Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
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.