by Meghan Quinn
One step closer.
DAISY
“Tell me about your childhood,” I say, running my hand along Carter’s stomach. My head is resting on his shoulder, his arm is wrapped around me, and his hand rests on my hip. It’s an intimate cuddle. Naked and snuggling, I love everything about it.
“Nah, you don’t want to hear about that,” he answers, his thumb rubbing against my skin.
“If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have asked. Come on, I want to know more about you.”
After inhaling a long breath, he says, “There’s not much to say, Snowflake. My parents died of an overdose. Not the best examples, and since Uncle Chuck was my only living relative, he became my guardian. He didn’t hold back showing how much he hated being stuck with me, which made for a disturbing living arrangement. We fought often and when we weren’t fighting, we didn’t speak to each other. I got my GED and then went to culinary school. Unfortunately, I had to depend on my uncle to pay, which is why I’m indebted to him now. You’re with a real fucking winner, Snowflake.”
I can be naïve, but I know sarcasm when I hear it.
“Why are you so hard on yourself? You have so much going for you.”
“Yeah.” He lets out a harsh laugh. “How so? What do I have going for me?”
“Well, you have your own place. You know right from wrong. You are a protector even though it seems like you didn’t have the best parents in the world to teach you. You have aspirations and dreams. You know what you want to be. That’s all very important.”
“You see the good in things so easily. Do you ever notice the bad?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “Living with my grams, in our own little world, I wasn’t just sheltered from the outside world, but also from everything bad. I’ve spent almost my entire life knowing nothing other than happily ever afters. But then my grams had a stroke and everything changed. My rose-colored glasses turned clear, and I saw the world for what it is: a tumultuous community full of rights and wrongs. I just choose to notice the rights more than the wrongs.”
“A glass-half-full kind of girl.”
I kiss his chest. “I’m just grateful there is a glass to partake in.”
“A lifelong optimist, too bad you’re with a pessimist.”
“It’s a good balance.” Thinking back to what he said about his uncle, I ask, “Are you liking the Dear Life program?”
His chest rumbles beneath me with a silent chuckle. “Does it seem like I would be someone who would enjoy the program? I go because I have to, not because I want to.”
“So if you have to go, why not take advantage of it?”
“Because I’m not that kind of person. I’m not one to passively follow directions, I never have been. Apart from culinary school. Everything about the program makes me itch. Talking about feelings, writing shit down, airing my dirty laundry. I hate every aspect of that. I’m a private man. I haven’t been blessed with an easy life. I have a lot of battle wounds, a lot of deep-set scars, and it’s hard for me to look at life like you do. I’ve been burned way too many times.”
“You never know until you try,” I suggest, wishing Carter could get something out of the program.
He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me. “I know, Daisy. I’m meant to struggle my entire life, nothing will come easy and no program is going to fix that unfortunately.”
My heart hurts for him, to know he’s set on struggling day in and day out. To know that no matter what he accomplishes, he doesn’t have someone next to him cheering him on. To know the person who is supposed to show him love and support made him feel like an inconvenience at a young age. It just kills me.
“Let’s talk about something else,” he suggests.
“What do you want to talk about?”
His hand continues to stroke over my skin as he takes the time to think about our next conversation.
“Hmm . . . am I your type?”
“What?” I giggle.
“Your dream guy, do I fit the bill? Am I what you pictured in your mind?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“Lay it on me.”
Drawing circles on his stomach, I tell him about my perfect man. “I grew up watching musicals with my grams and old shows like I love Lucy and The Dick Van Dyke Show. I was enamored with men who could sing and dance. I thought it was fancy to expertly match your suede shoes with cuffed Dockers. I envisioned my perfect man to be one with slicked-back hair, a voice like Bing Crosby, and the dancing charm of Fred Astaire, with a little mixture of Gene Kelly’s swagger. I thought the perfect man was going to tap dance his way into my heart, sing me a melody, and then whisk me off to some show on Broadway.”
“So you were looking for an old soul with the talent of a lost art.”
“Pretty much,” I answer. “And here, I ended up meeting a brooding man with a motorcycle, the whisking talent of a god, and the ability to protect me at all costs.”
Leaning closer to my ear, he whispers, “You’re forgetting something.”
“Um, your killer dark eyes?”
“Try killer penis.”
“Carter!” Once again I’m blushing, which I’m sure was his intention. Even though the word penis embarrasses me, especially when it refers to what we did tonight, he’s right. It was killer. Never in my mind would I have thought sex felt that good. I’m not going to make it all butterflies and roses, because when he first entered me, that wasn’t the best moment of my life. But afterward, once I relaxed, everything following was . . . just magical. It’s the only way I can describe it. Flat-out magical.
“What? It’s the truth, isn’t it? Did these tap-dancing men have the same kind of killer cock as me?”
“Oh my gosh.” My blush deepens, if that’s possible. “I never thought about that area before.”
“Never?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“Hey.” He shifts me so I have to look him in the eye. “Is my penis the first penis you’ve ever seen?”
I bite my lip. “I’ve seen one in the anatomy book my grams has, but that was an illustration. So, I guess, yeah. You’re the first penis for everything.”
Smiling widely, he scoops me back up, this time so I’m lying on top of him, looking down into his playful eyes. “I like being your first penis. Just so you know, not all penises are this nice. Some have warts.”
“Warts?” I cringe.
“Yeah, and an abundant amount of hair. Penises vary, especially with the southern friend, the scrotum. I’ve got a good set, Snowflake; you lucked out. There are some pretty sick dicks out there.”
“How do you know? Where do you look at penises? Do you do it often to compare?”
“Not so much.” He chuckles. “I frequent the gym, and men let it hang out like it’s their job, especially the old guys. Wrinkly old-man balls, not the best thing.”
I don’t want to talk about old-man balls, as it makes me want to gag. I like Carter a lot, but even looking at his balls, which seemed nice, make me shy. I focus on something else.
“You go to the gym? Is that why your arms are buff?”
He raises an eyebrow at me in question. “You think I’m buff?”
How could I not? His biceps are toned, defined in his tight-fitting shirts. His chest is broad and thick, so powerful that he can pick me up with ease. He has a body I never expected to see under his leather jacket, but it’s a body I could die happy seeing every day. If that makes any sense. If not, how’s this? Yum!
“You know you’re buff, so stop fishing for compliments.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to hear you say it, Snowflake. A guy needs his ego stroked every once in a while.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh Carter, you’re so buff. You have muscles for days, all bulgy and brawny, like Mr. Clean.”
“The bald cleaning guy?” he asks, distaste in his question.
“Yeah, he can be sexy.”
“You want to rub that slick head of his? Pull on his earring?”
&n
bsp; “He has an earring?” This is news to me. I can’t picture it.
“Yeah, tough guys have earrings.”
Leaning from side to side, I examine his ears: not pierced. “You don’t have an earring,” I point out.
“Nah, I’m more of the broody type than tough. But, I am able to step up to tough if you ever need someone to get hijacked in the face. I’m not opposed to fighting.”
“Well, I am.” I search his eyes. “Have you ever punched someone? Has anyone ever punched you?”
His eyes soften, his hand pushing my hair behind my ear. “You want the truth?” I nod. “Okay, yeah, a lot. I can’t even count the amount of times, especially growing up. I’ve been punched by schoolmates, friends, my dad, my uncle, random assholes. I learned to defend myself pretty quickly.”
“Your uncle and dad punched you?” He just shrugs as a response, causing my heart to split in two. I don’t understand how an adult can raise a hand to a child. It makes no sense to me. Is that why he is often so distant, aggressive?
Cupping his face, I gently kiss his lips. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that.”
“Like I said, my life has been a struggle. I’m used to it. No use in fretting over it.” Before I can say another word, he flips me over in bed, pinning me to the mattress. “Now, enough of this sad shit, I can’t wait to taste you again.”
“Again?” I ask in disbelief.
“Yeah, Snowflake. You’re not a one-and-done girl. You’re the forever kind.”
Smiling down at me, I take everything in about this man. He’s so genuine, so honest, the perfect combination of sweet and masculine. Joining Dear Life has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I feel as though the blinders have been removed and I can see more shape to the future of my life. I now have a sister I adore, have made new friends, and of course, right now, in Carter’s arms, I feel alive. Never saw that coming. Never saw him coming. He wasn’t what my mind had conjured up as the perfect man for me, yet we seem to . . . fit.
Day by day, the little steps I make toward being that woman in the mirror, it’s all about proving my existence, one small gesture at a time.
CARTER
Standing in my boxer briefs, flipping my signature French toast, I think about last night. Hell, I’ll be thinking about last night for a damn long time.
Daisy was everything.
Innocent, yet invested. Pure, yet sinful. Shy, yet explorative.
The way her hands moved across my muscles, it was sensual as hell, her fingertips not quite sure what to do, but her lust egging her on.
Then there was the look in her eyes, the pout to her lips, the way her hair fanned out against my pillow. Fucking hell, so damn beautiful.
It was hard to keep my hands to myself, to give her a break knowing she was going to be really sore, but I wanted her over and over again. By letting me inside her, she claimed me. I was a goner. I’m still a goner.
Looking at my bed, I love my view: her naked body spread across the mattress, the sheets covering just enough to have me wanting to rip that damn fabric away, and her little feet poking out the bottom. God, I want to wake her up. I want to dive in between her legs and wake her up in the best way possible, with my tongue to her amazingly sweet pussy.
Talk about a heavy craving. Hell, I fucked her with my tongue three times last night because I couldn’t keep away. And then there was her “blow job” which consisted of her kissing the tip of my dick because she was scared of “getting shot in the eye” and moving her hand up and down my length so loosely that it was more of a tease than anything. After five minutes of her featherlight touches and dick-hole kissing, I took her hand, gripped my cock hard, and showed her how to do it. She was scared to hurt me after our first encounter where she thought my dick was a dangling doo-dad she could grab with a death grip. I can understand the hesitation, so I showed her the proper pressure and grip to apply, and once she got the hang of it, sweet Jesus, I came hard. She was so determined, so set on getting me off, and her persistence paid off. As for when I came, she squealed so damn loud, my neighbors most likely heard her. Her reasoning, she never thought it could “spray like that.” Not going to lie, her little handy got me some record height.
What it boils down to is her innocence. It turns me on so damn much. It’s one of my favorite things about her.
A few feet away, rustling fabric draws my attention. Peeking past the bundled-up sheets, Daisy looks out into the open space of the apartment, her hair mussed from last night and early this morning.
“What smells good?” she croaks out in a sexy morning voice.
“French toast. You interested?”
Like a bolt of lightning, she sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist, giving me a monumental view that will have me hard all damn morning. Her arms above her head, she stretches from side to side, enjoying the morning sun.
I turn away because if I don’t, the French toast will burn, breakfast will be ruined, and I never ruin a meal. A quick glance in Daisy’s direction has me reconsidering, but before I can make a move, she’s putting on my shirt from last night and pushing up the sleeves that ride long on her arms.
When she steps out of bed, I’m awarded with the vision of the hem of my shirt hitting her on the upper side of her thighs. Waves of blonde float around her with each step in my direction. So beautiful, it hurts.
She pads her way toward me, a little sway to her hips. “You’re staring.”
Giving her a once-over, I nod and then turn back to the French toast. “Hard not to where you’re concerned.” I pat the counter next to the stove. “Have a seat, beautiful. Keep me company while I finish making breakfast.”
She hops up and then squeals. “The counter is cold.”
“That will happen to you when you’re prancing around like some sexed-up hussy.”
“Hey,” she playfully slaps my bare arm, “I’m not a sexed-up hussy. You’re naked too.”
I glance down at my boxer-clad crotch and quirk my lips to the side. “Sorry. I’m not naked, and neither are you, but I can make us naked if that’s what you want.”
“No way. I’m too sore.”
Sore? Shit.
Turning the burner down, I position myself between Daisy’s legs and put my hands on her thighs, gently rubbing them up and down. “Did I hurt you last night, Daisy?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” She smiles bashfully. “I mean sore as in I’ve never had foreign objects inside me like that before.”
“My dick is not a foreign object.” I chuckle.
“It is to my vagina,” she says.
“From the way you moaned last night, I would say your vagina doesn’t consider my dick a foreign object anymore.”
Her hands go to her cheeks, her face reddening. Whispering, she asks, “Did I really moan?”
I lean in and match her whisper. “You really did, and it was sexy as fuck.”
Relieved, she drapes her hands over my shoulders and clasps them around my neck, her legs circling my waist as well. I’m surrounded by her body, her scent, her purity. It takes my breath away, that this woman with so much potential—a world of possibilities ahead of her—wants to be with me.
Needing to feel her skin, I slip my hands under her shirt and roam them up her stomach and until my fingers skim her breasts. My mouth goes to her neck where I press long, languid kisses along her skin, loving the way I can smell myself on her as well.
“I can’t get enough—”
My words are cut off by the jingle of keys in my front door and the presence of someone right outside the apartment. What the fuck?
I turn my head just in time to see Sasha walk through, suitcase in hand, long dark hair tied in a knot on top of her head, skinny jeans eating up her long legs, and her classic white T-shirt hanging low to show off her perfectly set cleavage.
What the hell is she doing here?
“Oh?” Taking in the scene in front of her, her cheeks start to blush. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t know I would be interrupting something.”
“What the hell are you doing here, Sasha?” I ask. I notice Daisy go rigid in my arms.
“I . . .” She looks around, her hands fidgeting in front of her. This is not the Sasha I know. She was confident, sure of herself, would never fidget like she is right now. “I, um, came back.”
Shielding Daisy now, I ask, “Why would I want you to come back here?”
Pulling an envelope from her back pocket, she walks it over to the kitchen island where I get a better view of her. She’s not wearing a lot of makeup, so judging by the absence of dark circles under her eyes, she’s finally started sleeping again.
“Here.” She places the envelope on the counter, eyeing my chest for a brief second. “Here’s your money along with the rent for the months I was gone.”
Is she fucking serious right now? I’m not sure what I should be feeling. I never wanted to see her again, but I can’t deny that the menacing dark cloud of pessimism—that’s hovered over me ever since she left—is parting and I feel a small ray of hope.
I open the envelope and there is a lot of cash inside. I don’t bother counting it, as I somehow know it’s there.
“Is this a joke?” I ask. Her hands rest in her back pockets, her breasts sticking out even farther from her stance. From behind me, I hear Daisy hop down from the counter and walk toward the bedroom, hopefully giving me a little privacy with Sasha, so I don’t have to explain all this shit to her.
She shakes her head. “It’s not a joke. The money is yours. I told you I was hoping I could pay you back one day. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this soon.” Looking over my shoulder, she eyes Daisy, who’s shuffling around the room. “I came back, Carter, because I never stopped loving you.” What the hell?
She’s kind of blowing up my mind right now. Completely out of it, I remove the French toast from the stove so I don’t burn down the apartment while I try to wrap my head around what’s going on.
First things first. “Why did you take the money, Sasha?”
Leaning against the counter, her eyes cast down. “My dad needed it. He got into trouble with some pretty bad people, and they were going to take everything from him if he didn’t pay up. He was short ten thousand dollars, and he had to pay up the day I left. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you trying to help. I was afraid if your name was mentioned, they would hurt you too. I couldn’t bear that, so I kept my note plain, evasive, and left. My dad was able to get the money back quickly by selling some tied-up stock that became available. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I was so scared. My dad was already at risk, I didn’t want you to be at risk too.” Moving forward, she places her hand on my chest, those dark green eyes peering up at me. “I love you, Carter. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it before, but I’m saying it now.”