Chapter 26
DALTON
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Twenty-four hours later, Daisy and I are walking along a stretch of a private, white sand beach on the island of Koh Phi-Phi Don, situated just off the coast of mainland Thailand. The beach is empty save a few people scattered in the distance, and the sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky in a stunning sunset of startling burnt orange, crimson red and delicate gold-edged pinks. Beneath us, the waterlogged sand cups our feet as the turquoise sea laps against our bare ankles.
After arriving late last night, and settling into our bungalow on the exclusive resort which will be our home for the next ten days, Daisy has been, for the most part, quiet and thoughtful.
“So, what do you think?” I ask, glancing at her, marvelling at how the setting sun douses her in a warm halo. She’s wearing a pale yellow cotton dress that grazes her knees, her bare shoulders dusted with a slight pink, her freckles darkened by a few hours in the sun. I make a mental note to remind her to wear more sunscreen tomorrow.
“It’s beautiful here,” she whispers, her gaze drifting out to sea as her footsteps still.
“It is probably one of the most beautiful places on Earth,” I agree, my feet sinking into the warm sand as I stand by her side.
“Have you been here many times?” she asks softly, a gentle breeze lifting the skirt of her dress as she glances at me. It flutters against my thigh, and I get the urge to haul her into my arms and kiss her.
“A handful, yes.”
“Have you brought other women here?”
“No. I come here to get away from everyone, Daisy,” I admit, hating that she thinks I would take her to a place I’ve fucked other women. “I thought you would appreciate some peace and quiet.”
She nods, her eyes drifting back to the ocean as we step up onto a jetty that rises out of the water, our feet padding across the warm wood. String lights are hanging from the handrails, some of them blinking on as the sky begins to darken.
“I didn’t realise just how much I needed to get away until we arrived. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply, as we fall into a comfortable silence the further we walk away from the shore.
“I had no idea you were arranging this. When I spoke to Drix earlier, he was taken aback too, but he’s glad I didn’t have to face the press. I think, maybe, he’s softening to the idea of talking to you again,” she replies as we come to a standstill on the platform at the end of the jetty, the ocean a deeper, more azure blue here.
“My father’s an arsehole. I couldn’t let you go through that, and whenever Drix is ready to talk, I’ll be there. We’ve been friends for a long time Daisy, I miss him,” I admit.
“I think he misses you too. This is just… hard on him.”
“I get that.”
“Dalton…?” Daisy questions, her voice trailing off as she drags in a deep breath.
“Yes?”
“I haven’t thanked you for the dress. It meant a lot to me. So, thank you.”
“Did seeing it at least make you smile?” I ask.
“It made me happy,” she replies, my fucking heart clenching as she reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. “It made me feel like me.”
Before she’s able to pull her hand away, I wrap my fingers around hers, needing to touch her, fucking desperate for physical contact. “You deserved something that you wanted after my father decided to make our wedding into a fucking performance,” I say, stepping around her so that we’re face to face.
“It was always going to be a performance, Dalton,” she whispers, her brows creasing together in a frown as she drops her head, refusing to look into my eyes.
“What I said at the wedding wasn’t a performance, and that kiss we shared to seal our vows wasn’t either,” I admit, drawing her chin upwards with my fingers. “You’re my wife, Daisy.”
“On paper, yes,” she agrees, her words like a knife stabbing my gut.
“I wish…” My voice trails off as I try to articulate what I’m feeling.
“What do you wish, Dalton?”
“Fuck, Daisy, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say,” I reply, my insides all churned up.
I never thought that getting married would make me feel the way I do. I’m proud to be her husband. I want to make her happy more than anything. Nothing seems as important as her happiness.
“Do you wish that things were simpler? That you could go back to your life before this exploded in our faces? she asks softly, misinterpreting me.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” I insist.
“What then?”
“We’re friends, right?” I ask, needing her reassurance, hating how fucking vulnerable that makes me sound.
“Yes,” she agrees.
“Then we can build on that, can’t we?” I ask, reaching up to cup her face, my thumb lightly brushing against her bottom lip.
“Into what exactly? What are you asking?” she asks, blinking up at me, her lips parting as her pupils widen, eating up the light blue of her eyes and pitching her gaze into pools of glistening darkness.
“Honestly, Daisy, I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that I like spending time with you. You make things brighter. You make me happy, and fuck knows no one has ever made me feel that way. You infuriate me. You challenge me. You turn me on.”
“Because the contract says that marital affairs aren’t allowed, and I’m the only one available to you now?” she counters softly.
“Jesus, no! I’m hard for you, Daisy, not because I’m desperate to fuck just anyone, but because I want you,” I admit. “I think of nothing else but being inside of you again. That's all I think about. I can’t get enough.”
Which is a lie, because I haven’t just thought about fucking her, I’ve thought about how I don’t ever want to fuck anyone else, but I don’t tell her that. I’m not sure I’m ready to lay my shit bare.
“What are we exactly? Friends who fuck?” she whispers.
“Aren’t most married couples that?” I counter with a wry grin.
“Most married couples are hopelessly in love, Dalton.”
“And I love how it feels to be buried so deep inside of you that I don’t ever want to be anywhere else. I love how your skin pinkens with desire when I touch, kiss and lick you. I love how you whimper my name when we fuck like I’m the only man on this Earth made for you. I love how you’re always so wet for me, how your body grips my cock,” I reply in a ragged breath, my filthy words making her gasp.
I can’t help it, I slide my thumb between her parted lips, wishing it was my cock she was tentatively pressing the tip of her tongue against, wishing she was tasting the pre-cum that’s jewelling on my dick right now. Our gazes clash and I step closer to her, my free hand running up the bare skin of her arm as she shudders.
“You’re messing with my head, wife,” I say, enjoying the way that sounds, how she belongs to me now. We’re bound together in a way we weren’t before; the vows we promised to each other and our wedding bands binding us more tightly than the dried ink on the contract tucked into my father’s desk. “I want you so fucking badly, it’s all I can do to breathe.”
She lets out a whimper, her eyes drifting shut as she sucks my thumb into her mouth, and this time it’s me who’s trembling, who’s barely hanging on by a thread.
“Fuck, Daisy, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. All I’ve thought about is making you smile, making your cheeks and chest flush that pretty pink colour when you come. I want nothing more than to take you in my arms and hold you. I want to be the man to make you feel safe,” I admit, meaning every word, knowing that’s a truth I can’t hide from. I feel protective of Daisy, and if the truth be known, I always have.
“I want to feel your lips around my cock. I want you to taste how turned on I am right now. I want you to moan as you suck me off. I want to taste you too. Fuck, how I want to taste you, Daisy. Are you wet for me now? Do you want me as much as I desperately, inexplicably, want you?”
My thumb slips from her mouth, as I grasp the back of her head, my fingers curling into her pretty strawberry-blonde hair. Tugging gently, I urge her head backwards so that I can drop my lips to her forehead.
“I’m afraid that you’re going to break my heart,” she admits, her words nothing more than a whisper.
“I don’t want to,” I reply, pressing another kiss against the tip of her nose, the back of my hand coasting upwards over her stomach, up to her delicious pert breast. “I’ll do everything in my power not to.”
“I want to believe that,” she gasps, not pushing me away, but leaning into my touch.
“Believe me when I say that I’ve never wanted to be a better man for anyone else. You do things to me, Daisy, things that fucking terrify me. But I’m willing to walk into the unknown with you.”
“Dalton…”
She shudders as I gently cup her, feeling the heaviness of her breast in my hand. I can’t help it, I can’t seem to stop as I tease her nipples, pinching them delicately between my finger and thumb. They’re hard, fucking desperate to be licked.
“But you can’t love me, Dalton. You said so yourself.”
“I’ve said a lot of things, things I wish I could take back, and I’ve done a lot of things I wish I hadn’t…”
Those words hang as heavy as the humidity that beads on our skin, and my hand glides upwards, cupping the base of her throat gently, my thumb rubbing against the thready pulse in her neck.
“This is…” her voice trails off as I brush my lips against hers.
“...Our honeymoon,” I murmur against her mouth. “You’re my wife, Daisy, and I want to be a good husband to you, starting with making you come right here and now on this jetty in the middle of paradise.”
Her gaze flicks between my eyes and my lips, and back again, her whole body shaking in earnest now. There’s so much vulnerability in her gaze, so much lust, I feel it billowing between us. It churns me up, makes me want to do so many, dirty, dirty things to her. I know there are things we need to talk about, mostly what happened that night she had a nightmare, but right now I need to taste her, I need to gather my strength with her pleasure so that I can find the courage to be honest and open.
“I want you to make me come, Dalton,” she whispers. “Please, make me come.”
“Yes,” I hiss, monumental, overwhelming desire burning in my veins as I smash my lips against hers.
Lust, passion, need, want, I feel it all in that moment as our mouths collide in a soul-searing kiss. It all comes pouring out of me as I wrap my hand around her back and curl my fingers tighter in her hair. This kiss, fuck. This kiss is like a match being struck against jagged rock. It’s flammable, consuming, marking my heart with scorching heat. Flames lick against my tongue as I fuck her mouth, taking ownership, feral in my need to claim her as my wife, as mine. She whimpers, clawing at my chest, her fingers curling around my t-shirt as she kisses me back, matching my desire, meeting me stroke for stroke.
This kiss is dangerous for all the reasons I’ve been running from. Daisy is no longer my best friend’s off-limits sister, she’s not just the girl I used to love to hate, she’s not only my friend, she isn’t just my wife, she’s so much more.
So much more.
And all the words I cannot say come pouring out of me in this kiss. All the feelings I’ve been avoiding, that I’ve kept guarded, are unleashed as I kiss her with every fibre of my being. I don’t hold back. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, and before long we’re both dropping to our knees, collapsing under the undeniable weight of our feelings as we ravage one another. Feelings I can’t seem to untangle, feelings that are alien to me, yet I don’t run from. Don’t want to.
“Fuck, Daisy, the things you do to me!” I groan, gently tugging on her bottom lip with my teeth, drugged by the heady scent of her, the beautiful way she moans against me, the way her fingers curl into my hair tightly as though she can’t bear to let go of me, anymore than I can her.
But I can’t fight it. I can’t fucking fight it anymore.
I’m lost to her.
My whole fucking body is alight, aware of every touch she blesses me with, every desperate kiss, every moan and whimper. Her flowery scent fills my nostrils as I drag in a deep breath, my hands roaming her sun-kissed skin, this need in me to consume her is overwhelming.
“Dalton, please,” she begs, and that’s all it takes for everything to fall away. Our messy past dissipates as we kiss and lick, as we fuck each other’s mouth with our tongues.
Before long she’s lying on her back and I’m pressing the hard ridge of my cock against her core, showing her just how much I want her, no need her. Placing one hand in the warm wood beside her head, I push upwards, staring into her beautiful eyes. Her hair is spread out around her, tangled and dusted with speckles of white sand from spending the day at the beach.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful, wife,” I murmur, rocking my hips, my cock rigid against her warmth, as she parts her legs further and presses up against me in a slow, sensual rock of her hips.
“My husband,” she whispers, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her call me that as she reaches up, her hand cupping my check, the gentleness of her touch making a shiver run down my spine.
God, hearing those words does something powerful to me, and I lower my mouth to hers in a soft, whispering kiss, my fucking heart punching a hole against my ribcage. Her hand slides into my hair as she offers me her neck, moaning breathily as I slide my lips across her jaw and press an open-mouthed kiss against her thundering pulse, wanting to capture the beat of her heart, consume it, keep it safe.
“Look at you,” I mutter, feeling the heat between us, the pooling liquid between her thighs as I rock against her, desperate, fucking aching to be inside of her.
If I’ve learnt anything sleeping with a multitude of women, it’s not just the feral act of fucking that brings a woman to orgasm, in most cases it’s the build up, the foreplay. But I am ashamed to admit that in the past I’ve been so consumed for the need to fuck, to bring women sexual pleasure that I never took the time to care about the emotional connection.
Daisy has taught me how to care, to have empathy, to be kind. She’s opened something up inside of me that I don’t want to let go off. Seeing her laugh, catching her smile, feeling the warmth of her joy is as much a turn on for me as the way her body is so receptive to my touch now.
I want all of that and more, but the way Daisy seems to submit to me now, I get the feeling she wants to give herself over to me in this moment, and I’m more than happy to take the lead.
Shifting lower I press my mouth against her clavicle, swirling my tongue over her sun-kissed, salty skin. I draw my teeth lightly over the tender bone, edging my mouth lower as I cup her breast over the soft cotton of her dress, my fingers sliding beneath the thin strap so I can pull the material lower. Slowly, I reveal her skin, inch by beautiful inch, until her tight pink bud is millimetres from my lips. I blow across the puckered nib, and she groans, arching her back, pressing herself into the wet heat of my mouth.
“Dalton,” she whimpers as I swirl my tongue around her areola. She clasps me against her chest, urging me to take, to give, so she can receive.
So I suck on her, dragging my teeth gently over her sensitive skin, licking my tongue over her flesh, hollowing out my cheeks as I pull her nipple into my mouth, the gentle sound of waves buffeting against the jetty, is a melody matching the rhythm of our hearts.
“Oh God,” she cries, lips parted, her cheeks and chest colouring a soft pink.
She liquifies beneath me, and this sense of intense pride floods my system as she unravels. No, as she blooms.
Daisy, my beautiful flower.
“Mine,” I mutter against her chest.
Releasing her breast, I edge lower, pushing up the skirt of her dress and bunching it up beneath her breasts as I blaze a trail of kisses over her freckle-splattered stomach. One day I intend to kiss every single freckle, but right now I want to make her come. I want to hear her call my name as I bring her to the edge of orgasm, as I keep her there hovering over the precipice, then allow her to fall so she can come, long and hard.
I don’t know much about her past sexual experiences, but I do know that I want to erase every single memory of any other man she’s been with and replace them with only thoughts of me. A possessiveness unfurls like an intolerant beast inside of me at the thought of someone else touching, kissing, licking, fucking what’s mine, and I shuffle downwards, my head between her legs, my hands gripping her hips possessively. Dropping my gaze, I see the wet stain of her arousal seeping through the cotton of her knickers, hugging the lips of her pussy and I can’t help myself, I drop my nose to the wetness, breathing in her heady, musky scent.
“Fuck, Daisy. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” I grind out, my cock painful in my arousal.
But this moment isn’t about me, and that in itself is a revelation. In the past I’ve always been guaranteed a release of my own, knowing that it will be a million times better when the women I’ve fucked have orgasmed before I have. Yet, right now, I expect nothing in return. This is all about Daisy, my focus is solely on her and not my need. At this moment, despite how much I want her, I’m not ruled by my addiction, I’m at the mercy of my developing feelings, and my need to give, not take.
“You’re mine,” I repeat as she rocks her hips involuntarily, her slit sliding over the bridge of my nose.
I react instantly, rearing upwards so I can curl my hands around her panties, and pull them free, wanting to give her everything she desires, needing that more than anything.
“Fuck, I can’t believe I haven’t tasted you yet,” I rumble, staring at her pretty slit.
“You have,” she mutters, as I swipe my fingers gently between her folds.
“Not like this I haven’t,” I reply, resting back between her legs, kissing her lower stomach as a joyful laugh bubbles from her lips.
I smile against her skin, the sun slipping below the horizon as nighttime begins to fall, slowly enveloping us in the welcoming blanket of darkness and blinking jewels of starlight. Sliding my arms beneath her thighs, I rest my hands on her hips, and lower my mouth to her neatly trimmed pussy.
The second my lips meet her tender flesh, she moans and her thighs fall open, giving me full access. Under the cover of a night sky, lit by a full moon, and the twinkling fairy lights hung along the jetty, she reveals herself to me. Her willingness to bare herself, to let go and allow me to taste her, drives me wild as I spear her hole with my tongue.
She shudders, her hands flying to my head, gripping tight, urging me closer, deeper, harder. And I give her everything she needs, her sweet, musky taste exploding in my mouth.
Fuck, she’s delicious.
I groan. She whimpers.
I lick her from crack to slit, circling her clit, gently at first. Teasingly, I focus my attention on the tight bundle of nerves that has the power to take her to another place where pleasure replaces all our past mistakes. Her breath hitches, her moans releasing from parted, kiss-bruised lips as her body's lubrication merges with my salvia. It’s erotic as fuck, and I’m more than willing to drown in her arousal.
Every stroke of my tongue brings her closer to the edge. Every moan, every gasp for air, the way she grasps my head tightly, only turns me on more. She’s so wet, so responsive. She opens up to me completely, her trust bleeding into every pore, every muscle, as I draw circles around her clit slowly, teasingly. Somehow this seems far more intimate than fucking, because this time it’s all about Daisy. Her orgasm, her pleasure, her.
Yes, I’m hard. So fucking hard, but I want to see her unravel more than I want to come.
“Dalton, I’m close. I’m close,” she cries, throwing her head back as her thighs draw together, trapping me between her as she begins to tremble, approaching the edge of orgasm.
A wildness billows inside of me, her pleasure becoming my pleasure. My cock pulses, my balls drawing tight. I’m so fucking turned on. So in awe of her, of this eddying, blazing attraction between us that no ocean can cool.
If she is fire, then I am ash, burnt to a cinder by this woman, Daisy, my flower, my wife.
My wife.
She’s my wife.
“Come for me, wife,” I demand, my voice raw with need.
I feel her internal muscles tense around my tongue, her breath hitching as I increase my pace, my tongue probing deeper, faster, revelling in her responses.
“I’m going to come, Dalton,” she moans, her nails digging into my scalp.
The sound of her so lost in pleasure, the sight of her so vulnerable and open, fills me with an inexplicable joy, and as she reaches the peak, her body shudders violently, her muscles clenching around my tongue as her cry of release buries itself into my soul. It’s a beautiful, primal sound that resonates within me, echoing my own arousal.
I savour the moment, a rush of pride and possession sweeping over me as I lap at her until she slowly comes down from the high, her breathing easing into a steady, more even rhythm.
“That was…” her voice trails off as she sits up, flushed, dishevelled, overwhelmingly beautiful.
“Fucking perfect,” I finish for her. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Taking her hand, I stand, pulling her up on trembling legs and haul her into my arms. Holding her close, her body melts against mine as I wrap my arms around her back, and in the peaceful silence a voice deep inside of me screams the truth. A truth that I’ve run from for so fucking long.
All the years we’ve spent hating each other, all the times she’s been with other men, I’ve stepped in and interfered not just because I wanted to protect her, but because I didn’t want anyone else to have her.
Because I’ve always wanted her.
The truth hits me hard right in the centre of my chest, but I welcome it. Welcome how she makes me feel, how fucking beautiful we are together.
“Dance with me?” I ask, as she leans her head back, starlight dancing in her eyes.
“Dance with you?” she questions back, another smile quirking up her lips.
“We never got to have our first dance. It’s tradition,” I reply, taking her hand in mine and pressing it against my chest.
“There’s no music…” she whispers.
I press my mouth against her ear and begin to sing the chorus of Stargazing by Myles Smith. Badly, sure, but I sing it nevertheless.
“Who knew you could be so romantic?” she murmurs as we sway side to side.
“Not me,” I reply, grinning, feeling more alive than ever before.