23. Chapter 23
twenty-three
CHAINS
Daisy should be on a flight back home to LA. I got what I wanted. She got what she wanted. Time to part ways. Instead, I’m playing tourist on the viewing deck of the Las Vegas Eiffel Tower, not ready for her to leave.
Because Daisy was so excited to see it, I made a phone call to have it opened, and up we went.
When it comes to Daisy, I want to do everything for her.
Putting a smile on her face is a simple thing to do.
And I crave to see it, determined to be the one who makes her beam.
And, as she gasps with excitement at the view, it’s worth it.
Imagine how she’d feel if she saw the real deal in Paris.
Why do I suddenly have the urge to take her there?
What is wrong with me? How is she getting under my skin?
Peeking out of the viewing squares in the metal mesh surrounding the deck, she says, “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen so many lights.” And damn if something warm spreads through my chest.
“I’m surprised you got whoever is in charge of this place to open up for us after hours.”
“Someone owed me a favour.” And asked for a pricey fee.
The breeze blows a lock of her hair onto her cheek, and I tuck the strands behind her ear.
I thread my fingers through her hair and secure them behind her head.
When her big brown eyes stare up at me expectantly, the world around me shuts down.
There’s no noise. No lights. There’s only Daisy, and I have the sudden urge to kiss her.
Pulling her to me, her face tilts up, and our lips meet.
The kiss is soft and slow; her lips are soft and yielding.
Our tongues twirl together in languid rhythm.
Kissing isn’t something I’d normally find important.
Most of the time, I’d rather skip it. With Daisy, I could do this for hours.
Catch every hitch in her breath. Every soft sound.
Back at the waterfall, Daisy felt too good.
Too fucking perfect beneath me. Because it hadn’t been just about sex.
It had been about her. I’m used to having fast, rough, detached sex.
What happened with Daisy was more than that.
She put her trust in me, like no one has ever done before. And it almost made me come undone.
Every time she looked at me with those wide, brown eyes, something in my chest tightened. She’d given me so much of herself. More than I can ever give her. I need to remember that. Not get lost in her.
Daisy makes it dangerously easy to forget who I am.
I break away, and I pull air into my lungs.
She stares up at me, a little dazed. Shit.
I’m not supposed to be kissing her like I’m some love-sick boy.
I brought her to Vegas for one thing. To fuck her out of my system and forget about her.
I can’t have these soft, gooey reactions.
So that’s what I’m going to do. Keep fucking her tonight until I’m done.
Spinning her around, I raise her hands and place them high on the barricade, clutching her hips and backing her into my crotch, my hardon against her soft cheeks.
She glances over her shoulder. “Kade?”
“I want to fuck you.”
Her eyes widen. “Here? Now?”
“Yes. Will you let me?” She gnaws her bottom lip, her eyes scanning the area. “We’re alone,” I reassure her.
“Cameras?”
They’re everywhere. “Good chance they’re on. If they are, I’ll have everything erased.” In her ear, I whisper, “I will fuck you so hard, you’re not going to care about cameras.” Her breath comes out in short gasps of air. “What do you say?”
“Yes.”
Fucking music to my ears.
Sliding my fingers up her thigh to her pussy, she’s already wet.
Flicking the button on my pants and unzipping, my cock springs free. I grab a condom from my pocket and rip it open, rolling it on. I push her panties aside, nudge my cock to her entrance and slam into her.
There’s no time for foreplay.
This is how I fuck. Fast. Rough. Selfishly taking more than I give. Daisy’s just like any other woman.
Except she’s not, a voice whispers in my mind.
I pound into her, gripping her hips so hard, I’ll probably leave bruises. I should hold back. Not be so rough. But Daisy’s moans spur me on.
Her head tilts back as her fingers grip the barricade. “You like getting fucked like this, don’t you, Daisy Chain?”
“Yes,” she moans.
I drive harder.
“Don’t stop,” she whimpers.
I don’t intend to. Not until I hear her scream.
A moment later, her pussy clenches around my cock, and she cries out my name. I can’t hold on a second longer. On a loud grunt, I come hard, slapping my hand on the barricade above her head to steady myself.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull in deep breaths to calm my racing heart.
This is it. Daisy should be well and truly fucked out of my system.
Yet, as I slide out of her, I still want more.
Why isn’t it working? I’ve never been hooked on drugs, but I’d bet everything I own this is what it feels like—this insatiable feeling growing inside me. Like a couple of hits isn’t enough.
I’ll take her back to the hotel and fuck her in every room. When we’re back in LA, I’ll go back to my old ways and forget about Daisy.
Somehow, I have a feeling it’s going to be harder than I think.
***
Back in the hotel suite, I made good on the promise to myself.
I fucked her in every room. We’d barely gotten through the door when I had her up against the wall in the foyer.
Continuing on the living room couch, on her hands and knees on the living room rug, the shower and eventually in bed.
Now she’s snuggled in my arms, sated and relaxed.
I’m wired and wondering how the hell I’ve let this happen.
How is she lying by my side, like she belongs there, and I never want to let her go?
She traces her fingers over my tattoos. “These are beautiful.”
This is the second time she’s called them beautiful. Not the reaction I was expecting from someone whose skin is creamy white and untarnished. With so much of my skin covered, I thought she’d be repelled, but she genuinely looks like she likes them.
“How old were you when you got your first tattoo?” she asks, her fingertips ghosting over a chain on my bicep.
“Fifteen.”
Her head jerks back to look at my face, and her eyes widen. “Fifteen? You were a child. That’s illegal. Who gave permission?”
“No one. It wasn’t like I went into a legit tattoo shop.”
“Then who gave it to you?”
“Asher. He’d bought an old second-hand tattoo gun from a pawn shop and did it for me.”
“Do you remember which one it was?”
Do I remember? I’ll never fucking forget it. I show her the faded, childlike drawing of a knife on the inside of my forearm.
She runs her fingers back and forth over it. “I can feel a lump. Is that a scar?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get it?”
“A guy my mother was seeing thought it would be funny to put his cigarette out on my arm.” My jaw tightens.
After so many years, the memory of that night burns like acid in my gut.
The way he gripped my wrist in his hand.
How he stared at me with a malicious gleam in his eyes, urging me to scream or cry as my skin singed.
I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.
But it was so painful. “When I whimpered from the pain, he laughed in my face and called me a pussy.”
Daisy props herself up onto her elbow. “That’s horrific. What did your mother do? I hope she reported him to the police.”
Laughing mirthlessly, I say, “She was too high to care.”
“Your mother should feel ashamed of what she let happen to you. Do you ever see her?”
“She overdosed after I got put into foster care.”
“And your father?”
“Never knew him.”
Her eyes glisten with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” And it’s the truth. “She was the woman who gave birth to me. That’s all. The only thing she loved was drugs, and she loved them to death.”
She rests her head on my chest and places a hand over my heart.
Can she feel the way her touch is making it pound against my ribcage? I would’ve sworn it had stopped beating years ago.
“Why a knife tattoo?”
“Because it was what I wanted to use to kill him.” I’d imagine burying it deep into his heart so many times. Taking satisfaction, watching him breathe his last breath.
She looks me dead in the eye. “You would never have done it.”
“I wanted to. I’d gone to his apartment and waited for him. He’d come home with a drunk woman hanging off his arm, and they stumbled inside. As much as I hated him, I couldn’t do it.”
She links her fingers with mine, lifts my hand to her lips and kisses my fingers. “You don’t have it in you. You’re a good man.” What does she see in me that I don’t?
“Anyway, I didn’t have to. I heard he’d died in a house fire.” And did the world a favour. Ironically, he liked playing with fire, and it caught up with him.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
I shrug. “It was years ago. I’m over it.”
She gives me a skeptical look.
“I’ve got better things to focus my energy on than my past trauma. The shitload of therapy I put myself through helped.”
“You went to therapy? That’s great.”
“I wasn’t going to try and act all macho and pretend it never fucked with my mind. If I wanted to run my life and business with a clear head, I had to get a shrink to help me fix it.”
“Not many people would admit that. I’m proud of you.”
I shrug like her comment doesn’t mean anything. In fact, it means a lot. No one has ever told me they’re proud of me. All the effort to get myself well, the doubts of whether I could, the moments I almost gave up have finally been seen. And she’s not judging.
Once again, her fingers glide over my skin. “Why all the chains? Do they mean something?”
“It’s my reminder of strength and my ability to pull myself out of hard times and overcome the challenges I’ve faced.”
“I love that. Is that why people call you Chains?”
“Yes, it started after I got the fifth one.”
“I love how you’ve linked our names together. It’s cute.” I did it because I never thought I’d see her again. “Have I not shown you enough that I’m anything but cute?”
“I know what I see.” She smiles. “Would you rather I call you Chains and not Kade?”
I brush my fingertips up and down her arm. Once I associated my real name with the past and preferred people call me Chains so I could forget it. It’s different coming from Daisy. “I like the way you say my name. Especially when you’re screaming it during an orgasm.”
She pinches my chest. “Kade!”
Tapping her nose, I say, “And when you’re trying to act like the good girl we both know you’re not.”
She giggles. “You’re a bad influence.”
“Not going to deny it.”
Her expression turns serious. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes. I’ve come to terms with my past.” It doesn’t mean the aftereffects didn’t break things inside me.
Things that can’t be fixed.