The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Hmm,” he purred, the long, drawn-out sound brimming with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

  She was, embarrassingly so, and had been for most of the movie. A result of all his petting and cuddling and the feel of that constantly hard penis beneath her legs. Her moisture immediately dampened the crotch of his pants, leaving absolutely nothing of what lay beneath to the imagination.

  “And you’re so hard,” she replied, her voice sultry. He lifted his hands to her hair and tugged her down for a kiss. She crossed her forearms around the back of his head, her elbows digging into his shoulders as she clung to him while his mouth ravaged hers. His tongue was hot and demanding, and she was very willing to acquiesce to his every demand right now. He dragged his mouth away and, with shaky hands, fumbled with the buttons on the pajama top before losing patience and ripping it open. The plastic buttons went flying, landing on the wooden floor with little pings.

  He peered at her breasts for a long moment before going to work. Oh, but the man knew how to play. Daff had never even known how sensitive her nipples were before Spencer. He sucked, he licked, he grazed with his teeth and with his stubble and drove her crazy. She still had her arms crossed behind his head, and she arched her back, writhing wildly in his lap as she bordered on orgasm just from having her nipples sucked. It wasn’t anything that had ever happened to her before, and she was almost mindless with passion.

  Without moving his mouth from her breast, his hands slid from her waist to her hips. He stilled her frenzied movements and then led her, showing her the rhythm he wanted from her.

  “Oh,” she whispered when she slid up against his massive hard-on and the rigid shaft aligned perfectly with her naked furrow. As her clitoris rode up and then down the heavy erection, she realized that her movements had dragged his pants down enough to uncover the plump glans. Her clit bumped against the underside of the broad head with every upward slide, and that, combined with his continued lavish attention at her breasts, felt absolutely incredible. His hands steered her to move faster and she happily obliged, sensing that they were both nearly there.

  “Spencer,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please. I’m nearly . . . Oh! Oh! My! GOD!”

  Spencer grunted and his arms wrapped around her back in an almost bone-crunching hug; his mouth went slack at her breast as he gasped and then jerked. Daff was too focused on her own orgasm in that moment to recognize Spencer’s. She could not stop coming, her body remaining clenched and spasming for what seemed like hours, before she finally came down from her intense climax.

  Spencer was panting against her chest, and she could feel his penis throbbing beneath her still gently thrusting pussy. Judging from the sticky wetness on her abdomen, he had climaxed, too. Hard, if the still-frantic jerking was any indication.

  Her blurry eyes focused on the television, and she laughed, her voice sounding hoarse.

  “What?” He sounded completely spent, as if just formulating the single-syllable word had taken all the energy he currently possessed.

  “The credits are still running,” she said with a chuckle, and he opened his eyes with effort to focus on the television. Where the end credits of the movie they had just watched were rolling to a close. The after-credits bonus scene popped up, and he chuckled.

  “Just a little something,” he managed to huff. “A little something to . . . take the edge off.”

  She laughed weakly and collapsed onto his chest, content to just stay there for now. A very happy, very sticky, and very replete mess.

  They sat there for a while, Daff still straddling his lap. Her knees were drawn up on either side of his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her narrow back. They were both in dire need of another shower, but Spencer didn’t want to move right now. He was so content to just hold her.

  Her perfect little breasts were flattened against his chest, and he relished the memory of how responsive they’d been to his every touch.

  She was getting heavier as her body went slack with sleep, and he grinned. She had to be exhausted. They’d both had only three hours of sleep the night before. He checked the clock above the mantelpiece. It was late. Time for bed.

  He hated to disturb her, but there was no way he could pick her up without waking her, not from this position.

  “Daff? Daff, darling,” he whispered into her ear, and she groaned. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  “Just a little longer,” she pleaded.

  “We’ll both be more comfortable in bed.” He shifted her until she was lying sideways on his lap and picked her up in the same way as the night before. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a dreamy smile.

  “You can’t keep carrying me everywhere, I’ll get spoiled.”

  “You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, and her smile widened.

  “Silly man.” She rested her head on his shoulder while he carried her upstairs. Once there he deposited her on his bed—he could get used to seeing her there—and unfastened the one remaining button on the pajama top. He went to the en suite, returned with a warm, damp cloth, and gently wiped the stickiness off her belly. She smiled gratefully, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

  “Thank you,” she said in a slurred voice.

  “We could both do with a shower, but I’m too fucking tired to bother right now.”

  “Me too.”

  “Sorry about the mess.”

  “It’s your mess,” she said hazily. “I didn’t mind it.”

  And wasn’t that just fucking mind-blowing as hell? Not sure what to make of her words, he cleared his throat and climbed into bed next to her.

  “We’re not doing the sex bit of the no-strings sex thing properly, Spencer,” she said, her voice thick with sleep when he tugged her into his arms, spooning her in front of him.

  “Says who?” he asked, planting a kiss on her temple.

  “We haven’t even had sex yet.”

  “You in some kind of rush?” he asked, turning off the light. “You got a sex deadline or something? An intercourse record you need to break?”

  She giggled and then yawned.

  “It’s just this is the second night without sex.”

  “You came, I came, everybody came. That’s a win for Team . . . Spaff? Dense? Both of those are terrible, let’s never do that again.” His improvised couple names just made her laugh even harder, while he kept a perfectly straight face. “Now get some sleep, darling. Maybe we’ll get the sex thing right tomorrow.”

  For the second day in a row, Daff found herself waking up—alone—in Spencer’s bed. She crawled out of the warm bed and winced when she heard the thundering downpour outside. Fabulous. More late-winter rain.

  For the first time—yesterday morning she’d been too freaked out and last night and the night before she’d been way too exhausted—she looked around Spencer’s bedroom. It was lovely. That was the only word that came to mind. It was light and airy and just incredibly welcoming. Decorated in creams and browns, it suited Spencer’s old-fashioned sensibilities to a T. The king-size sleigh bed appeared to be handcrafted, with intricate carvings in the head and footboards. The rest of the furniture had been made to match the bed, all carved from multigrained walnut. She ran her hand over the curved footboard of the bed, marveling at how warm and silky the wood felt beneath her hand. She looked out the window, to Mason’s house just a few yards away. Spencer’s house was very new, having just gone up in the last year, after Mason had designed it. The Carlisles now shared the town’s overlook hill. The houses were far enough away to allow the brothers their privacy, but also easily within walking distance of each other. The lights were on, and she imagined Daisy was getting ready for work. Her sister’s fantastically wealthy fiancé lazed about the house all day, but Mason would soon realize his dream of becoming an architect, of course. Taking her sister away for five years in the process.

  Daff sighed at the thought, wishing Daisy could stay, even while knowing it wasn’t that far and the couple would visit of
ten. Still, it would be a huge adjustment, and Daff hated change.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee was starting to seep into the room, and Daff groaned as it coiled around her then sinuously wound its way up to her nose. Feeling like a character in a cartoon, she followed her nose and was halfway down the stairs by the time she comprehended that the pajama top was held together by just the one button between her breasts. The rest of her very naked body was on display. She dragged the two ends of the shirt together and used one hand to secure it.

  Spencer, already fully dressed, was fussing around in the kitchen.

  “You’re having breakfast this morning,” he said by way of greeting, not bothering to look around. His tone brooked no arguments.

  “Fine. I’m starving.”

  “No eggs, right?” She shuddered at the thought.

  “If you’re making it, I suppose I’ll have some, too.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she froze.

  Shit.

  This was exactly what she had feared, getting involved with Spencer, that she would start compromising again. Start pretending and putting up an act. Being who he wanted her to be and not who she really was. Even if she didn’t truly know who she was.

  His shoulders tensed, and he turned around to pin her with a stare.

  “You don’t like eggs, right?”

  She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, but what came out was, “I mean, I don’t mind them.”

  His dark, heavy brows slammed together, making him look formidable.

  “Yeah, but do you like them?”

  “What are you having?”

  “What does that matter? What I’m having has no bearing on what you’re having.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble.” His eyes widened, and he folded his arms over his huge chest while he continued to look at her like she was some kind of lab experiment.

  “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. You seem to have difficulty answering yes or no questions, Daff,” he pointed out gently. “Tell me, very quickly, without thinking about it, do you like eggs?”

  “No.” She paused, then shut her eyes miserably. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh darling.” He sighed. “Come over here and give me a good-morning kiss.”

  She padded over to him, her head downcast, feeling miserable and stupid and spineless. He fisted the lapels of the top and dragged her to him for a very thorough, very enjoyable kiss. He lifted his head and smiled sweetly at her.

  “You like that?” he asked, his voice a sexy rumble, and she sighed contentedly, wanting to rub herself all over him like a cat.

  “Yes.” Another, longer kiss. But this time when he lifted his head, she went up on her toes and followed his mouth hungrily. He kept his lips just out of reach.

  “And that?”

  “Oh yes.” Her eyes were fixed on that gorgeous mouth of his. She needed more.

  “Now tell me,” he began, bending his head to nuzzle her neck. “Do you like eggs?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  “What about as an ingredient? Like in pancakes or waffles?” His lips were so close they brushed against hers when he spoke, and Daff was so desperate for his kiss that she was grateful for even that small touch and finding it hard to concentrate on his words.

  “I like pancakes,” she said softly. “Eggs are okay if I can’t really taste them.”

  He lifted his head and smiled at her. Daff smiled back, feeling more lighthearted than she had in years.

  “Grab a shower and get dressed while I fix your breakfast,” he instructed, and, still dazed from the kisses, she nodded and walked to the bathroom where she had left her clothes last night.

  She thought about the exchange while she luxuriated beneath the gloriously hot shower. A silly, seemingly inane conversation about eggs that meant everything to her. She was so used to pretending with men and lying to herself, and that trite little chat had been the most honest talk she’d ever had with a man. The recognition was both frightening and wonderful. She was terrified that he was rapidly becoming . . . essential to her. And while part of her wanted to keep him at arm’s length in case he hurt her, another—braver—part of her was certain he could and would keep her heart safe.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Once again, Spencer didn’t join her for lunch, and an earnest young man named Alton delivered the food. This time the note was sealed in an envelope and stapled to the bag like the day before. Daff couldn’t wait for Alton to leave so that she could read it.

  Daff,

  I have another meeting today. Don’t know how I’ll get through it. I’ve been hard all day, thinking about how hot and wet and messy and very fucking sexy our encounter was last night. I suggest we keep trying this sex thing till we get it right. Because getting it wrong feels pretty damned amazing.

  Enjoy your lunch. Eat every bite—you’re going to need your strength.

  XX

  S

  Daff sighed and held the note to her chest for a moment, a dreamy smile on her face as she considered his words.

  Damn it, why did he have to be so irresistible? The man was very swiftly becoming the most all-consuming force in her life. She couldn’t stop thinking about him—her hair smelled like his shampoo, her body like his soap. Her mouth and breasts were still tender from his kisses, and everything south of her waist tingled and buzzed and clenched at the memory of his solid heat grinding against her softness.

  Daff had never really liked sex, but with Spencer, maybe the humiliation and wrongness she’d always felt wouldn’t be so bad. She’d certainly felt no regret after their last two encounters. But that could very well be because they hadn’t truly had sex. She dreaded the inevitability of that particular intimacy, but for once had hope that it would turn out okay. Spencer was different. He wasn’t as arrogant or as brash and condescending as any of the guys she had formerly dated.

  “What are you mooning about?” The voice was unexpected, and Daff swore and nearly dropped the note in fright. Daisy had managed to walk right up to the counter without Daff hearing the bell at the door or her sensing her presence.

  “Shit, you scared me, Deedee!” Her youngest sister grimaced at the nickname—she had never liked it—before homing in on the brown paper bag on the counter in front of Daff.

  “You were so busy mooning over your love letter that you didn’t even hear me come in,” Daisy said while opening up the bag to peek at the contents. “Yum! New boyfriend? Is he a chef? Because this looks awesome.”

  Daisy stuck her hand into the bag and withdrew several of the now-familiar plastic containers. Where did Spencer find the time to pack these lunches? Daff hadn’t noticed him preparing anything that morning. Or the day before.

  “Oh my, is this lamb tagine?” Daisy asked, practically drooling, after opening the biggest box. “It smells divine. I’m starving and there’s enough here for two. Want to share with your poor, hungry baby sister?”

  “I thought you were dieting for the wedding?”

  “Please, you know that’s just something people feel compelled to say before they get married. Anyway, breakfast was hours ago. I’m starving.”

  “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Half day, remember? Mason’s picking me up from here.” Daisy rolled her eyes at Daff’s blank stare before elaborating, “I told you last night, Mason and I are heading to Knysna today for a cake tasting. And we’re choosing our invitations.” She gave an excited little squeal, and Daff couldn’t help but grin at her sister’s enthusiasm. Daisy was enjoying the planning process so much more than Lia had. Every part of it for Daisy was fun and exciting, while for Lia it had been a chore and she’d quickly regressed into a moody, bitchy bridezilla. Now, of course, they all knew that Lia had been stressed because deep down inside, she had known she was making a mistake. Daisy—as she had once told Daff with joyful tears in her eyes—had never felt more positive about anything in her life.

  �
��Wouldn’t eating now spoil the whole cake-tasting experience?” Daff asked.

  “It’ll probably improve it. If I’m hungry, any old thing will taste awesome to me and I wouldn’t be making an informed decision. So you can totally share this with me.” Daisy looked uncertain for a moment before adding, “Unless your mystery man will be joining you for lunch?”

  “There’s no mystery man,” Daff denied, blushing furiously, and Daisy’s loud, obnoxious snort of laughter told her that her sister wasn’t buying that denial at all.

  “Is he a local guy?”

  “There’s no guy.”

  “So where did this come from?”

  “Maybe I made it myself.”

  “Please, you’re a terrible cook. There’s no way you made this.”

  “I ordered takeout from MJ’s.”

  “This has never been, and will never be, on MJ’s menu. So spin another tale.”

  Before Daff could respond, her phone, which was resting on the counter between them, rang, and Daisy’s eyes widened when she saw the image and name that popped up on the screen.

  Daff grabbed up the phone guiltily and jabbed the screen before lifting it to her ear and turning her back on Daisy. How could the man have such awesome sexual timing and such terrible timing everywhere else?

  “Hey,” she greeted furtively, and then her eyes slid shut involuntarily when his rough, no-nonsense voice echoed the greeting.

  “How’s lunch?” he asked.

  “Haven’t had a chance to sample it yet,” she said in a near whisper, painfully aware of Daisy’s flapping ears.

  “Make sure you eat it.”

  “I will,” she promised him, an involuntary smile coming to her lips. With anybody else she would have taken exception to the bossiness, but on Spencer it was kind of endearing, maybe because she knew his gruffness stemmed from a genuine place of concern. And she just didn’t have the heart or will to be indignant.

  “How was your meeting?” she asked.

  “Still going. I took a quick break to call you.” He’d interrupted work for her? For her? That made her feel way too special.