He kept her balanced on a knife edge while he toyed with her relentlessly . . . until eventually he drew her hypersensitive, extremely swollen clitoris into his mouth and sucked . . . hard. Daff’s entire body convulsed, her back and shoulders leaving the counter as her body bowed beneath the intense, wrenching pleasure of her climax. She cried out, the sound loud and piercing and unexpected, and covered her face with both hands as her bones and muscles turned to warm liquid as she melted back onto the counter in a messy puddle.
She felt undone, like Spencer Carlisle had systematically taken her apart and left off important pieces when he put her back together.
Spencer got to his feet and watched the small, vulnerable woman crying on his kitchen counter. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have sent her off to bed in one of the spare rooms and they could have discussed the matter again in the morning. He truly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
It was supposed to have been a kiss only. But she’d been so receptive and then so damned shocked by every gentle caress that he found himself both unwilling and unable to stop. Now she looked fucking ruined, and he felt like an asshole.
He moved quickly, scooping her up into his arms, where she drew up her legs and curled her arms around his neck, burying her wet, weeping face in his chest. Not sure what to do, he carried her to his bedroom and laid her down under the covers of his unmade bed before crawling in behind her and tugging her into his arms. She turned so that she was facing him and again buried her face in his chest, still crying.
He stroked her back soothingly, not asking questions, not saying anything, just holding her until her trembling abated and her tears stopped. He leaned back and reached for a tissue from the box he kept on the nightstand, and she took it gratefully.
“You’re probably the only man I know who keeps tissues next to his bed.”
“I’m sure there are quite a few guys who keep tissues at their bedside, for a myriad of reasons,” he said inanely, relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.
“I’m sorry for turning into a gooey mess on you.”
“There you go, apologizing again.”
“Then allow me to thank you.”
“For?” he asked, baffled.
“Seriously? You don’t know? You couldn’t tell?”
“No, what?”
“That was the first time . . .” She paused and he frowned. “That was the first time anybody has ever done that for me.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“What kind of fucking morons have you been dating?”
“Selfish ones,” she said, her voice slurring a bit. Her hand reached down between them, dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms and found his throbbing cock with unerring accuracy. He sucked in a startled breath, releasing it again with a soft groan. “You didn’t finish.”
“Because I never started,” he said, not sure if the words made sense at all—nothing currently made sense to him except that firm grip on his hot, painful erection. She slid her hand up to the sensitive tip and then all the way back down to his aching balls. He allowed her a few more strokes—he was only human, after all—before his hand closed over hers, tightening for a brief moment, and he relished the feel of the tighter grip on his shaft. He pulled her hand away gently, lifting it out from beneath the covers and dropping a kiss into her palm. “We’re both exhausted, darling. Go to sleep.”
“But I want to make you feel good, too,” she whispered, sounding exhausted but a little vexed at the same time.
“I appreciate that, but what would make me feel good right now is sleep. Just sleep. With you in my arms. Okay?”
“This is just sex, Spencer,” she felt obligated to remind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning to switch off the bedside lamp. He quickly gathered her back into his arms and she settled into them with a happy sigh.
“Just sex. Got it.” Over his dead body.
“I like it when you call me that.” She sounded all but gone by now.
“What?”
“Darling. I like that. It’s old-fashioned and sweet.”
“Good. Because I like calling you that, and I’m not about to stop.”
She yawned.
“Good night, Spencer.”
“Daff?”
“Hmm?”
“No regrets, okay?”
“No regrets.” He kissed the top of her head and, ignoring his angry, demanding penis, settled down to sleep.
Of course, she had regrets, big-time regrets. They hit the second she opened her eyes just three hours later. She was alone in the king-size bed, but Spencer’s side of it still retained some of his body heat, and she sighed softly before stretching languorously.
Her mind was screaming, oh fuck what have I done! while her body was purring, hmm more, yes please! It was confusing, and she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt this morning. All she knew was that it was seven in the morning, she’d allowed Spencer certain intimate liberties just a few hours ago, and she had to get out of here and get ready for work. Preferably before the whole town woke up and saw her do the drive of shame from Spencer’s place back to her home.
She looked around for the robe she’d been wearing but couldn’t find it anywhere and then blushed hotly when she recalled that it had come off while she lay sprawled on Spencer’s kitchen counter. She had been naked when he carried her to his bedroom. She saw his discarded pajamas at the foot of the bed and dragged the top on. It fell to just above her knees and the sleeves ended well below her fingertips. But it smelled of his spicy, masculine scent, and she tugged the collar to her nose to inhale deeply. Okay, so maybe the regrets were waning a bit—there were definite positives to this situation.
The hardwood floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she padded her way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the living area. She found Spencer in the kitchen behind the island, sweeping up shards of ceramic that she recognized as the cups they had used last night. She must have unknowingly swept them off the counter. She went bright red at the thought and could barely look at the counter without blushing even more.
Spencer caught sight of her, and his eyebrows went all the way up into his hairline at the sight of her in his pajama top.
“Morning,” she murmured self-consciously, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Morning,” he replied, dropping the shards of glass into the recycle bin and rounding the island to stand in front of her. He was dressed for work already, and he dug into one of his jacket pockets for something. “I wanted to hang on to this in case I had some kind of hair-related emergency in the future. But you look like you need it.”
He scissored her messy bangs between his middle and forefingers and used the tiny butterfly clip she’d put in his hair just the night before to pin her hair back and out of her eyes. He trailed his fingers down over her cheek and leaned down to drop a sweet kiss on her mouth.
“Breakfast?” he asked after ending the all-too-brief caress.
“I should get home.” He nodded before turning away to reach for something.
“Not without coffee,” he instructed, dropping a mug on the counter in front of her. Daff hummed happily as her senses perked up at just the smell of the freshly brewed coffee and gratefully wrapped her hands around the warm mug.
“Sit down, I wouldn’t want you to slice your feet. I’m not sure I got all the shards.”
“Where are my things?” she asked, moving far away from the island and taking a seat in one of the huge easy chairs in his living room instead.
“You didn’t bring them out of the bathroom last night, so I put them in the dryer about ten minutes ago. They may still be a bit damp, I’m afraid.”
“It’s okay, I won’t have to be in them for too long.”
“Finish your coffee, we’ll take them out of the dryer after you’re done.” He grabbed a mug for himself and joined her in the living room, taking the chair opposite hers.
“Dinner
tonight?” he asked nonchalantly, sprawling in the chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked much too relaxed for her liking.
“Can’t,” she said. “I’m meeting my sisters tonight; Daisy wants to discuss bridesmaid dresses.”
“Afterward?”
“I’m not sure how long it’ll be. I can’t give you a definite time.”
“I’ll be here,” he said with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Will I see you at lunchtime?” she asked, hating the hopeful note in her voice.
“No.” She was ridiculously disappointed by his curt, unyielding response and strove to maintain a casual demeanor.
“Okay. Cool.”
They sat drinking their coffee in silence, and Daff couldn’t tell if it was an awkward silence or a comfortable one. He seemed comfortable enough, but she felt awkward as hell.
“I should get going,” she said after a few minutes, and he nodded, placing his mug on the coffee table and pushing to his feet when she jumped to hers. He was beside her in half a stride and cupped her cheeks in his large palms.
“Hey,” he said calmly, forcing her to meet his tranquil green gaze. “Relax. No regrets, remember?”
She reached up and closed her hands over his.
“No regrets,” she repeated determinedly, hoping to make it her mantra.
“So,” he said, keeping his hands on her face and his eyes steady on hers, “how do you want to play this no-strings sex thing? Nobody knows? Everybody knows? Only a select few know?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Siblings?”
“Daisy’s going to flip her shit if she thinks this may affect the wedding.”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t know what that one means,” she confessed, and his brow furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“That particular grunt. I’ve been learning to decipher them, but that one always leaves me stumped.”
“They don’t mean anything,” he denied, and she scoffed.
“Please, you say more with your noises than most people do in a full conversation.”
“They’re just fillers.”
“They’re so not fillers, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”
“Hmm.” She giggled in response to that, and he frowned again.
“Wiseass,” she dismissed.
“It was just a grunt,” he maintained, looking a little freaked out.
“Nope, that one was facetious and meant ‘Believe what you want, Daffodil McGregor, you’re a nutcase.’” She deepened her voice to imitate his, and his resulting smile was a charming mixture of bemusement and amusement.
“First, I do not sound like that. Second, you are a nutcase. And third, it’s just a grunt.”
“Ri-iight.” He huffed in amusement and planted a kiss on her mouth without any warning. He took advantage of her openmouthed shock by immediately plundering with his tongue and leaving her completely shell-shocked and shaky after the stealth attack.
“Get dressed, darling,” he said hoarsely after ending the kiss. “Or I’ll be tempted to call in sick and keep you here in nothing but that pajama top—or less—all day. You look sexy as hell in it.”
She carried that kiss with her throughout the morning. She got to work after him and so missed his walk past her shop window for the second time that week. She sighed regretfully as she sipped her third cup of coffee—including the one she’d had at his house.
She couldn’t believe how fast things had happened between them over the space of just days, after so many years of buildup. If anybody had told her last week she’d be contemplating a sex-only arrangement with Spencer Carlisle this week, she’d have laughed them out of the room, and yet here she was, thinking about nothing but his tongue on her most intimate body parts. Reliving their moments together over and over again.
She was recalling it again, flushed and hot and breathless, when the bell above the front door tinkled and jerked her out of her little fantasy world. For the brief moment between looking down at her book and up at the door, she hoped with everything in her that it was Spencer with lunch, but she was doomed to disappointment. It wasn’t Spencer, instead it was a familiar-looking woman whom Daff was sure she’d seen before but never really spoken to. The woman was wearing an SCSS uniform, which explained why she seemed familiar. She probably walked past Daff’s store every day.
“Good afternoon,” Daff greeted uncertainly. “May I help you?”
The woman—girl, really—smiled broadly, revealing two gold-capped front teeth and a pair of sweet dimples.
“Hi, miss, I’m Chantal. Mr. Carlisle asked me to bring you this.” She held out a brown paper bag with a white notepaper clipped to the folded top. Daff took it automatically.
“Thank you, Chantal.”
“No problem, miss. Have a nice day.” Chantal waved and left the store immediately, leaving Daff to stare at the package in her hand like it was a ticking time bomb. She placed it carefully on the counter and unclipped the note.
Daff,
Sorry I couldn’t come around for lunch today, I have a business meeting at twelve. I don’t trust you to eat a decent lunch, so I prepared this for you.
Eat up, darling.
See you later.
S
CHAPTER SEVEN
“No! Mom, tell them I look terrible in yellow,” Daff complained after dinner with her sisters and mother. They were at Mason and Daisy’s place, and Daisy had prepared dinner. Well, actually, she had ordered dinner from MJ’s.
Daff had been completely distracted all evening, and they appeared to have finalized bridesmaid dress colors while she was off in Happy Horny Dreamland.
“Well, you agreed to it,” Lia pointed out a little smugly, and Daff sent her a death glare. Everybody liked to think that Lia was the nice one. Maybe because she dressed like a librarian, taught children, and spent all her free time helping others.
“I did not.”
“We literally placed the swatches on the table, Daisy asked what we thought about this one, I said I loved it, and you said, ‘Yes, very nice.’”
“Come to think of it, you’ve been saying ‘yes, very nice’ to everything tonight,” Daisy chimed. “Cravats for the men? Yes, very nice. Four-inch snakeskin stilettos for the bridesmaids? Yes, very nice. Daffodils for the bouquets—”
“I did not. I would never!” Daff shook her head, horrified. She absolutely hated her namesake flower. Every time a guy brought her flowers it was daffodils. Ugh. They always just assumed she must love daffodils.
“Yes, very nice!” her sisters and mother all chimed at the same time and then giggled hysterically. Cooper, Mason’s gorgeous mixed Labrador retriever, peered up briefly when the high-pitched laughter woke him from his nap.
“We’re not really going with any of those things, by the way,” Daisy said.
“Except the yellow for the dresses,” Lia chimed in.
“No! I hate that yellow.”
“But it’s my accent color,” Daisy pouted, and that’s when Daff knew they had to be pulling her leg. Daisy never pouted. Well, she had started recently with Mason, and the guy was a complete sucker when the lower lip came out. Did her every bidding. It was sad and embarrassing, really.
“Come on, girls,” their mother chastised as she absently stroked Daisy’s toy Pomeranian, Peaches. The little fluff ball always managed to wind up on their mother’s lap. “You know she looks sickly in yellow.”
“Mom,” Daff whined, hating to have her shortcomings pointed out.
“You do, you know it, and that’s why you refuse to wear it.”
“Well, okay, but you don’t have to rub it in.”
“We just wanted to see what would snap you out of your semi-fugue state.” Daisy smiled.
“And we want to know what’s up with you.”
“Just distracted,” she said dismissively.
“You had dinner with Spencer last night,” Daisy recalled gl
eefully. “Does this have anything to do with that?”
“Oh my goodness, she’s blushing,” Lia said, sounding completely shocked. Daff raised her hands to her hot cheeks.
“I’m not.”
“Oh, but you are,” their mother confirmed. “You always were my best blusher. Couldn’t tell a lie without going the color of a ripe tomato.”
“What’s going on between you and Spencer, Daff?” Lia asked.
“Nothing. He’s just a lot nicer than I ever gave him credit for.”
“That he is,” Millicent McGregor agreed. “A lovely young man. Very shy, though.”
“Shy?” Was he?
“Of course he is. He never has a word to say in company, always kind of tries to hide in a corner and blend in with the furniture. But so sweet. Even when he was a boy and everybody else thought he and Mason were troublemakers, he always had a friendly greeting, helped carry my groceries—and never accepted a tip, mind you, no matter how dire their situation was at home. He was a little gentleman in the making. But never had much to say for himself. Then or now.”
“Why didn’t the town help them when their mother died?” Daisy asked, her voice sharp and a little resentful. “Did you know the police picked them up after they’d spent all night in the hospital with their dying mother and detained them for a day, thinking they were the ones who wrecked Mr. Richards’s store?”
Daff’s heart seized in her chest at the thought of what an ordeal that must have been for both boys. How cruel.
“I had no idea the boys had been suspected of that.” Their mother sounded appalled. “I heard about the vandalism a couple of days after the fact. At that point they had no suspects. It must have been after they questioned and cleared the Carlisle boys.”
“So are you and Spencer finally hooking up, Daffy?” Lia asked.
“Don’t call me that,” Daff said irritably. “And what do you mean, finally?”
“Just that the guy’s been trying for years.”
“And years,” Daisy added with a nod.
“He has?” Their mother looked startled by the information.
“Yep, he’s had a crush on her since high school.”
“He used to send her poems,” Daisy added, and Lia giggled.
The Best Man Page 12