they are. Her full, peachy ass sways as she clambers across the bed, and for the first time, I regret not using the plug on her before I lost my mind.
Following her path up the bed, I settle on my back with my head on the pillows before dragging her on top of me and placing one palm on her ass and the other on the back of her head.
The desperate itching need to be inside of her has been sated…for now, but the unsettled feeling is almost as bad. I know I could speak. I could tell her she’s mine, I could demand she obey, demand she submit, but that’s not what I want.
I need her to want me as much as I want her, and despite having been inside her earlier tonight, I still don’t have any clue how she really feels about me. There’re a thousand questions I should ask, but I don’t speak, and neither does she. Eventually the silence stretches so long that she falls asleep.
I wake up alone, sunlight pouring through the windows. Glancing at the clock, I groan. It’s late, after ten a.m., and even though I know she will have gone to work hours ago, I can’t help feeling like she left me and not just because she had somewhere to be.
If she were mine, truly mine, I’d go and pick up brunch for us both, then I’d visit her at work, but the last time I did that, it didn’t go too well. Crawling out of bed, I drag my tired ass into the bathroom and wash up, contemplating if a run will make me feel better or worse.
The sound of banging on my front door stops my pointless moping, and I pull on a pair of shorts before I pad downstairs and open the door.
“Hey,” Anders says, stepping past me and into the house, with Oz following behind him.
“Hey,” I croak, clearing my throat.
“Get dressed,” Oz announces.
“Why? I was thinking of going for a run.”
“Nah, we’re taking you to breakfast,” Anders says.
“Isn’t it a little late for breakfast? It’s after ten.”
“Fucking brunch then. Whatever the fuck you want to call it, we’re taking you out to eat, so go get fucking dressed,” Oz snaps, rolling his eyes at me.
“Jesus, what crawled up your ass?” I ask.
“Etta’s gone to work, and he’s being pissy about it.” Anders snickers.
“She’s pregnant. She doesn’t need to work. I can take care of my wife,” Oz growls.
“Caveman much?” Anders chuckles.
“You wait till you find your woman, then tell me you like her working,” Oz snarks.
“Or man,” Anders says, his eyes wide as he looks at me, then back to Oz.
“Fine, you wait till you find your man or woman, then you can decide if you still think I’m being a caveman,” Oz says, not blinking an eye at Anders, kind of admitting that he’s bi.
“And if it was a man?” Anders asks.
“Then it was a man.” Oz shrugs. “You’ll still be a caveman over him, just you wait.”
“Have you spoken to Henry?” I ask Anders, flashing him a smirk.
“Who’s Henry?” Oz asks, looking between me and Anders expectantly.
“He’s a temp working in the office at the garage,” I tell him.
“He yours?” Oz asks Anders.
“He’s practically a kid,” Anders growls, narrowing his eyes at me.
“He’s twenty-two,” I chirp.
“Exactly, and I’m nearly forty. He’s a kid.”
“You’re thirty-five, not nearly forty, and age is just a number.” I laugh.
“Are we going to eat, or what?” Anders hisses, marching into the kitchen and angrily pouring himself a coffee.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll get dressed,” I sigh, climbing the stairs to my bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, we slow to a stop on the street outside a new restaurant that just opened in town. Climbing out of Anders’s car, I head toward the front door, holding it open until Oz presses his own hand against it and I step inside.
The restaurant has a cool modern vibe and is bustling with people and servers all rushing around. I haven’t eaten in here before, but if the delicious scent of food that’s lingering in the air is anything to go by, I’m excited to order.
The server shows us to a table near the window, and we all order coffee and take the offered menus from her.
“So, what’s happening with you and your girl?” Oz asks after the server brings our drinks and takes our food orders. “And why the fuck haven’t you introduced her to me yet? She’s been here nearly two weeks, and this asshole is the only one on the team who’s met her.”
“I don’t even know if she is mine,” I whine, feeling and sounding like an asshole.
“Don’t be a pussy, Danny, you know she’s yours,” Oz hisses.
“Fine, yes, I know she’s mine, but so far, she’s made it pretty obvious she doesn’t agree.”
Oz’s lips part, but I cut him off before he can speak. “And no. I won’t be getting her pregnant or kidnapping her.”
Anders chuckles, shrugging when I glare at him.
“So, what does she say about all of this? Has she told you why she’s not feeling things?” Anders asks like that’s a completely normal and rational thing to do.
“We haven’t,” I mumble.
“You haven’t what?” Anders asks.
Sighing, I shrug. “We haven’t talked about it. I’ve tried, but anytime I try to talk, it all goes to shit.”
“Seriously?” Oz growls. “Tell her you want her. Tell her she’s yours. Tell her she needs to just fucking deal with it, because your dick is magical, and you’ll keep pumping her full of orgasm pixie dust until she agrees.”
“You’re spending too much time with the Barnetts,” I say, pointing at Oz.
“You’re not spending enough time with them. Stop pussyfooting around her and just tell her you fucking love her already. You know she wants you, so stop asking her to want you back, and just fucking tell her.”
It pisses me off that he’s making it seem so easy. “And that’s what you did with Etta? You just told her to deal with it?” I question.
“That’s exactly what I did. And look at us now. She’s my wife and bred with my kid. Look at all the Barnetts. Do you know the only one who didn’t just tell their woman she was his and to deal with it? Bay. He was worried Missy was too young, so he let her go, then he didn’t see her for three months. He missed out on three months of their life together because he second-guessed what he already knew was true.”
Oz’s words infiltrate my chest and wrap around my soul as I start to wonder if he’s right. Am I losing precious time with my woman because we can’t find the words to actually speak to each other?
The question rolls around my head the entire time we’re eating, but by the time we’re all done, I still don’t really know the answer. Moving on autopilot, we pay the check, and I follow the others out to Anders’s car.
When we stop again ten minutes later, I blink out of my reverie and realize we’re at the garage. Before I can ask why we’re here, Oz and Anders climb out of the car, and I follow suit. My eyes find Parker moments later, my gaze immediately landing on her ass. She’s wiggling from side to side as she stands up on her tiptoes, with almost her entire upper body leaning into the engine bay of a car.
Enthralled, I don’t move, lost to the view as my mutinous dick thickens to life.
“Introduce me to your girl then,” Oz demands, a smirk etched across the corners of his lips.
“Parks,” I call.