by Karen Ferry
He moves slowly away from me, but not so far that I can’t feel his minty breath fanning across my lips. He hesitates for a few beats before growling, “I’m going to kiss you now, and don’t you dare pull away and run away from me. We clear?”
Hearing the sudden demand in his voice, I simply nod, slightly surprised by the change in his manner, and I wet my lips. Agonisingly slow, as if he wants to savour this moment, he draws ever nearer until, finally, his lips brush against mine in a featherlike touch. As soon as I feel them on mine, my body erupts in a powerful flame, and the tingling from before intensifies. His lips brush mine once . . . twice . . . three times, lingering a bit longer each time. When he ends the last one by sucking my lip ring into his warm mouth, allowing my lips to taste more of his, I can’t stand the gentleness any longer. Wrenching my arms free from around his neck, I stand up on my toes, and grab his face, needing to be kissed by this man so desperately. Finally, I slam my mouth onto his, close to combusting with longing for a taste.
Ho-ly . . . fuck!
Groaning, Daniel crushes me to his chest, angles his mouth to fit better to mine, and when I feel his warm tongue probing my lips, asking for permission to enter, I open my mouth on a deep sigh, allowing his tongue to find and tangle with mine. I’m not sure who first sighs in passionate relief, him or me, but all thoughts evaporate when he starts sucking on my tongue, and I’m burning up from within.
Then we become lost in each other and the pleasure, both giving and taking in equal measure. All that matters is our mouths, our tongues, our teeth, and we can’t seem to get close enough. Nothing but this immeasurable heat touches us. We’re in our own small bubble, drinking from one another, and I don’t think I want to come up for air ever again.
Daniel moves one hand from my arse, across my hip, and quickly pulls up my top until he’s touching me, skin to skin. His touch sears through me, making me tear my mouth from his on a gasp. Breathing heavily, he doesn’t stop his sensual assault but merely trails open-mouthed kisses all the way from my chin to my ear and back again. He repeats this over and over before gently sucking on my ear-lobe, causing my knees to buckle, and I grab onto his arms to hold on for dear life. In a bold move, his right hand moves from across my waist to my navel and up my ribcage until his hands brushes the underside of my breasts. Feeling my nipples harden, I lift my right leg and wrap it around his hip, causing my pussy to rub against his cock straining against his jeans. Pressing into me on a deep growl, he kisses down my neck, and I tilt my head to the side, allowing him better access. My eyes feel so heavy that I have no other choice but to let them fall shut, fully immersing myself in the pleasure coursing through my entire being at this significant moment of my life.
My first kiss . . . Yep, there’s fireworks, the angels are singing, and all that crap. Just like all the books say…
My senses are on overload. My pulse beats frantically. My pussy begs for release. Deep inside my head, I know I’m not ready to take this all the way -- this is Daniel, after all, and not some random one-night-stand. I want this . . . whatever this is to be significant. To not be some quick shag only meant to satisfy a physical need for a few minutes.
With Daniel, I want . . . more. I want the fairytale . . . the happy-ever-after I have never, not once, believed in since I was ten years old . . . until now.
As soon as this realisation takes root, Daniel once again proves that he has this uncanny ability to read me and my moods at once, and he stops his roaming hands just beneath my breasts. His mouth becomes gentler, slower, and he merely traces his lips from my neck until they rest on mine once more. Ending the kiss the way he started it, he brushes his lips over mine three times until, at last, he kisses the tip of my nose and my forehead. Keeping my eyes closed, I revel in his touch, and the way he slowly lets his hands caress my skin from my ribcage to my hip, allowing his thumbs to linger, almost makes me forget myself and the fact that I don’t want to rush into anything with him. Yet . . . I have to. For both our sakes.
Forcing my eyes to open, I look straight into his. The burning I find in them makes my hardened heart melt a little more. “That was one hell of a first kiss,” I croak out, and Daniel chuckles smugly. Men!
His smirk disappears quickly, though, and wrapping his arms loosely around my waist, making me place mine on his biceps, he scrutinizes my features for a while, not speaking, and it makes me more and more nervous. Oh dear . . . what if I’m a terrible kisser?!
When I can’t stand the silence any longer, I ask, “What is it?”
“Thank you,” he simply says.
Puzzled, I frown. “For what?”
“For letting me be your first kiss even when it’s clear I didn’t know what to do,” he replies, and the most adorable blush spreads on his cheeks. Is he nervous?!
“I love that you were my first kiss,” I tell him quietly, and it’s the truth. I can’t imagine anyone else I would ever trust enough to kiss me. The smile that lights up his face just now by hearing my words is priceless . . . and one I’ll tuck away for later when I’m alone.
Sighing in a way I can only describe as in male satisfaction, he admits, “That kiss was beyond my wildest dreams, Emma. And . . . “ Tongue in cheek, he grins. “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed here so that I could spend hours on end kissing every inch of your gorgeous body, but . . . Well, perhaps it’s not the best idea. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to hold back from sinking my cock inside you anymore . . . “ Sobering, he adds quietly, “I don’t think either of us is quite ready for that yet, anyway.”
How is it possible that this guy knows how to read me so well?
“Don’t you believe I’m able to keep myself in check? I mean, I’ve managed to resist you for some time now,” I tease him.
“True, very true . . . I have to confess that I love waking up beside you, Em . . . that way, you can’t escape me.”
Fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt, I admit shyly, “I don’t want to escape you tonight . . . “
Daniel leans down and whispers, “I don’t want that, either, sweetheart . . . But are you sure?”
As always, hearing this particular endearment for me falling from his lips sends a thrill through me, and I place my arms around his neck, silently giving him my answer. I am completely unable to keep my distance from him more than a few moments at a time.
He straightens a bit, the smirk firmly back in place. “I’d definitely not mind to practice some more,” he says, and I roll my eyes for good measure. Secretly, though, my heart soars at hearing those words leaving his mouth.
“Practice makes perfect,” I muse and grin a bit cheekily at him. The soreness in my lips feels . . . heavenly. He stays silent for a heartbeat but then barks out a laugh, pulling me closer, and wrapping his arms around me, he answers, “I think I need lots and lots of practice . . . “
“Oh yes, most definitely,” I concur, and, sighing happily, I become lost in his embrace once more. I don’t know how much time passes this time but once we come up for air again, Daniel takes my hand and leads me to his kitchen.
“Come on,” he says. “Time for your first cooking lesson.”
I groan, slowing down my steps. “Must I?”
Grinning at me, he nods. “If you want to keep taking advantage of me, then yes.”
I gasp mockingly. “Well, when you put it that way . . . “ I can’t resist pinching his butt and he yelps, causing me to laugh. His eyes remain warm and tender on mine, and he almost trips over his feet from not watching where he’s going.
So adorable.
For the first time in years, I’m happy. And I intend to keep it that way.
Chapter 34
Cooking with Daniel is . . . an experience. Well, more like a mess. Apparently, he wanted to show me how to make real, Danish meatballs -- frikadeller -- but he kept distracting me with kisses and other . . . err, actions (lord, that boy and his magical fingers) that I must have miscalculated the flour or something else from the recipe, beca
use the end result wasn’t exactly edible. What should have been small, round and spicy meatballs ended up becoming one giant meat pancake of sorts: it took up the entire pan and looked rather disgusting.
After Daniel deemed that I’m no cook -- a fact I’ve warned him about for weeks now -- we decided to ring for a pizza instead, so I made a salad with fresh lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers and salted cashews, to be served with a apple vinegar/olive oil and crushed basil dressing. At least I can be trusted in a kitchen when it comes to side dishes -- it’s the main course I have trouble with. I just don’t have a knack for it. Daniel watched the news until our pizzas arrived.
Like me, Daniel doesn’t have room for a proper dining table or chairs so we eat on his unmade bed, trying not to make a mess of things. I kind of wondered if things might be a bit strange between us now that we’ve kissed, but I needn’t have worried. They are just the same as always -- apart from the fact that Daniel leans over to peck my lips as often as he can, of course, leaving them tingling and hungry for more each time. Some people would perhaps scoff at the fact that I feel so comfortable with him, but not me. There are plenty of sparks between us just like always, clearly evidenced by the bulge in Daniel’s shorts.
Let’s be honest here: a monster cock standing at attention the way his does can’t be hidden away. Nor would I want it to, at least not when we are alone like we are right now.
Licking some pizza sauce from my thumb, I glance at Daniel. “May I ask you something?”
He leans back and looks briefly at me before scooping up some salad and waves with his fork. “There’s nothing you can’t ask me about, Em.”
Hesitating, I take a sip of my Coke Zero. “Okay, thanks. How does your sisters cope with your mum and her . . . illness? I mean, do they visit her sometimes like you did a few weeks back?”
Daniel gives me a small smile and rubs his neck. He looks a bit uncomfortable, actually.
“Well . . . they have thicker skin than I do,” he answers cryptically.
I frown. “Please elaborate. You can’t say something like that and not explain it further . . . “
Nodding, he sneaks a peek at me, his eyes now apologetic. “I suppose you’re right. It just makes me a bit . . . well, embarrassed.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before he sets his now empty plate on his nightstand. Leaning back against the headboard, he wraps an arm around my shoulder, and we lay back, snuggling. Placing my right hand above his heart, I wait for him to open himself up to me again.
“Okay, my sisters don’t speak with my mum at all,” he starts and then sighs a little, the sound sad but accepting nonetheless. “After our dad left, we all helped out at home -- you already know this -- but the minute my oldest sister, Maria, turned 19, she left to travel to Australia and never looked back. The same thing happened with Annette, Karina, and Laura: as soon as they had finished school, they were out of there, as quick as a lightning bolt.”
Daniel pauses and looks at me. “I don’t blame them for leaving, you know. They wanted better lives, and at some point, they realised that if they remained at home, they’d never get the opportunity to meet their goals and dreams. I had to respect that, and I still do.”
I cuddle closer to him, playing footsie with him, and reply quietly, “I understand. Well, a part of me does. But why did you stay there for so long?”
He turns his eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “For a long time, I never stopped hoping that she’d finally pull herself together and seek professional help. She kept promising that she would, and I wanted so desperately to believe in her. But . . . eventually, I lost hope, too. I dropped out of school -- I wasn’t there much anyway -- and then I ran away from home.”
“What?” I sit up and stare at him. “You ran away? Where did you go?”
“I roamed the streets in our city, became a homeless amongst many,” Daniel explains, still not meeting my eyes.
“Oh, Daniel . . . “ I whisper, my heart hurting for him. “How old were you?”
“The first time, I was 15. My mum did ring the police, made them look for me, but I ran away again after they brought me back. This time, they didn’t catch me until I had been gone for six months.”
“But . . . how did you survive?”
He shrugs. “I begged on the streets. Stole from the shops. You’d be surprised how often the people who run shelters for the homeless don’t ask you any questions,” he adds drily. “My mum gave me quite a beating for that, but . . . “
I interrupt him, “She beat you?! That’s despicable!”
He rubs my arm soothingly, but I shake it off and stand up to pace around in his flat.
Holy fuck! If I ever get to see that woman, I’m going to slap her!
“Emma,” Daniel calls from his bed, but I wave a hand at him.
“That’s . . . it’s just . . . I mean, how could she?!” I stutter, wiping a hand across my forehead. “She’s the one who deserves the beating for being such a sorry excuse for a mother.”
“Em, please stop, you’re making me dizzy with all your pacing back and forth,” Daniel chuckles from the bed, but hearing the amusement only makes me glare at him.
“Excuse me, but there is nothing remotely funny about this, Daniel,” I scold him.
So quickly that I don’t even realise how he’s doing it, he grabs my arm and pulls, and I find myself lying on the bed again, his body covering mine.
“Will you please listen?” he pleads with me, and the tone of his voice finally grabs my attention, causing me to set aside my murderous thoughts and concentrate on him.
I huff. “I’m sorry, Daniel, but I really, truly don’t think I’ll like your mother.”
He smiles gently at me, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I don’t like her much, either, but that’s beside the point. Now . . . will you let me finish this as quickly as possible so that I can start kissing you again?”
“Oh, alright,” I grumble, my hands rubbing up and down his back. “You may continue.”
“Why, thank you, my lady,” he responds cheekily. “Right. I’ll spare you the details of the severity of her disciplining me,” he continues, but I draw in a breath.
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Suffice it to say that I woke up in the hospital and found Andreas, my uncle, sitting beside me. After he’d given me some water to drink, he sat down, gave me a long look, and then said, “I’m taking you away from Karla if you promise me to finish school and work towards a proper future. Are we clear?”
Daniel seems so far away, lost in his memories, and I wrap my legs around his, silently showing him my support until his gaze becomes focused on my own again. The hurt and vulnerability that meet me is staggering.
“I didn’t have to think twice about that. I accepted his offer, and as soon as I was fit to leave the hospital, I was sent off to boarding school.”
“Boarding school?!” I shriek.
Daniel frowns at me. “Is this how our future will be like? You interrupting me all the time when I have something important to say?”
Oopsie.
Smiling at him, I roll my eyes, but pretend to zip my mouth closed, tossing the key away, all the while Daniel looks at me with an amused grin on his face.
“Okay then. You have to understand that boarding school was the best thing that ever happened to me, Em,” Daniel says and kisses my cheek. “It’s not all bad, and definitely not the way Hollywood depicts that kind of life in movies. Well, I can’t speak for all, of course, but Danish boarding schools are probably a lot different from others.”
Raising my hand, I wait for him to grant me permission to speak.
“But why couldn’t you just have lived with him here, in Copenhagen?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “The Professor likes and needs his own space, sweetheart. Besides, I needed so much help -- what with my dyslexia and speech impairment -- and he didn’t have the knowledge, or the time, to do that.”
“I see.” And I do, I get it. Still . . . I wonder
if Daniel was ever lonely while he was away.
“I went home every holiday, of course, and even went to see my mum a few times, but . . . well, that is a lost cause, I guess.”
“Why would you even want to keep seeing her, honey?” I ask him, threading my fingers through his hair. “She doesn’t deserve your kindness.”
He shrugs. “I know that. But just because you want to stop loving someone doesn’t mean you can,” he replies and grits his teeth. “Trust me, I have tried, but . . . “ He stops and inhales deeply before he lowers his head until our mouths are perfectly aligned.
“Now,” he murmurs and carefully removes his glasses, “can we start practicing kissing some more?”
My mind is swirling with hundreds more questions, but I don’t want to ruin our night by bringing up more painful memories. Besides, I can sense that he isn’t up for talking anymore, and I have to respect that. I nod and lick my lips, catching his in the process. I watch in fascination, my lips tingling, as his green eyes grow more heated.
“By all means,” I reply, voice husky. I push my crotch closer to his, and he gasps. I revel in the power I have over him and close the distance between us.
There’s plenty of time for more talking . . . but now? Now I want to feel his need for me. It’s like a drug to me, but this is a habit I have no wish to ever break free from.
I watch Emma sleeping peacefully in my bed, sated from our unbelievably hot make-out session, and maybe it’s a bit creepy, but I can’t stop. I’m overjoyed, yet anxious, and, to tell the truth, quite turned on. I love that she never puts on PJs and feels comfortable sleeping in the nude with me because it shows that, in some way, she does trust me.
Will she trust me with her heart?
Telling her the last bits of my past was difficult for me to do, but I didn’t want to keep her in the dark anymore. If I expect her to confide in me, I can’t very well hold myself back, now can I? So I didn’t. And while I feel better for it, I just can’t fall asleep again.