17. Vandal #2
I’ve somehow transcended the nervous hum that threads through me most of the time. Instead, it’s all words I’d never associate with myself.
Soft. Tender. Deliberate.
Daisy breaks the kiss, then watches her fingers as they trace the edges of the scar on my head. “I’m so very grateful to the people who put you back together, Vandal. Because I’m very glad you’re here.”
And, yeah, there goes my heart, cracking wide open and splatting all over her bedroom floor. “Feeling the same thing.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Daisy’s fingers remain against my face, tracing the edge of the scar like she’s willing it better. Most people look away from it and try not to stare. But she accepts the broken pieces of me.
It’s a strange thing to be so open and vulnerable instead of hiding away.
My hand trails down her ribs and settles at her waist, spanning the curve of it. And I let myself appreciate her fully. Not as a distraction or a means to an end, but as something precious worth admiring.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, unable to find the exact words to express what I’m feeling.
But she blushes anyway.
I brush my thumb along her jaw. “Seriously, Daze. Words don’t really describe how I see you.”
I lean forward and kiss her again.
The smile that appears is small and uncertain, as if she doesn’t quite believe it.
Our world narrows to soft breaths and tangled limbs and the gentle touch of her tongue against mine. It’s a sliver of perfection in the chaos. Grounding in a way I struggle to fathom.
I stroke my knuckle down her cheek. “I should probably go.”
Her brows draw together. “What?”
“I mean it.” I offer a faint smile. “Tonight was meant to be me checking on you. I don’t want to take advantage of the fact you were kind enough to listen to me.”
“Vandal—”
“I want this, Daze. Don’t get me wrong. God knows I want this. But I also want to be a man worth having.”
The admission hangs between us until her face softens. “And you think staying here would make you less of one?”
I shrug. “I think I’ve spent five weeks making bad decisions.”
Daisy reaches out and cups my neck. “That doesn’t mean this is one of them. Let me ease you, Vandal.”
I don’t know what the definition of weakness is, but if you look it up in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of me lying here with Daisy.
I reach for her hand, kissing the back of it before I place it over her head. “Hold onto the headboard.” She does as I say, and I reach for the other hand and repeat the action.
Her tits look incredible, and I drag my fingertips over the curve of them. Daisy wriggles as if ticklish.
“Can you lock the door?” she asks. “Just in case.”
Never has a door been locked faster. I’m gone from the bed for all of two seconds before I return to the bed to crawl down her body, kissing her through her tank top. Sucking her nipple into my mouth through the fabric. Nibbling on her hip.
I slide my fingers beneath the hem of her sleep shorts, and she lifts her hips to help me shimmy them over her thighs. Her pussy is covered in neatly trimmed hair. All the club girls keep it waxed, so there’s something deliciously natural about Daisy’s bush.
“It gets too much, tell me, yeah?” I say.
Daisy nods. “I will.”
“Open your legs for me, let me see you.”
She does as I say, and I shift, nudging her legs to open even wider so I can settle between her thighs.
For a moment, I simply sit on my knees and study her.
Her eyes shine with anticipation, a marked improvement on the tears she had for me earlier.
She bites down on her lower lip, then runs her tongue over it to soothe it.
Her calf is smooth beneath my hand, but it’s her pussy that has my full attention. Sweet and pink and already shimmering with wetness. My cock pushes against my jeans, and I need to rearrange myself before I lie down.
I nip the crease of her thigh, her mound. Using my thumbs, I lift the hood of her clit and lick over it softly.
A gasp escapes Daisy, so I do it again.
Her hands slide into my hair, but I reach and readjust her left hand because it’s too close to my injuries and the pressure hurts.
“Sorry,” she says, trying to free her hand altogether.
I look up at her. “No. Leave it. I like it. Just hold a little farther back.”
She does as I ask. “Please, Vandal.”
“Please, what, sweetheart?”
“Your tongue. Lick me.”
I smile against the lips of her pussy. “Because you asked so nicely.”
It was my very intention to go slow, to savor.
But one taste of her and I’m hooked. I grind my cock into the bed as the savory and sweet flavor of her consumes me.
I know the breadth of my shoulders is stretching her thighs wide, so I encourage her to shift one of her legs over my shoulder.
When I slide my hands beneath her ass and change the angle, she gasps.
Nothing is better than the sound of a woman getting off. It’s right up there with the sound of a well-tuned Harley.
She bucks when I add a finger, and I can see her clamping her mouth shut to swallow the sounds she wants to make.
“One day I’ll do this to you somewhere private,” I say. “Where you can make as much noise as you want, because I really want to hear you beg me for more.”
Fuck, she’s so tight and wet. Once buried inside, I move my finger, signing my name.
V. A. N.
Daisy gasps at the intrusion. My fingers are thick, but if she’s this sensitive, I can’t wait for her to feel my cock breaching her open.
D. A. L.
I smile to myself. “You’re mine now, Daisy.”
I suck on her clit and then lap it. I do it in time with the thrust of my finger. Then I add a second.
Daisy shifts her hand, reaching for a decorative pillow she tossed to one side, and holding it over her face when she moans.
My cock leaks. I’m probably leaving wet stains on my denim.
“Oh, God,” I hear Daisy murmur beneath the pillow.
Then her hips lift, her back arching off the bed.
And a strangled cry is muffled through the pillow.
Just one word.
My name.
Vandal.