But not today. She’s kissing my neck. Her hands are in my back pockets.
I back her up toward the bed, since that’s where this is headed. I lift off her blouse and toss it onto my desk chair. She’s wearing a plain black bra, and the sight of it gives me a possessive rush. Daphne doesn’t like to show her cards. But she shows them to me.
Only to me.
“You want to cheer me up?” I growl. “Then get on that bed.”
Eyes wide, she sits down on the end of it and scuttles backward.
“Good girl.”
I’m preparing to join her when I realize I’ve forgotten something important. Spinning around, I grab the pendant off the dresser and bring it with me to the bed. “This is yours,” I say roughly. “I want you to wear it.” Then I unhook the chain and drape it around her neck.
“Thank you,” she whispers as I attach it.
She touches a finger to the pendant, where it’s perched above her breasts. Her eyes get soft and lazy, like she sees right through me. Like she knows the storm will pass.
My anger ebbs a little further. And when I lean down for another kiss, it's the tender one that she deserves.
Thirty-Three
Daphne
We're on a bed. An actual bed. It's a damn miracle.
Late afternoon sunlight slants through Rickie's window as he nudges me further onto the mattress and removes my skirt.
Then he removes my panties.
Then he removes my bra.
And when he kicks off the last scraps of his own clothing, all that's left between us is a piece of jewelry depicting a daphnia in all its weird glory.
Rickie fingers the pendant, and his expression burns with promise. “Better late than never, I guess.”
“Yes, I—”
Words desert me as he lowers his mouth to my breast and swirls his tongue around my nipple. I gasp as a sizzle of sensation rips through me.
I moan shamelessly, because I’m not shy anymore. And I'm no longer afraid to love him. So I shamelessly reach for his cock and stroke him.
He groans, and I smile up at the ceiling. It's not that my heart is suddenly bulletproof. It's just that I no longer have a choice about how I feel. He's gotten to me. And if I hold myself back, I might miss something.
That seems like a bad idea, since every touch of his hand sets me on fire. Now he's dotting me with kisses, dropping them everywhere. My neck. My shoulders. My stomach. My—
I let out a shivery moan as he kisses his way up my inner thigh. “You don't have to go slow," I prompt. “I’m done resisting you.”
His chuckle is low and throaty. “What if I want to?” He strokes a thumb so slowly over my core that I moan and clench my thighs.
Then he lowers his head and gives me his mouth. His kisses get hotter and wetter until I'm gripping his plain white comforter in two hands. “Please?” I hiss. “Now. I don’t want to wait.”
He looks up at me with molten eyes. “You ask so nice when you want me, Shipley.” He pushes up, prowling up my body. Then—finally—he fits the blunt head of his cock against my entrance.
When he slowly, torturously, begins sliding home, I realize that I recognize the look on his face. It’s a messy mix of hope and awe—and it's the same one I wore when I wondered how badly it would hurt if he loved me and left me.
I try to pull him down to kiss me. But he won’t come. He hovers, watching me, drawing out this moment. I need him to move. So badly. But he's staring into my eyes instead. "Better late than never," he repeats, his voice raw.
“Yes,” I gasp, too turned on to be articulate.
Then he leans down, right where I want him. "Christ, I need you," he says, pressing his mouth against mine. The kiss is slow and intentional.
Only then does he begin to move. And it’s perfect.
Needless to say, we are late to karaoke.
After the slow, mind-melting sex, we stay curled up on the bed for a while. He mindlessly strokes my hair, while I indulge in sleepy daydreams about coming home at the end of the day to this man in this bed.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself. But when you’re curled up naked next to Rickie, it’s hard not to dream.
Eventually we get up. We shower together, which leads to shower sex.