Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  “Daddy, that was fun,” she said, her voice muffled, curvaceous body plastered against mine once more. “What’s next?”

  And I grunted, more a moan than a real laugh.

  “Little girl, we still have a long ways to go,” I growled, running my hand up and down her back. The brunette’s tank top was still on but her breasts had fallen out of the low vee and I caressed one now, squeezing the heft, playing slightly with her nip, teasing, rolling the pink nub with my big fingers.

  Daisy caught her breath, inhaling hotly.

  “Ohhh! When are we going to play next?” she breathed into my ear, tracing the tip with her tongue. “What are we going to play next?” It was so fucking good that I was ready to start again, right there.

  But I merely slapped the little girl on the butt again before hoisting myself up.

  “Tomorrow,” I promised darkly, looking deep into her eyes. “Mr. Marks is going to take care of you again tomorrow.”

  And my ward giggled, looking up at me, expression open, trusting, the tip of her tongue niggling against her lips.

  “Promise?” she said sweetly, leaning up for another kiss. “Do you promise?”

  And I kissed her then, infusing it with everything I couldn’t say aloud, the illicitness of our relationship, the wrongness, the taboo aspect that was off-limits yet so tantalizing.

  “I promise,” I breathed into her mouth. And I was making a promise … but of what exactly? My body? My mind, my heart? I had a feeling that my promises went much further than that, that somehow I was playing a far more dangerous game.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Daisy

  Last night had been wild. Beyond wild. I’d come home and thrown myself in bed, miserable after the night out. Because Tristan had been at the Carlyle with another woman, a woman who was supermodel beautiful, tall and slim compared to my curvy, female form. And the way the blonde had been hanging off him made my heart curdle, bile rising in my throat.

  Because who was that chick? I shouldn’t have felt jealous, it’s wrong because it’s not like I have any rights to Tristan. Sure, I’d shown him my pussy once, we’d traded some hot glances but that didn’t exactly equate to a relationship.

  So I scolded myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? The alpha male was my guardian, I shouldn’t be having these crazy jealous feelings. But deep inside, I acknowledged that I wanted him. Yes, I wanted Tristan, I wanted him to pet me and caress me, take me out on a date, let the world know that I was his woman, that I owned him, that we owned each other, a couple for real.

  But my subconscious could hardly stop laughing at the dreams whirling in my head. And how the hell would that happen? I scolded myself. You’re his ward, your mom put you under his care when you were a baby. And here you are dreaming about a relationship with your guardian? Because what? You’ve shown him your pussy, he’s breathed a few nice words to you and now you want a relationship? My face flushed, ashamed.

  But unfortunately it was true, and after the unexpected encounter with Tristan at the Carlyle, I’d stumbled into the night air, face hot, gasping for air. When had the tables turned? When had my little crush become something more, something with a life of its own? When had this become more than a game?

  So I’d thrown myself into bed miserable, tossing and turning in the sheets before falling into a restless sleep, dreaming of him, dreaming of being with Tristan, sleeping in his big bed day in and day out, living life out loud, afraid of nothing. And my dreams had been so vivid, so intense that when I opened my eyes, I wasn’t surprised to see Tristan there, his looming, dark form making the room seem small.

  “Mr. Marks,” I murmured sleepily, unsure if I was a dream. “Is that you?”

  And what happened next blew me away. I’d been ready to give it up, sure, but I needed answers first. And when I confronted him about the blonde, he acknowledged the bitch and said it was “just business.” My spidey sense tingled. Just business? That six foot hooker didn’t look vanilla Ann Taylor at all, she looked like she’d get the nuclear codes and have no trouble pressing launch with a long, red fingernail.

  But I gave in, trusting Tristan, believing him because I desperately wanted it to be true. I wanted to believe that the blonde was nothing to him, that the alpha male was genuinely interested in knowing me, his eighteen year-old ward.

  So I let him come in me, let my little pussy get breached for the first time. It was exciting, heady and amazing, his cock pushing into my tight channel, stretching me so that I was so full I could hardly believe he was only a few inches in.

  But Tristan took care and didn’t go in all the way, he released, spraying my insides, letting me feel that hot cum without pushing to the hilt, without breaking my internal barrier, my last barrier still unbroken.

  And I’d sighed with ecstasy, coming hard on his dick, little pussy milking him although he was only a little way in, clamping, clenching, gasping, panting and crying as Tristan took me and made me into a woman. I’d never expected anything like this, other girls had informed me of the pain, the discomfort, the blood, that sex was more mechanical than anything. They’d never told me that I’d soar into heaven, a man’s big body on me, making sure I screamed and cried out, cunt on fire, even if we didn’t go all the way.

  So yeah, it was absolutely amazing and I only wanted more. But somehow, the insecure part of me thought that Tristan was gonna take off immediately. Chalk it up to my youth, but I was genuinely surprised when Tristan stayed in bed with me, big body curled around mine in the narrow twin, pulling me close to his chest, and tucking me under his chin. So I fell asleep, my body slowly falling into a deep, dreamless pool of warm water, held tight in the arms of my lover.

  But no good dream goes on forever, and when I woke, Tristan was gone, just a depression in the mattress. But that wasn’t surprising given that the bed was barely big enough to fit my five-three curvy frame, much less Tristan’s six-three muscular one. So I stretched, smiled and practically bounded out of bed, hopping into the shower before dancing downstairs, expecting to have the house to myself.

  But surprisingly, the big man was there, sipping at a cup of coffee at the countertop.

  “Morning Sunshine,” he growled, blue eyes taking in my ripe curves, the damp curls still wet on my shoulders. “Didn’t expect to find you so chipper. Get a good night’s sleep?” he quirked an eyebrow at me.

  And I almost laughed. Was this Tristan flirting with me? Was my guardian pulling out the stops, revealing his sense of humor for the first time? I giggled and joined him at the bar top, helping myself to a cup of coffee.

  “Slept like a baby,” I said softly, looking into his eyes. “I wonder why?”

  To my surprise, streaks of darkness flashed across his sharp cheekbones then, the lines of the alpha’s body still and tense as he looked me up and down. I blushed. I’d expected to be alone so was wearing terrycloth booty shorts with a thin cotton tank again, my boobs almost visible beneath the fabric, a bunch of side breast visible if you craned your head.

  Tristan could clearly see it all because he looked at me hard, eyes taking everything in, before breathing in heavily, then pulling back, actually leaning backwards on the stool as if to put some distance between us.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, coloring, flushing. I hadn’t thought he’d back off so quickly but my guardian was unpredictable, a man who’d keep you on your feet. And let’s be honest – Tristan held all the cards. Money, power, influence, my guardian was an alpha male whereas I was an untested virgin. We both knew it, and for me , it was more about playing my hand as best I could when matched up against a Grand Master.

  But the big man merely stared another few seconds before relaxing, saying casually, “Get dressed baby, I’m taking you out.”

  I was shocked. Out? We’d never been out together, it was off limits remember? We couldn’t be seen on a “date” in public, we were in a weird situation, related but not related all the same. Tongues would wag, people would talk if they saw us out
on a date.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a date at all and I’d just gone crazy projecting things. My head jumped with electricity, I was so frazzled.

  But Tristan interrupted me again.

  “We’re going to visit my alma mater,” he growled. “Aren’t you applying to college this year, Daisy? Time to meet my old friend, the Dean of Admissions.”

  My heart zinged between elation and disappointment, bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball gone wild. On the one hand, we’d be out in public together, touring the beautiful campus of Hudson University upstate. It’s a gorgeous place, filled with ravines, gorges, stone buildings and an enormous, beautiful chapel. The thought of being there with Tristan, spending one-on-one time with him in the beautiful surroundings took my breath away, made me flush with pleasure.

  But a trickle of caution ran through my soul as well. Because this wasn’t “public” like a man with the woman he loved, squiring her about while introducing her to his past, showing her places with fond memories. This was a college tour, something parents did for daughters all the time, a rite of passage. No one would think it was weird that a prominent alum might show his ward around on a leafy September day.

  So my elation was tempered with a tinge of disappointment. On the one hand, I got to spend one-on-one time with Tristan, real quality time. But on the other, there was no risk in this. It was all legit, above the table, nothing shady or illicit about an innocent college jaunt. And so I took a deep breath, smiling at him, still unsure of what I should be feeling.

  “When are we leaving?” I chirped, trying not to let my confusion be seen.

  Tristan just looked at me.

  “Today, baby girl,” he said looking at his watch. “In fact, we’ll leave in thirty minutes if you can get yourself ready in time,” he growled, nodding at my tiny tank and booty shorts.

  I just laughed. Clearly, Tristan didn’t know me very well.

  “I can be ready and packed in thirty, no worries,” I said softly, almost trembling with excitement. Because I’m still a simple woman, I can throw things together in ten minutes flat, no need for a hot iron, curlers, bags filled with make-up or an entire suitcase of stuff. I was still low-maintenance to the core and a small duffel was probably enough for a weekend trip. And so I padded off, throwing a shy smile at him as I went up the stairs, heart beating swiftly at the thought of the weekend ahead.

  After fifteen minutes, my bag sat in the foyer, ready to go. The small duffel was stuffed, sure, but other than that and a little purse, I had nothing else with me, all my things neatly folded, no extras. Tristan was impressed, his eyebrows shooting off his forehead.

  “Fifteen minutes early too,” he remarked, looking at his watch.

  I just laughed at him.

  “Mr. Marks, I’m a simple girl, I can handle it,” I said. “It doesn’t take much to make me happy,” I shrugged. Tristan’s eyebrows just shot even higher, those blue eyes hard to read. Sure, he was probably used to women with a lot of baggage, but I wasn’t that either literally or figuratively.

  “Here little girl,” he said, his voice rough, imbued with emotion that I couldn’t quite process. He took my duffel in a big hand and swung it effortlessly over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. “Let’s go.”

  The alpha guided me outside, shepherding me with one arm draped low around my back. I tingled at the contact, body heating up a million degrees but then gasped when I saw the car. Because instead of the town car we always took, a gray Maserati was parked in the circular drive, low slung, the chrome oh so sexy, implying speed, power and intensity in one go. Holy cow, were we going to be alone for the drive?

  Catching my thoughts, Tristan gave me a wink.

  “Thought I’d bring her out for a spin,” he remarked casually. “I hardly ever get a chance to take out the Grey Lady, figured this was a good opportunity to see the changing of the leaves and all.

  I paused because the trip was suspiciously sounding like a date again. Sure, we were visiting his alma mater, but driving up there together in his sports car, taking in fall colors, alone together for hours in the small cab? There were definitely romantic overtones, it wasn’t just my imagination.

  So I got into the passenger seat breathlessly, curving my small form to fit into the bucket. I was just about to look up at Tristan and say something light and airy when I caught sight of his face, breath catching in my throat. Because the big man was watching me, eyes glued to my curves, the expression on his face torn, like he wanted me desperately but was also doing his best to keep things in check, keep things kosher.

  So smiling slightly to myself, I merely swung my legs in while making sure he got an eyeful of my toned, tanned pins.

  “Ready?” I asked demurely, my smile secretive and sexy.

  And with a low growl, the big man revved the engine and we were off.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tristan

  She was beyond beautiful, she was charming, magnetic, funny, and intelligent, all rolled into one curvaceous, tantalizing package. During the drive I’d hardly been able to tear my eyes from her thighs at first, those creamy white pins displayed in a sweet skirt that went up to there as she sat next to me in the tiny car. I was literally having trouble focusing on the road, dodging and swerving this way and that as I navigated the New Jersey Turnpike.

  “Mr. Marks, you better pay attention,” she giggled. “I think that’s a cop car over there,” she gestured, nodding her head towards the back. And groaning internally, I caught a glimpse of black and white in the mirror. Because with the way I was driving, completely distracted, my body stiff as I shifted gears, yeah I deserved a ticket or three for reckless endangerment. But fortunately the cop car focused on a blue Mazda in the next lane and I was able to hold it together as they pulled off onto the shoulder, safe for the time being.

  “That was close,” giggled Daisy. “You haven’t even been drinking.”

  That was true. It was 10 a.m. on a Saturday morning, I hadn’t had anything alcoholic, there was no excuse for my lameass swerving except the continued closeness of my ward, heady and exciting. And the brunette was positively brimming with happiness, shooting me a bright smile as we continued up the turnpike into the shadowed, leafy woods of upstate New York.

  “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” she murmured, nodding to the scenery outside. And lo and behold, but it really was dreamy, the forest dense but not gloomy this time of year, the towering trees, the greens taking on their first tinges of majestic reds, yellows and oranges. It was pure magic and I loved enjoying it with someone who appreciated this kind of thing. God knows women in my past would have been bitching about this or that, the long drive, their cramped legs, the sudden cold snap. But not Daisy. And as if reading my mind, she turned to me again with another sweet smile.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” she murmured once more. “The trees change color because the chlorophyll in their leaves is degrading, the green fading to reveal the red and yellow pigment that’s been there all along.”

  And I looked at my ward sharply, taking in her curvy figure with sudden surprise and a measure of respect. I’d never expected Daisy to know the scientific basis behind the fall colors, why leaves change from green to red, eventually shedding during the winter. But as if sensing my surprise, the girl nodded.

  “Mr. Marks, I do read you know,” she said teasingly. “I’m not a science whiz but I read the New York Times and the Washington Post, they have popular interest articles on scientific phenomena, everyday life, all sorts of things. I’m not a dunce,” she chided sweetly.

  And I nodded, taken aback, realizing how little I knew about my ward. I’d sensed she was smart but I hadn’t figured she had the kind of roving mind that would include pieces about popular science, the world around us. But the girl merely confirmed it.

  “I’ve been a nerd for ages now,” she confessed wryly. “Straight A’s for years and years. I just got contacts this year, re-vamped my wardrobe but before that, I was pretty much a wallfl
ower.”

  And I nodded stiffly, a little ashamed. The fact is, I had no idea who Daisy was up until she moved in last year. I figured she was doing fine at the boarding school, no news was good news.

  “But you’re popular now?” I asked, low voice growling.

  “Kind of,” the brunette said slowly. “Since my body changed, boys are definitely more interested,” she admitted with a wry smile. “And yeah, I’ve made some female friends, girls who are in the cool crowd,” she acknowledged with a small frown.

  “But isn’t that what you want?” I growled.

  The brunette’s frown went even deeper.

  “I guess,” she said slowly. “The thing is that even if on the outside I’m different, on the inside I’m still me. Maybe I’m not in the library as much but I’m still reading on my iPad or on my phone all the time. I’m just not as overtly nerdy as before, but it’s still there. You can’t change a lifetime of habits in a couple months,” she laughed.

  And I grunted then.

  “Honey, that’s great,” I said slowly. “Because I admit, I figured I was going to have to pull some strings to get you into Hudson but let me ask … what’s your GPA? Do you think you might be able to swing it on your own?”

  And here Daisy’s head fell back, revealing the elegant curve of her neck, the smooth slope of her shoulder as she laughed, genuinely tickled by my question.

  “Tristan, the guidance counselor says that Hudson would be a back-up for me,” she said tossed off, a teasing smile on her face. “I know it’s your alma mater and all but with my grades and test scores, Ms. Levine says I’m likely Harvard or Stanford-bound, my choice.”

  And my insides seized. On the one hand, I was blown away. Harvard or Stanford? Those places were harder to get into than the Pentagon on lock down, you had to be a certifiable genius to be admitted these days. But on the other hand, I wasn’t surprised. Daisy was perceptive, a voracious reader, articulate and intelligent, so why not? Hudson would be lucky to get her. I was fine with it, my ego could take it.