Chapter 20
“Ooooh, this towel is toasty,” I hear Daisy acknowledge from the room over.
Should be. I tossed it into the dryer for ten minutes to warm it up for her while she was showering.
There’s so much adrenaline coursing through my body, I feel like I’m a live wire. The energy is humming inside of me, and I need to release some of it. At least a little bit.
I know exactly how to accomplish that, too, while also satisfying the woman who drives me wilder than anything.
I push away the rage I feel for that piece of shit who was messing with Daisy at the bar.
I wasn’t gone for more than five minutes.
I only stepped outside to take a call from Sawyer, who was having issues with one of the fuses at his house.
Lesson fucking learned, Daze doesn’t leave my sight when we’re out now.
I focus on Daisy, whose hair is sopping wet, a mess of tangled jet black—almost blue—curls falling every which way around her face. She insisted on a shower when we made it back, and I didn’t try to object or insert myself. She was asking for a minute. I understood with no problem.
I stripped down to nothing, rinsed off in the guest bathroom, and didn’t bother getting dressed afterwards. Daisy apparently decided to waste time putting on the same shirt she slept in the last time she spent the night here, and it’s bringing up those feral feelings inside of me all the same.
The only difference between then and now is I’m not thinking about entertaining the idea of Daisy prancing across the hall to sleep in the guest room. I want her with me. I think I need it.
“Get over here,” I tell her, slowly stroking my cock as I watch her twist her nervous little hands together. “And take that goddamn shirt off before I rip it off your body.”
Daisy’s mouth gapes. “Excuse you?”
“Don’t even start. You don’t want soft, Daze.
You want me. I won’t make you repeat it.
” Her eyes drop, and I watch her pupils track the movement of my hand around myself.
She tries to adjust her footing. I know she’s trying to give herself a tiny bit of relief with a small amount of friction between her legs. “Shirt. Off.”
Her hands release each other, and she finds the hem of the oversized T-shirt swallowing her body.
Fuck. I’ve never seen Daisy naked. The fact that I’ve had myself so deep inside of her but never have gotten to take in the sight of her completely bare for me feels like a crime.
I can’t let this be quick.
“Wait,” I say before Daisy starts raising the fabric. She pauses, eyes wide, silent. I release my cock and push myself up until I’m sitting against my headboard. “Go slow.”
“Is this a striptease?” she teases.
“Call it whatever you want. I want to enjoy this.” I put my hands behind my head.
“And what’s in it for me?” She pinches the shirt with her right hand and raises it slowly up and over one hip. The crease that connects top of her thigh to her hip has me ready to blow on the fucking spot.
“How many times do you want to come?”
“What?” Daisy laughs and the sound makes my cock twitch. She has her other hand on the shirt now and has it pulled up so I can see the beautiful fucking soft curves of her stomach and the peaks of her nipples.
“Do you need me to repeat the question?”
“How many orgasms are you offering?”
“Whatever number you’re thinking, double it. Now, Daze—I said strip.”
She bristles. But the pointless sleep shirt finally lifts up and over Daisy’s head. She throws it onto the bed beside me, and I’m back to stroking myself to keep my composure.
She’s perfect. Downright fucking perfect.
Pale skin with stretch marks decorating the lower plain of her belly and hips cause an unprompted groan to leave my mouth. Her breasts sit heavy, and her pink nipples are hard, begging for me to get my mouth—maybe my teeth—on them.
There’s nothing dainty and breakable about Daisy. I’ve always known that. She’s strong, solid; a goddess. It’s the only way to describe her.
“I’m not skinny,” she says with a soft, almost pained voice. I watch her shuffle her feet, uncomfortable with my attention on her. I’m immediately hit with a wave of confusion.
I pause. “Yeah?”
“I don’t hate my body or any other self destructive thing you might be thinking. I’ve spent a lot of time working on that. But…I’ve, uh, I’ve seen the girls you bring home, Gus. I don’t look like those girls.”
All right, we’re pumping the fucking breaks on this bullshit right now.
I spring from the mattress, crowding her space. I grab her chin with my fingers, forcing Daisy to look me in the eye. I watch her cheeks go from pink to red.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?” I take her hand and move it until I feel her fingers wrap around my shaft. “Does it feel like I care about whatever numbers pops up when you step on a damn scale?”
A small shake of her head.
“I wanna bury myself in you, Daisy. I want you to ride me so fucking hard, I get to watch all of you bounce. I want the sight of you seared into my brain for the rest of my goddamn life.” I release my grasp from her chin to let my hands start to roam.
I start at her hips, letting my fingers find their favorite place to grip.
She shudders at every touch, her hand not moving, but still wrapped around me tight.
She squeezes, and it’s almost too tight.
I lean over, my lips grazing the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. “You drive me fucking insane. This body”—I nip at her, and she gasps—“is fucking insane. And right now? It’s mine.”
My hands find the bottom of her ass, and I swiftly lift her up into my arms, walking backward until the backs of my knees hit the side of the bed. I let us both fall until my back hits the mattress.
Where I should feel her pussy on my cock, Daisy hovers.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, kneading into the pillowy feel of her ass cheeks.
“I don’t want to—”
“Sit,” I growl, gripping her hips and pulling her down.
She gasps when our skin connects. No barrier. Just us.
I want to be inside of her like this. I don’t want there to be anything between us when I feel her pulse around me each time I bring her to fucking climax tonight.
My hands glide up her thick thighs, and I revel at the sight of my rough, marked skin contrasting with the untouched plain of hers.
“Do we need a condom?” I ask, shocked at my own question.
Daisy raises her arms, gathering her hair in her hands, and pulling it all to hang over one shoulder. My eyes take in the sight of her, and damn—it’s a sight.
She’s like fucking Aphrodite.
Daisy stills, mouth popped open, pupils dilated. “Do we—I mean, I’m—”
I massage her pillowy skin. “What’s your birth control situation?”
Her hips move seemingly against her will, grinding into me for relief, and I groan.
“Fuck,” I mumble.
“Copper IUD. Nonhormonal.” Daisy braces her hands on my chest. “They told me it was like, over 99% effective.”
“I can pull out.” I shallowly thrust. My cock practically glides against her center from how wet she is.
A whimper escapes Daisy. “And there’s no one else.”
“No one else,” I confirm.
“This is stupid,” she says with a moan, leaning over me to suck on my neck.
“Real fucking stupid,” I agree, but reach down to notch my tip at her entrance anyway. She raises herself up to accommodate me, placing her hands back on my chest. “Last call, Daze. And then I don’t stop until you say the safe—”
I’m cut off by Daisy sinking onto my cock in one swift motion. “Safe word. Got it. Fuck. This is it.” She swivels her hips forward, and I throw my head back ready to fully enjoy the ride.
My thumbs find homes on either side of her, and I hold on tight, pretending I’m running this show in any way.
“That’s right, Daze. Ride me. Chase the high.”
She continues to fuck me, pulling her hands up to cup both breasts, twisting her nipples. Her body moves effortlessly on top of me and the room fills with my deep moans of satisfaction.
I’d never get sick of this. I would consider it a nice life and die a happy man if all I ever had was a full workload at the riverside and Daisy Stiles in my bed every night.
“You look good under me, August,” she says in between pants.
I can’t explain why my cock feels like it somehow gets harder hearing her call me good about anything.
My grip tightens, and I move Daisy’s hips, adjusting the pace, kicking things up a notch. Her hands fall, and her breasts bounce free. I lean up, capturing a nipple in my mouth.
Daisy cries out. “Yes. August, yes.”
I feel her muscles flex around me and her body shudders. I don’t relent though. I’m not done yet, and neither is she.
Another whimper falls from Daisy’s lips when I release my grasp and my thumb finds her clit. I apply pressure and rub quick circles until she’s draped over me, panting, as I fuck her deep and hard.
“Give me another, Daze. Let me feel you come again,” I gruffly whisper in her ear.
“I—God, it’s so much, August,” she whines, followed by a moan of pleasure.
“But you can take it, Daze. You can take it,” I chant.
Her words fall apart and become senseless cries as I continue driving her down onto my cock. I feel a tightening inside of me and reach down the long mental tunnel to my willpower to pull out. But I need to feel Daisy come again, she’s right there…I’m right there…
“August,” she pants. “August, I’m gonna come again. Don’t stop, please, please don’t stop,” she begs, matching my thrusts again.
“Daze, I’m right there. I’m not gonna—”
Daisy’s pussy squeezes my length so tight, I practically fucking black out as I spill into her. She rides me harder, chasing her own orgasm.
“Oh my God,” she gasps, and I pull myself out. Daisy collapses on top of me.
I rub up and down her back, using the tips of my fingers to trace her spine in long strokes as we both try to regain control of our breathing.
Every tiny movement from either of us causes the other to jolt in shock. We’re both too sensitive. I’m hyper-aware of my every move.
Daisy’s labored breaths start to even out, and I chance disrupting whatever bubble we’ve found ourselves in. “I gotta get you cleaned up.”
She mutters something inaudible into my neck, and I huff out a laugh at the air of her breath on me. “Come on, Daze.”
She springs up.
“Don’t move.” She shimmies off me and stands. “Please,” she adds quickly before walking into the bathroom. I do as I’m told and stay exactly where I am until I hear the toilet flushing and water running, and Daisy practically dancing back into the bedroom.
She crawls back on top of me and inexplicable warmth floods me.
“Hey,” Daisy whispers.
“Hi, darling,” I answer, rubbing the tops of her thighs, lost in so many thoughts.
All of them surrounding the chaos that’s me and Daisy.
Daisy’s fingers start tracing the line work of the tattoos I have covering my torso. The lust-filled tension in the air shifts, and everything feels like it softens. She lingers on faded ink, a reminder that I need to reschedule a touch up soon for the ones I got while I was underage.
“You know, I’ve waited years to look at these up close,” she says quietly.
Admiringly. It halts me. “I remember seeing glimpses of them when you’d raise your arm or something.
And I thought it was so taboo to be in high school with tattoos.
Like, driving a motorcycle without a helmet.
” She laughs. “You've always been this almost untouchable, definitely unbreakable, and not to fuck-with-able being to me.”
“Daze,” I say, my breath getting caught in my throat at her honesty.
“Just let me look, please.”
Her face is shadowed by her hair and the lack of lighting. Her eyes are glazed over, so focused on my body that she doesn’t notice me watching her.
I’m…Shit, what’s that word?
I’m fucking captivated by Daisy Stiles.
Again, I remind myself.
Her slow perusal stops right where I know my first tattoo sits along my right rib cage.
I’ll never forget walking into that semi-questionable tattoo parlor when I was barely sixteen. I grabbed their book of flash designs, pointed at the first one that looked thick and dark enough to cover cigarette burn marks, and told the artist to pack in as much ink as possible.
I sat in that chair for six hours with no break while Jessi drilled that tattoo gun into me, shading as dark as she could.
I went back to her every six months until everything was covered.
Sometimes I picked from that flash book again, or took a suggestion from Jessi when she had a design she was dying to work on.
The best sessions were when I came in with my own idea.
Getting to see a finished piece that held meaning.
Even if I was the only one who ever knew what those ones meant.
Daisy’s breath hitches. “August.”
“Hm?” I offer, bringing my hands over her hips to rest on her waist.
“There are…There are so many scars.”
“Not anymore,” I try to assure her. I reach up to grab her chin. She lets her eyes flutter closed. “Look at me, Daisy.”
When she opens those pretty blues up, fresh tears are held at bay on her water line. “I made my peace with that part of my life. These”—I take her hand in mine and drag it across my chest—“tell the story I want to share. The one where I got out and things got better.”
She nods in an unspoken understanding. Before I can figure out what she’s doing, Daisy’s moving herself down, bringing her legs together to sit on her knees in between mine. She leans over and starts outlining that first tattoo with her lips, leaving feather-light kisses silently.
I don’t move. I hold myself as still as I can as she continues her journey of acknowledging every bit of ink that covers me with her mouth. I find myself running my hand through her hair, using the chill of the damp strands to ground me.
She doesn’t stop until I’m sure she left her mark.
“Are you okay with everything that just happened?” Daisy asks.
“Yes,” I answer immediately, surprised by how sure I am of this. More than okay, actually. Well, I would be if Daze ever gave me the time of day and reneged on rule number one; moving those lips from my inked skin to my own. Fulfilling a broken promise on my end from all those years ago.
It’s like Daisy reads my mind. She readjusts, laying down to tuck into my side, face out of sight and reach.
“You don’t smell like beer,” Daisy says almost absentmindedly as she restarts her tracing on my chest with a finger.
“Well, that makes sense, seeing as I didn’t have one.”
“For any particular reason?”
“I haven’t had a drink since the gender reveal party.”
She pauses. “And is there a reason for that as well?”
“You don’t like the smell of alcohol.”
“Oh,” Daisy utters, so softly.
We lay like this for a while. Silent and thoughtful. It’s delicate and intimate. It’s new; everything about this feels like the first time.
But the first time for what?
I don’t know.