24. Daisy
Daisy
T he honeymoon suite Lorde booked is perched high above the Strip.
The windows overlook the Bellagio fountains, which are mid-performance with Lady Gaga thumping in the background.
It’s surreal, hearing it muffled through the glass while I’m standing in a cloud of tulle and borrowed lipstick, married to the woman who pissed me off so badly I had to have her.
Lorde kicks the door shut with a shoe falling off her foot. She drops our overnight bag with flair. "Madam DeMonte-Sheen," she says, offering me her hand like we’re about to ballroom dance. "Shall I carry you across the threshold, or will we both acknowledge I’m not that good?”
I take her hand anyway. "If you try to lift me, you’ll kill yourself and ruin our first night of wedded bliss. Also…” I squeeze her hand. “Didn’t you negotiate with Daddy that you’ll be changing your name, Mrs. DeMonte?”
“Whoa. You’re right. Lorde DeMonte. Hell of a fucking name.”
Inside, the suite has a delicate balance between romantic and practical. There's champagne on ice. Chocolate-dipped strawberries. A hot tub the size of my family house. Everything’s bathed in the glow of the Strip’s neon membrane.
The heels are killing me so I kick them off. I’m buzzing from sugar, adrenaline, and the fact that I just went against my family and probably my friends. Because even Ashleigh doesn’t know about this. None of them do.
Lorde loosens her shirt, coming closer. “So, I tried to plan something romantic. You know, candles, rose petals, me dramatically feeding you chocolate until you end up in the ER. But something tells me you have other plans, based on how much time you spent glued to your phone on the way here. Couldn’t even get you to kiss me. ”
She could tell? "Oh, I definitely do."
"Should I be afraid?"
"You should be excited." I grab the package someone from the concierge left for us on the big table. My wife (teehee – my wife ) was right. I was up to something on the way here. You know… arranging a special delivery?
I don’t unwrap it right away. It’s more fun to let her imagination work overtime.
"Tell me that’s not the world’s fanciest toothbrush."
"Nope."
"Is it…"
"A strap-on."
Her mouth actually falls open, which I’m going to keep in my back pocket forever.
She recovers quickly, though, looking at me as if she’s either very excited about being married to me or about to go grab an annulment. “You brought accessories to your wedding night?”
“I want to remember this as the night I finally fulfilled one of my biggest fantasies with Lorde Sheen.” I spread my hand in front of me as if I’m surveying the entirety of my treetop kingdom. “Whom I’m married to. Didn’t know that would happen first, honestly.”
Her expression changes, humor giving way to lucid seduction that traps me in her warmth. She steps forward, hands gentle but possessive as they land on my waist. "You’ve been full of surprises lately, Daze."
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The first kiss is more urgent than I anticipated. I back her up toward the bed, unbuttoning her shirt between kisses, tugging the hem out of her slacks like I’m unwrapping my wedding shower gift.
She groans when I push her down onto the soft duvet. “Is this the part where I’m torn apart and ruined by my blushing bride?”
“Hell yes.”
I give her a show as I strip off my last-minute wedding dress. When I slide out of the last of my gown and walk toward the bed wearing nothing but a silk bralette and a horny grin, she stops breathing.
The lights of Vegas shimmer against her skin, flashing pink and gold across her cheek. She reaches for me, but I shake my head. “Back, Sheen. I’ve got something to do.”
“Bossy.”
“Married.”
I unwrap the harness with deliberate care, sliding the straps into place and giving her plenty of time to watch me transform.
Is it dawning on her yet? Has she figured out what my fantasy is?
Aw, she thought I wanted her to pound me?
Ha! Who has time for that when I need to start my new married life off by asserting that I can top, too.
Lorde props herself up on her elbows. “You know this isn’t fair, right? I was going to seduce you with strawberries and a hot tub.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll still be all hot and wet.”
That earns me a full-body shiver. She’s already halfway out of her pants when I crawl on top of her, the strap-on pressing against her thigh.
The kiss this time is slower as if she must rethink her game plan. Her hands are everywhere – my waist, back, and hair. When I finally settle between her legs, she’s panting, eyes wide enough to swallow me in.
“Tell me what you want,” I say.
“You. Just you.”
I guide it between her legs, watching her eyes flutter closed as I slide it against her, teasing her until she gasps.
“Do you know how to use that thing?” She’s stalling. “Because I do, and I could give you some pointers.”
“I do know what I’m doing, thanks. Now, behave before I make you roll over and eat the pillow for our first time as two married assholes.”
Lorde’s fingers dig into my arms, but I take my time.
I want this to last. God knows I am going to drink in the crazed look in her eye and the steady moans she’s already eliciting before I’ve even penetrated her ravishing pussy.
Hmph. It still looks as good as the day I first tasted it. Wasn’t that like three days ago?
Kinda hard to taste it now. It’s occupied.
I press forward, slow and steady. She whines but trusts me to keep going. Her face flickers with disbelief and desire. Two things that look mighty fine on her.
She suddenly looks right at me with great clarity. “You’re mine now, you know.”
There is no resistance. My woman’s been wet since we got here, but I bet she never anticipated this.
“That goes both ways,” I say.
Lorde stills, the tension in her body growing tauter under my touch.
I kiss her, reverently, and her facade slips away.
No more of the practiced seductions she usually throws at women.
I’m peeling open her heart and not only getting her to spread her legs for a femme like me. This is rarer than love for her.
Her hands curl against the satin sheets. Right. I was so caught up in how gorgeous she is that I almost forgot what I was doing to her.
“This is wild,” she murmurs. “You’re a font of surprises.”
“Good,” I say against her skin. “Give it to me. Take me. Whatever.”
My palm runs over her hip, then lower. Lorde Sheen, who can charm any woman with a wink, is squirming under my body like she’s never been undressed this way. And maybe she hasn’t. Maybe no one has ever seen her like this. But I’m not interested in her image.
I’m in love with her realness. The way her laugh sometimes breaks when it’s too honest. The way she presses her lips together when she’s scared that she’s said too much. The mischief in her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking.
Oh, and the way she struck me down with one glance at a double date. She wanted to fuck the priss out of me? Great. Now I get to fuck the player out of her.
I’m not fast. Not rough. Just deep. Intimate. With the kind of tenderness that is probably driving her bonkers.
Her back arches as she lets out a low, ragged moan, the sound of a woman unraveling. Her hands find my waist, then my shoulders, gripping like I’m the only thing tethering her to the life she’s chosen to live.
“Oh, my God , Daze,” she pants, legs wrapping around my hips.
Let her feel every second of it, every inch of it.
I can see it in her face – how good it feels, how happy she is that it’s with me, how she didn’t know we could do shit like this together after everything else that’s happened.
A few days ago I wanted to take things slowly.
Now here I am, already thinking of the day I get to rail her with this thing.
And maybe we can switch. You know. Throw a bone to my bad girl.
Her moans turn more feral, her mask slipping. The bad girl. The untouchable. The wild card. Gone.
“Harder,” she whispers. “Please.”
I obey, hips grinding in deeper, angle shifting until she cries out again, biting her lip like she’s trying not to come already. My hand is on her breast, fingers splayed across her heart, feeling it thunder beneath my skin.
“You’re mine,” I say. “Say you’re mine. Tell me nobody else can have you, Sheen. ”
She nods. “I know .” Her eyes slam shut as she pries at her shirt. It’s not coming off anytime soon, but I want her bra beneath those buttons. I’ll flick my tongue against her nipple and make her scream my name. “Fuck! I know!”
I pause only to reiterate, “You’re not saying the thing.”
With my fantasy playing out right beneath me, she says, exasperated, “I’m all yours, Daze. This goddamn pussy is definitely yours. Absolutely insane. ”
I kiss her. Her fingers dig into my back, and I swear she’s trembling from the inside out.
I drive into her with more force, giving her exactly what she needs – not only pleasure but an invitation to surrender.
And she does, moaning my name in my mouth as I use some of the last of my strength to fuck her to orgasm.
She starts to shake, muscles tensing, thighs trembling, a sound caught in her throat. I slow down. Let all the focus be on what I see.
Her whole body arches and her cry is hoarse, primal, ripped from somewhere buried deep. I feel her clench around me, her hands fisting the sheets, eyes shut tight as she comes undone from my touch.
I don’t stop moving until she collapses into the mattress. I ease out of her and press soft kisses down her throat, her breast, the bit of hair above her belly button.
She’s quiet. She’s been rewired. Finally, she speaks, voice hoarse.
“No one’s ever… I mean, not like that.”
I lie beside her. “Not bad for your wedding night, huh?”
“Oh, babe, if every night is kinda like this I might die an early death. Too much sensation.”
I slip the harness off my hips, kicking the strap-on to the side of the bed. “Well, take a breather, Mrs. DeMonte. Because it’s my turn to die an early death.”
She’s on me like a hurricane blowing gale winds through the room. I barely have time to come up for air for the rest of the night. It’s all a blur. Like these two scant months we’ve known each other.
It’s crazy. We’re fucking crazy. I’m only twenty. She’s a little older than me.
But I’m in love. And girls like me do crazy things when we’re in love.