18. Daisy
DAISY
My world just turned a blistering white, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again. And it wasn’t just the orgasm, the aftershocks of which still ripple through my body.
It was the intimacy of what happened in this room tonight.
It was being with a man who was willing to accept his own frailties. A man who would rather leave me than bring anything other than his best self to me and my daughter.
Guilt mingles with my euphoria as I come down, and I close my eyes and try to drown out the thoughts that risk ruining this moment for me.
I should tell Vandal about my connection to Alvarez. But the risk is that if I tell him, he won’t go and get well. He’ll stay here with me, with increased vigilance, instead of taking the steps he still needs to heal.
He crawls up my body, the mattress shifting beneath his solid weight, and I open my eyes to find him watching me.
More, he’s studying me. As if trying to memorize the lines of my face. Nobody has ever looked at me like this before.
Desired me? Yes.
But this feels different in ways I struggle to articulate.
“Feel good?” he asks.
I smile softly. “That’s one word for it.”
A lock of dark hair falls over his face, and before I can stop myself, I reach up and push it back from his face.
His eyes soften at the ordinary, everyday gesture.
I lift onto one elbow to brush my mouth against his. “You taste like me,” I say.
He cups the back of my neck, holding me tightly so I can’t escape him, not that I’d want to, as he kisses me again.
With one hand, I reach for his belt.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says.
“You don’t have to have everything fixed to simply be here tonight. Life is a constellation of perfectly timed moments. Let this be one of them, Vandal. Please.”
I don’t know where the wellspring of wisdom comes from, but it eases us both.
Vandal stands and removes his leather cut.
“I’ve never seen you without it,” I say. It changes him from the biker to the man. Softens his image a little.
The black T-shirt peels over his head next and…
“Oh my…”
Vandal bashfully runs a hand down his chest. “I’m a little out of shape.”
“There is nothing out of shape about you.” He’s muscular, so maybe without five weeks of surgical recovery and alcohol and likely poor nutritional choices, his abs would be even more defined than they already are. “You’re a work of art.”
He smiles at that. “Now I know you’re talking bullshit.”
I shake my head. “Get naked and let me touch you until you believe me.”
As he turns to toss his T-shirt onto the dresser, I see a huge Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club tattoo on his back. Like the patches on his leather cut, but instead it’s skin and vibrant ink.
“That should be my line.” But he unbuckles his belt as he toes his boots off while I take in all the tattoos that grace his body.
There’s a ram on his ribs. It’s beautifully designed, the colors so vivid, with thick curled horns.
There are words I can’t read properly from here.
And both arms are full sleeves of black and gray realism with pops of color.
When he’s naked, I’m a little intimidated by the size of his cock. It’s thick and long and curves a little to the left.
Even as my thighs clench together in anticipation, I worry about the practicalities of taking a man this big. He grabs a condom from the pocket of his cut and rolls it on his thick length before climbing onto the bed.
He sits on the other side, his back against the pillows, then tugs me back over his lap. “I liked the feel of you like this earlier.”
I’m split wide over his solid thighs, his cock brushing against me. “You’re very big,” I admit.
He smiles as his eyes follow the finger that I’m currently coiling my curls around. “Why, thank you, Daze.”
For a heartbeat, I see a flicker of the man he was, the man he wants to return to. And I wish with my whole heart that I could turn back the clock for him.
He reaches between us, holding his cock to my opening, and I lower myself, gasping as his head breaches my lips.
His hands sneak by my ribs, up my back, and hook over my shoulders. In this position, he takes over guiding both me and the pace. Encouraging me to accept more of him, stretching me.
It’s not exactly gentle, but it’s edged with something I need.
There’s an urgency to it.
It’s a miracle I can accept him, or a testament to just how much I enjoyed his mouth on me given how wet I am.
“Fuck, Daze, you were made for me.”
His words build my confidence as I press against his hands and lift myself higher before seating myself farther. His hands make sure I stay close to him, our bodies sliding against each other.
He contorts his frame so he can lift my sleep tank top off and suck my nipple into his mouth. His eyes meet mine, and I hope he sees as much pleasure in my eyes as I see in his.
Suddenly, I’m utterly lost to him.
Nothing else matters.
Just the two of us and this.
His mouth runs over my chest, my collarbone, my neck.
When his mouth reaches mine, he doesn’t kiss me. He stays there, a millimeter away, breathing my air until I’m seated fully, and his eyes roll back in his head.
“Fuck, yes, Daisy,” he says through clenched teeth. “Stay there for a second.”
I do as he says, even as my pussy clenches in anticipation and his cock throbs like a pulse.
Then he scoops both hands beneath my hair, folding his fingers behind my head, and kisses me like he’s a starving man and I’m the only thing on this earth that can satiate him.
It’s messy, hard to breathe at times, but Vandal doesn’t let go of me.
I roll my hips against him, a deep and slow grind given I’m being held too tightly to ride him.
My clit aches after the punishment his tongue delivered and force with which he sucked on it.
But beneath the pain is another orgasm just out of reach.
My toes curl, and I groan in frustration as he keeps me pinned to him. The more I try to move, the tighter he holds me.
“Still,” he commands before kissing me again, and my body betrays me by doing exactly what he says.
Pent-up need rolls through me. It’s existential. Like being edged, but not. Worse. I’m stuck right here. My arousal’s not fluctuating.
I sit right on the pinnacle.
“Next time I move,” Vandal says against my lips, “I’m gonna try and make love to you.”
“Try?” I ask, confused.
“It’s been a while for me, Daze. Since before the accident. Jerked off in my hand once. So, while I’m wanting to be kind and gentle, there’s a roar in my head telling me to fuck that cunt of yours into the mattress. So, yeah. I’m gonna try.”
Every part of me tightens at his delicious warning.
“I choose the mattress, Vandal.”
“Fuck,” he groans as he grabs me and rolls us both onto our sides. My leg is trapped beneath his waist, but his hands are tight on my ass. His fingers dig into my skin when he starts to move his hips.
And…
Stars!
I had no idea you could see them without actually coming, but the feel of him buried so deep inside me makes everything simply unravel.
I’m being manhandled by Vandal, and I love it. The realization hits me so suddenly, it steals the breath from my lungs.
I’m not smart, was never great at school, which is why I’ve always worked in bars, so I have no idea what makes two people come together and ignite like a match and gasoline.
It could be biology, chemistry, or alchemy for all I know. But there’s something about the way this man’s hands move over my body that steals the breath from my lungs.
He rolls us again until I’m pinned beneath him. “Give me time, Daze. And I promise to try not to disappoint you.”
The honesty in his voice is more devastating than anything else tonight.
I place my hand to his cheek. “I believe you.”
Something a lot like hope flickers across his face, maybe a sense of resolve. But his hips begin to move in earnest. A painfully slow extraction, followed by a sharp thrust that nudges me along the bed. He keeps his weight on his elbows, his hands on either side of my face.
Suddenly, under his gaze, the guilt I’ve been pushing down threatens to surface again. My ex. His tattoo.
The things I haven’t told him because I don’t want to add to his burden.
But tonight, I’ve seen him breathe for the first time without looking haunted.
And maybe it makes me a coward, because maybe it’s selfish to want one night where we aren’t scared or fighting or bleeding. Where we don’t have impossible responsibilities and nothing for ourselves.
It’s one night where we get to simply exist.
I clutch at his back, trying to keep hold when the thrusts become harder and the pace becomes faster. I wrap my legs around him as best I can while our kiss gets messy. Gasps, and sweat, and saliva, and warm breath.
Chaos taking over everything.
“Oh, Daze. Fuck. I’m gonna come soon,” Vandal says.
I shift position slightly so there’s more pressure on my clit, and gasp.
I can feel it start to build.
“Don’t stop,” I beg.
“Ah, Daze, come for me. I can’t…”
Maybe it’s the panic that he’ll stop too soon, but it’s enough to fuel the kernel of my orgasm.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck.” He grunts, his face buried into the pillow.
Vandal’s thrusts change as he comes and loses the rhythm he had, but I grip his ass hard and grind against him, a frantic back-and-forth that has my face screwed up and my body tense before exploding in something stronger than the first.
I press my open mouth to his shoulder to stifle the scream. “Van.” The word comes out on a muffled sob. There will be teeth marks on his skin after this.
And marks on my heart that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remove.