“You want this?” I jolt as he focuses all his attention on my clitoris.
I whimper and buck against him. Each stroke of his tongue sends liquid fire through my body. My legs open wide as his hands cup my ass and gently lift me up to his mouth.
He brushes his mouth against my inner thigh. “Fucking nirvana.”
Without shame, I tilt my pelvis to lure him back to my core. When he resumes, I grab the sheets, balling them up into my fists. “Please,” I urge, not truly knowing what it is I’m begging for.
“Look at me, baby.” Drunken with desire, I lift my head and meet his smoldering green eyes as he stands and looms over me. “I’m going to watch you come.”
Boldly, I size up his erection. “I want you inside me.” I reach out my hand, but he grabs my wrist inches away from him.
“No, baby. I can’t let myself go, not yet.”
I want to argue, but he lies on the bed and pulls me against his body.
“You’ve never masturbated? Never had an orgasm?”
I still. “Once, I tried, but nothing… What if I can’t—”
He leans in and kisses me like I might break into a million pieces. “We have all night.” His hand slides over my breasts, my flat belly, and between my legs. “Open them,” he commands. With one finger, he circles around my wetness and up to my clitoris. “When I’m gone, I want you to do this to yourself.”
He’s talking, but I’m not listening because what he’s doing to my body is so fucking amazing.
“I want to see your eyes.” His finger stills and he waits for my full attention “Your eyes, I need to see them.”
I watch, fascinated and almost detached, as he sucks on my hard nipple, lightly rolling it between his teeth. “Bite…oh…yes…harder,” I beg. He releases it but continues to slide his fingers over me. “Please,” I plead.
His brow furrows, and his eyes narrow slightly. His leg traps mine underneath, spreading me wide.
I’m incoherent, my head turning from side to side as his fingers resume with more pressure and speed. “Yes, yes.” If I were in my right mind, I’d be mortified by the way my hips grind against his fingers.
“That’s it, baby,” he urges.
I want to scream. I need more. Why can’t he understand? “I can’t…”
Roy kisses a line from my neck to my ear.
I’ll lose my sanity if this keeps up much longer. I reach out and press my hand against the headboard. The pleasure is too much. I need a release. I need the quick sharpness of pain. It’s how I’ve always achieved relief and why should this be any different, and I’m more desperate than ever. “Nipple…please,” I cry.
He sucks it between his lips while his slick fingers are unrelenting as they glide back and forth over the needy and torturous spot between my legs.
I could spend an eternity like this, and at the same time, I can’t bear another second of it. Suddenly, my body tenses and I think my bones will break and the earth’s rotation ceases. I inhale, and I’m soaring on a wave of pure bliss rolling through me, lifting me ever higher, until I’m spent and boneless.
Chapter Nine
Consciousness, I realize, is not necessarily an on or off state of being. I’d always worked on the supposition one was awake or not. Yes or no. Black or white. In the after-orgasm glow, I’m conscious of Roy’s warm, hard body resting against mine from shoulder to ankle. The feather-light touch of his fingertips gliding over my flat belly. His scent like a pine forest after a snowfall. I’m in a twilight land of subdued colors and textures, and even my thought patterns seem as benign as an under-six amusement park ride. I can’t ever remember being this relaxed, this utterly happy and, when I can control my body to do so, I roll my head to the side and rest against his shoulder and look up into his green eyes. I expect a glint of arrogance after my first orgasm, a thing I thought I was incapable of achieving. Instead, he’s gazing at me in the same way Reggie used to regard Mae—with awe and love and devotion. It makes everything we shared much more precious to me.
“Tha…” My voice cracks. “Thank you.”
He leans in and presses his soft lips to mine. His hand, like a meandering river, flows from my stomach to my thighs and cups my sex. “I want you to always come to me, for me, with whatever you need.”
Like a cat, I lift my arms up and open my body, perhaps mimicking how warm and safe and content I am and turn on my side to face him.
His eyes are hooded. The crease between his brows is barely visible. At the root of things, we are male and female, and he’s provided for me. His need, though, is obvious and must be painful trapped behind his expensive trousers.
He watches as I run my palm over the dark hairs on his chest. I’m comforted and safe and happy against his powerful body. And I’m grateful, so incredibly grateful, that what we just shared wasn’t tainted by unwanted memories. He shifts slightly, and his sex rubs against me. He’s neutered his own desires so as not to frighten me. He must be ravenous.
“I want to…” How should I say it? “I mean…” I’m doing a piss-poor job here. At least Roy isn’t rushing me; he seems perfectly content to watch me like the Cheshire cat. “I’d like to…take care of you…” Doing great, Daisy—not. “I mean I know the mechanics of it,” I blurt out. “From Vincent overshare.”
“Mechanics.” Roy throws his head back and laughs.
Even his neck is thickly muscled. “Let me,” I whisper.
His laughter abruptly ends, his hair falling forward, dropping over one eye as he runs his eyes over my body. “I can only imagine what you’ve learned from him.”
Vincent has never been shy about sharing the details of his rambunctious sex life. “I’ve heard everything.” I roll my eyes. “I think he’s ruined me for…”
“Anal.” Roy finishes my sentence. His tone saying it’s a word like any other. “You either like it, or you don’t. There’s no in-between ground there.”
“So, you’ve tried it?”
“Do you want to talk about my prior sex life?”
Yes, I do, I think. “Well,” I urge, “have you?”
He dips his head slightly.
I shake my head and turn my forefinger in a circle.
His smile is slow and sexy. “No, I’ve never been on the receiving end.”
“Vincent says—”
“I’m perfectly fine to go through my life as an anal virgin.”
Now I laugh, thinking this must be the only thing virginal about Roy.
He clears his throat. “I’m honored you chose me. And this.” His giant paw of a hand slides up my back and around to engulf my breast. “Is a work of art.” His thumb and forefinger work my nipple tight.
I’ve never much cared for my breasts, too heavy, too much in the way—until now. On the tip of my tongue is the word harder, but he denied me before.
He pulls his hand away and searches my face. “Out with it. What’s bothering you?”
My breast protests the loss of his hand and fingers. “Am I so easy to read?”
“If only.”
A no, I guess. “I liked it when you…” I’m too embarrassed to say twisted my nipple. Instead, I make a hand movement over my breast.
“You wanted me to apply more pressure.” I nod, and he exhales deeply. “I’m out of my depth here.”
He seems in his element to me. I’m almost ready to make a smartass remark when I see he’s genuinely concerned. “I’m a freak, aren’t I?”
“No.” His fingers brush my curls away from my face.
I roll over onto my back, not knowing what to say or how to act and not exactly sure how to take his remark. Is he saying I’m not right because I like a little discomfort? He’s quiet, and I’m quiet, and I’m afraid to turn and face him.
His knee parts my legs, his muscled body slides in between them, stretching me wide to accommodate his size. Carefully, like I might shatter at any moment, his hips lightly rest on mine with his hardness grazing over my sex. His arms like pillars hold th
e weight of his upper body. “Don’t shut down on me, not now.”
I lift my eyes and see no judgment, only his care for me, and it emboldens me. “What if…” I’m afraid to say the words, yet I need to let him know what I’m thinking. “I need a little pain?”
His eyebrow springs up and first his right elbow, then his left, lowers onto the bed until our chests are mated. His eyes take in my face like he’s memorizing every plane and peak to the tiniest detail. “Trust me?” My nod has him continue. “I’m open to exploring anything you want to do. Just for a little while let’s try it my way.”
His hips roll against me, and the zipper of his pants is right where I need friction. “Eyes,” he commands.
I blink them back open and try to focus on him, but everything’s a blur of sensation as he continues to work me against the hardness contained in his pants. I need to touch him, and my hand slides under his waistband.
“Later,” he groans and captures my hand, lifting it above my head.
Like muscle memory, my body knows where this is going, and my legs open wider. “Yes,” I gasp for air. “Please don’t stop.”
One, two, three more rotations and I’m a shooting star, streaking across the night sky into oblivion.
His breath, hot at my neck, brings me back. “I love the way you come.”
When I regain my senses, there’s a tiny moment of panic at being pinned under his massive body. He lifts up but remains on top of me, and I’m able to swipe the fear aside. It’s like a key inserted into a lock opening a door, this revelation of freedom in his arms. “Please.” I place my hand along his thick neck. “Let me taste you.”
He sucks in air and growls.
If I can take control of this, I can own it. I run my tongue over my dry lips. “Show me how to make you come.”
Again, another growl and his eyes are dark. His arms slightly shake. “There’d be no need for instruction. The thought of sliding into that hot, soft mouth of yours has me cocked and ready.”
Oh, I like it when he talks dirty. “Then?”
“I’m tempted.”
“Please.” My voice breathy.
He adjusts his weight to slide down my body and sucks my nipple between his lips.
My back arches up and my fingers twine through his dark hair, urging him on. With Roy lavishing attention on them, they’re alive and achy and send the most delicious sensations through my body.
Roy stiffens and removes his lips. His head turns towards the doorway.
“What?”
His head snaps to the ornate clock resting on the fireplace mantel. “Shit. It’s later than I thought.” He slides off the bed, standing at the side and holding his hand out for me. “We need dinner anyway.”
“Really? Can’t it wait?” Food is like the millionth thing on my list right now, and I ogle his body right down to the large, wet spot on the front of his trousers. “I could soak them.”
He follows my gaze and smiles and, without hesitation, takes them off. His erection bounces a few times until it protrudes proud and straight out from his belly.
“Please come back to bed.” My fingers twitch with the overwhelming desire to touch him.
He grabs himself and strokes slowly downward. “You want this.”
Yes, where do I sign up, and can we do it now?
“After dinner.” His erection and his smile could both be described as cocksure. “We’ll see…what comes up.”
Exasperated, I sigh. “I don’t want dinner. I want you.”
Taking the soiled pants with him, he goes to the opposite side of the room from my closet. When he returns, he’s wearing faded jeans and a white cotton shirt. Roy is a wet dream of a powerful man in his prime.
His eyes linger on all my bits. I realize I’m standing in the room naked. I yank the comforter from the bed and wrap it around myself.
He rearranges himself in his pants. “Downstairs in twenty minutes, or I might change my mind and give you a good spanking tonight.”
My eyes widen, not with fear, but curiosity and a lot of lust. Of course, his green eyes register everything I’m thinking.
“Daisy, the things I’ll do to that body of yours.”
I shiver with want. “Do it before I’m too old to care,” I yell as he walks out the door.
“Twenty minutes, not a second more,” his voice drifts in from the hallway.
He’s insufferable and bossy and sexy and handsome and strong and can do things with his hands and those long fingers. I have an I-just-remembered-there's-cheesecake-in-the-fridge grin on my face as I toss the comforter on the bed and go to the bathroom. A shower’s what I need, and the water takes no time to heat up. I’m already naked so it’s a hop and a step and I’m under the water. I’m lathered and rinsed in a flash. I grab the disposable razor and make quick work of under my arms and all the way up my legs. I stop at my pubic hair, the thatch contained within a neat triangle, though I’ve never trimmed it.
Roy’s hair and beard are the darkest brown, bordering on black, his chest hair is the same, while the hair between his legs is mainly black. He doesn’t manscape, as Vincent calls it.
Does he want me bare there? Do I want that? Later, maybe, when I have more time. I place the razor back on its shelf. I do a quick rinse, step out, and dry while I peruse the products on the bathroom counter. There’s moisturizer. Guess what? It’s my brand. Coincidence, I think not. Bunched together like comrades in arms are the deodorant and toothpaste and mascara and a box of the tampons I use. Roy misses nothing. To the side is a small bottle of perfume. I don’t wear any fragrance. While I lotion my legs and arms and breasts, I read the label: Chanel Gardenia. He’s apparently left it for me. That beautiful glass bottle with the amber liquid sends a tremor of doubt rippling through my system. Does he have all his sexual partners wear this? He’s said I’m different, not the same as the other women.
Not moving a muscle except for my eyes, which scan the room like he’ll appear, I wait. He’s not a fucking ghost, I tell myself. Nothing. Crickets. Overhead, the bathroom fan kicks on and jolts me out of my paralyzed state.
There’s no Charlie. No snide or hurtful comments. I’m alone inside my head. Is he gone, like for good, like put-a-stake-through-his-heart gone? Seems too easy.
“Don’t,” I tell my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t overthink this.” And dart out of the bathroom.
I’m not putting my work clothes back on. I’m left with the items hanging in my designated closet. By elimination, I pass over the dresses and the robes. Nope to the jeans and shorts. I step into and slide up my legs a pair of lace and silk panties in a delicate shade of light blue. The matching bra has a front enclosure. The seams fall precisely over my nipples, now slightly sore pleasure centers. I’m still left with what to wear. For a nanosecond, I think of going downstairs as I am and quickly kick that idea to the curb.
Curious as to the contents of his closet, I pad barefoot across the plush pile rugs. Only a few suits and shirts hanging together with shoes lined up underneath. A striped blue shirt catches my eye. When I slip it on, it’s ridiculously large, hanging below my knees and I have to roll and roll the sleeves to see my hands. I leave the top three buttons undone, exposing my cleavage pushed up by the lace bra.
Releasing the band holding up my unruly mop of hair, I lean over and run my fingers through the curls until I know I’ve gotten as many tangles out as possible. Flipping my head up, a la Rita Hayworth in Gilda, I square my shoulders and check the time. I’m at the twenty-minute mark. I sprint down the stairs and rush to the library. Empty. I hear him talking. He must be on the phone. I jog toward the kitchen on the pads of my feet.
Without turning around, he says, “You’re four minutes late.”
Swearing under my breath, I respond, “And you’re a control freak.”
He turns to the side, giving me a quick once-over—and also exposing a man dressed in a dark suit and tie. “And this is Proctor.” Roy turns back to his guest and continues. “Se
t up a round-the-clock detail.” He holds his arm out from his body, and I walk underneath and lean against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Give us a moment,” he says to the man, who dutifully exits the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me we’d have a guest?” I whisper and wrap my arms around my waist. “I could have been naked.”
“I like you naked.”
I glare up at him.
“Let’s button this.” His thick fingers easily close a button, covering up my cleavage.
“Who is he?” I whisper.
“One of my people.” He nods to the kitchen counter, where the red Cartier jewelry box is sitting unwanted like a decade-old fruitcake.
Can’t I get a night off from my Lifetime made-for-TV movie drama? Who am I kidding? I step out from under the shelter of his arm and round to face him. “Detail…bodyguard.” I point the way he’d left. “Is that what he is?”
He strolls over and picks up the offending box. “Proctor, we’re presentable now.”
Proctor must have been a soldier because he has perfect posture, straight shoulders, and hands behind his back, waiting dutifully for Roy to continue. I can’t pin down where, but I’ve seen him before, and it takes a few heartbeats to realize he was in the picture with Roy, the one I found on the Internet. His facial features are the same, but his essence—is that the right word for it?—is different. In the photo, he resembled a Midwestern farm boy, all muscle and enthusiasm and energy. The man standing in front of me is nothing like that. He’s wary, reserved, and something about him is downright frightening.
“This is Daisy.”
Only then does Proctor make brief eye contact with me. A tight nod of his head and his eyes immediately snap back to Roy.
Roy lifts the box and shuffles it between his hands like a juggler. “Tell us what you found out.”
“Fingerprints on the case and ring.” His voice is flat and even like a long stretch of road with no distractions. “None in any government database.”
Roy opens the box, exposing the large emerald. “Not surprising. Go on.”
Secrets In Our Scars Page 13