Her legs drew up and wrapped around his taut, thrusting butt, and she felt everything inside her draw tight. His green eyes shone into hers, bright with emotion and gleaming with moisture.
“Come for me, Daff,” he whispered. His voice—the quietest thing in the room—was barely audible against the wet, slapping sounds of their lovemaking. And because he asked, she did. With a single high-pitched cry, she came. Hard. Endlessly and agonizingly. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her, and she was glad, fiercely glad, that she was sharing it with Spencer.
She was still at the pinnacle when she felt him tense, groan, and then shudder in her arms, and they both floated down to earth together. He wrapped himself protectively around her, as if to shelter her from the world, and in his own quiet way made her feel safe and protected and cherished.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She didn’t cry. She thought perhaps she was too wrung out to cry. She felt like crying, but she felt like laughing, too. She felt like running a mile or sleeping for days. She felt restless and contented. Wrong and right. Her emotions were jumbled up inside her, and it was both terrifying . . . and exhilarating.
All she knew for sure was that she felt safe in Spencer’s strong arms. Welcome and at home. It was a powerful and addictive feeling, and while she knew it should probably scare her, she didn’t really have the energy to worry about it now.
Spencer was quiet. He hadn’t said a word since their breathing had evened ages ago. She would have thought he was asleep if not for the gently stroking hand on her naked back. She was wrapped in his arms, her head on his bicep and her face against his chest. One of her hands rested on his waist, and the other was curled up against his chest. She never wanted to move.
“You okay?” he asked after another few minutes had passed.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sorry this happened, Daff,” he said, sounding almost defensive, and she smiled against his chest.
“Neither am I.” Sex had never been like this for her before. So emotional and intense. It had never felt this natural and beautiful, either. No toys or ropes, no whips and chains. Just them . . .
Spencer and Daffodil, giving and taking in equal measure. Daff had never really known it could be like that, and yet, that’s how she’d always known it should be.
“And I want to do it again,” he asserted, sounding stubborn, and her smile widened. She lifted her head so that he could see it.
“Good,” she said. His brow lowered in confusion, and she stretched up to kiss him lightly before lowering her head back onto his bicep.
“And I don’t want a no-strings thing this time.” Daff sighed and pushed herself up to face him, sitting cross-legged with her hands folded in her lap. He sat up, too, dragging a sheet over his hips and hiding that beautiful, burgeoning erection from her.
“You’re bound and determined to talk about this now, aren’t you?” she asked, pushing her messy hair out of her face.
“Hmm.” She grinned at the huffy sound.
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, big guy. You’re the one who wants to talk.”
“Just like to know where things stand, is all,” he groused.
“Why should we put a label on it? Why can’t it just be? You’re always overthinking things.”
“I just want people to know—” He stopped abruptly, as if thinking the better of what he’d been about to say.
“Uh-uh, I’m curious now,” she said. “You’d better finish that sentence.”
“I just want people to know that you’re with me, that’s all.”
“I told you, I don’t do that whole ownership thing anymore.”
“Yeah.” He looked moody and unsettled and confused. And boy, could she relate. “I just don’t know how to do this.”
“What?”
“Casual. Like it means nothing, when it fucking means everything.”
“I don’t know how to be what you want, Spencer,” she whispered. Unsettled by his words. By how much they echoed the way she felt about their encounter.
“That’s okay, darling,” he whispered back, cupping the side of her face. “You already are exactly what I want.”
There was no way to respond to that. None. For a man of few words, he often found just the right ones to say at just the right time.
She shook her head and smiled at him.
“I really don’t know what to do with you, Carlisle.” She sighed sadly, and he smiled.
“Right now? I have a few ideas.” He pointedly looked down at the tent that had formed in his lap and she giggled lightheartedly, only vaguely aware that she was seeing him through a haze of tears again.
“Yeah? Do enlighten me.”
The night passed in a beautiful blur of orgasms and laughter. Once he’d stopped asking difficult questions and expecting impossible things, they’d gone back to the easy relationship that had developed between them over the last few weeks. It was surprisingly uncomplicated, even with sex thrown into the mix.
“You have the sexiest legs,” she said during one of their breaks. They were sitting naked on her bed and eating the awful leftover pasta she’d cooked for dinner two nights ago.
“Hmm? I could say the same about yours.”
“These scrawny chicken legs have nothing on yours.” Her eyes drifted to the surgical scar on his left knee, and she pulled a face. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asked absently, his eyes riveted on a dab of pasta sauce that had dropped to her naked breast.
“Playing.” He dragged his hungry scrutiny from the sauce to stare at her blankly, and she laughed in disbelief before elaborating even further, “Rugby. Do you ever miss playing it?”
He grinned sheepishly before shrugging.
“Honestly? And this stays between us. I fucking hated it. Hated every single thing about it. I never liked the sport, but it was my ticket out of here. I was relieved when I tore my ACL. I could have done the rehab, gone back, played again. But it was the excuse I was looking for to get out. I’d already gotten what I wanted out of the sport. It was time for me to move on with my life.”
She laughed incredulously at that revelation.
“I prefer cricket,” he continued conspiratorially, and she laughed even harder. She didn’t even know why she found it so funny, but it just made her admire him more. He’d done whatever the hell it took to better himself—what was not to admire? The man was amazing.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he said seriously, “I hate to see good food go to waste.”
He bent over and finally claimed the errant drop of sauce that had trickled its way down to her nipple. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.
It was nearly dawn when she told him her most shameful secret. She didn’t know why she did it—it just came out, and she found herself grateful for the dark while she spoke.
“I don’t think I ever really liked sex before,” she blurted out into the night. The darkness helped, as did Spencer’s quiet breathing and patient silence. The up-and-down movement of his hand on her arm never faltered.
“My first lover—not first boyfriend, I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. I haven’t slept with most of them.” She cleared her throat after that awkward confession. “Anyway, my first lover—Jake—he was charming and nice. He seemed perfect. He was an out-of-towner, one of Shar’s friends. Great background, wealthy family, the works. Everything a stupid twenty-year-old girl aspires to. He was a good kisser.” She could feel Spencer starting to tense beneath her, obviously not keen on hearing about Jake’s kissing prowess. She patted his chest comfortingly, mutely begging for patience, and she could feel him force himself to relax.
“When I thought I was ready, I let him know that I was willing to, you know . . . ?”
“Hmm.” It was all the encouragement she needed, and she gulped before continuing.
“He took me to this place he was renting in Knysna. It all started pretty innocently, the kissing
and petting and stuff. I was relaxing, enjoying it, but when I was naked he . . . he picked up his brush and spanked me.” Spencer tensed again, and she patted him once more. Feeling the need to comfort him, because nobody had ever comforted her. Nobody had ever even known about this until now. It was a lot harder to talk about than she’d expected, but she’d started this and she would tell him the rest of it.
“I don’t know why. He made it seem normal and said something about all girls loving a good spanking.” Spencer’s hand had stopped stroking her arm and just lay there. Not moving at all. “I felt . . . well, I don’t know how I felt. I was confused. I didn’t like it. It had taken me out of the moment, so to speak. He went back to kissing me and playing with my breasts, but he pinched my nipples too hard. It hurt. He kept asking me if I liked the stuff he was doing, and I suppose saying I did made him escalate it a notch every time. But I liked the kissing and the stroking. Not the other stuff. He would kiss me and lick me and say, ‘You like this, don’t you?’ and just when I said yes, he’d pinch me, or slap my butt, or do something painful. It was so confusing.”
Spencer’s breathing was no longer even and quiet; it was starting to sound ragged and labored, and she wasn’t sure if she should continue.
“What happened?” he asked after she’d lapsed into a silence that lasted a beat too long.
“He flipped me onto my stomach, kissed me some more, touched me, played with me, made me feel good. Then he said, ‘This is okay, right?’ I remember feeling more relaxed, finally enjoying it and saying that it was fine . . . but he had a b-ball gag just slightly in my line of vision. I didn’t notice it. But when I said it was fine, he said he knew I’d be game and put it in my mouth. He tied my hands to the headboard and spanked me again, with something else. I don’t think it was the brush.” She took a deep, bracing breath. Reliving it made her feel so dumb. Why hadn’t she known how manipulative he was being? Why hadn’t she seen it until years after it had all ended?
“And then he d-did his thing,” she said hoarsely. She hated telling Spencer—good and kind and gentle Spencer—these things. She didn’t want him to know her as this awful, stupid person who had allowed these things to happen. Didn’t want him to recognize her as a fraud who acted tough but submitted to such degradations. But at the same time, she needed him to know every ugly detail about her. Needed him to understand what he was getting into if he insisted on being with her. So she forced herself to continue.
“I didn’t like it. It was my first time and I hated it. It hurt, it was humiliating and awful, but he acted like it was completely normal. Afterward, he untied me. Snuggled up and said I was amazing, but maybe I could move a bit more next time, squirm a little, get all the way into it. Girls loved it once they got used to it.”
She shook her head and plucked at the bedspread, staring blindly into the darkness.
“I never got used to it. Three years in that so-called relationship and I never, ever got used to it. And he didn’t care. I was the submissive he was looking for, a naïve, stupid virgin who thought there was something wrong with her for not enjoying the mortification of being tied up and spanked and blindfolded and gagged . . .”
“And asphyxiated?” His voice sounded harsh in the darkness, like he’d chewed on nails as a snack.
“That came toward the end of our three years. It was terrifying. His grip got tighter and tighter each time. And it lasted longer and longer.” Spencer started stroking her arm again, in an attempt to soothe her.
“After that, I had a series of boyfriends, but every time we got intimate, they started behaving strangely, trying to tie me up and stuff . . .” She shook her head, still completely baffled by that. “It scared me. I didn’t want to be with another man like that, so I always ended it before it went further. I thought maybe I gave off some kind of vibe. I don’t know, like something about me just screamed submissive. It’s weird, because I don’t feel like a submissive. I was a stupid, naïve girl with Jake. I didn’t know better. But I feel like I have a sign pinned to my back or something. Anyway, a few years ago, around the time you started getting serious about Tanya, I started seeing Carter, another out-of-towner.”
“Hmm. I remember,” Spencer grated. “Seemed like a total asshole to me.”
“He was. I thought, he’s an out-of-towner, maybe it’d be different. Our first time together was normal, nothing earth-shattering, just nice, vanilla sex, so I relaxed. But things got freaky after that. More choking, if you can believe it—” She shook her head in disbelief before continuing. “The last time, he didn’t stop until I passed out.”
Spencer swore viciously and she started, understanding that maybe she shouldn’t have laid that zinger on him so casually, but he stroked her arm reassuringly and she relaxed again. “Anyway, that’s when I gave him his marching papers and decided that relationships weren’t for me. Besides the bizarre sex crap that always seems to happen to me, I don’t like myself when I’m in a relationship with someone. I really wanted to start liking myself.”
It took everything in Spencer not to jump out of bed, get dressed, and go hunting for the motherfuckers who had hurt Daff. How could she speak about it as if it were normal? She might have thought she’d given consent, but that Jake fucker had definitely manipulated her into giving it. If Spencer could get his hands on any one of them right now, he would show them what it felt like to be fucking strangled until you passed out.
And why the fuck did they all go that way, anyway? Something was up with that. Daff had her hang-ups—probably because of the fucked-up shit she’d had to deal with in the past—but all Spencer wanted to do was cherish her. Not hurt her or humiliate her. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do anything different. It didn’t add up.
“Are you sure these guys didn’t talk to one another? Maybe some of them spread rumors about what you supposedly liked?” he speculated, and she shrugged.
“I thought that, too, but it didn’t explain Carter. And I mean, stuff like that gets out, right? I figure if it was the guys talking to one another, there would have been rumors. You would have heard it if there was a rumor like that out there, don’t you think?”
“Don’t know. I don’t really mingle too much.”
“If you’d heard a rumor like that about me, would you have . . .” Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she was asking.
“I don’t need your subjugation to get my rocks off, darling,” he said quietly.
Daff was quiet for a moment as she thought about the woman she’d been, the people she’d spent time with, and wondered if their former friend Shar Bridges had known about the bondage stuff. She had introduced Daff to Jake. It was the first time the possibility occurred to Daff, and it made her want to find Shar and violently rearrange her smug, perfect face.
“What are you thinking about?” he prompted gently, and Daff shook her head. She had once, foolishly, considered Shar a friend, but the shallow woman had only ever been interested in what would benefit Shar. What did she have to gain from sabotaging Daff’s relationships? Daff wasn’t sure, but her gut—while historically shitty at reading Shar—told her that the woman was somehow involved.
“I’m not sure, but I think Shar might have had a hand in telling those lies about me,” she said, feeling sick inside. “Why would she do that?”
“Jealousy, maybe?”
“Why would she be jealous?”
“Well, you’re prettier, smarter, more likable than she is, for starters,” Spencer said with a shrug, and Daff smiled at that sweet response.
“I just felt so idiotic,” she said with a deep sigh. “Maybe I was just being a total prude, you know? I know I’m supposed to be this modern woman and it’s okay to enjoy a bit of kinky sex now and then. But I didn’t. I didn’t enjoy it. I just felt demeaned, and maybe I made myself feel that way, but . . .”
“Daff, you’re overthinking it,” he said soothingly. “You don’t like BDSM and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your partners should have asked
if you were okay with it instead of assuming that you would be.”
“Jake asked.”
“Jake asked jack shit! The way he presented these questions to you was ambiguous, to say the least. You thought you were agreeing to other things, and he fucking knew it. He tricked you and then made sure to gag you before he did all the things he knew you would have protested to.”
“I must seem so weak and foolish to you now,” she whispered, and he heard the absolute misery and shame in her voice.
“Oh no, my darling.” He lowered his voice to match hers. “Nothing you’ve told me tonight changes how I think of you.”
“But I—”
“No. Daff—” He moved his hand to her face and stroked her damp cheek. It killed him that these memories had made her cry, and he wanted to murder someone because of those tears. But he kept the savage fury he felt leashed, wanting her to feel only tenderness in his touch. “You did nothing wrong. He took advantage of your innocence and confusion. It was an assault.”
“No, I consented to everything.”
“Darling, you didn’t know what you were consenting to.”
“But I didn’t say no.”
“You couldn’t say no. He shoved a gag in your mouth.”
“Afterward, when I knew . . . I still allowed it. I allowed everything else. For three years. What’s wrong with me?”
“Did you love him?” He tried to keep the tension he felt out of his body, dreading her answer. Not knowing what he would do if she admitted to loving an asshole like that, when she wouldn’t even give Spencer a shot at a real relationship with her.
Daff considered his question for a moment. Why had she stayed with Jake for so long?
“I thought maybe I did. But I think I kind of hated him. I just . . . I think I was afraid of being a failure and maybe afraid of being alone. I was so young, and I thought being in a relationship was everything. I didn’t have a degree, I didn’t have what I thought of as a proper job, I was afraid—” She stopped speaking abruptly, the nascent thought almost revolutionary. “All my life I was told I was cute but not very bright, and I should find a man to take care of me. Aside from his sexual proclivities, Jake was every girl’s dream, and I thought he was what I needed.”
The Best Man Page 25