Page 7

7

CADENCE

O h. My. God.

The words have been on repeat inside my head since he dove under my skirt and tongue-fucked every other thought out of my head. I would never have guessed my body could experience such an intensity of sensations. I’m still humming with the energy of it all.

I had a feeling it would be awesome, but I came so hard I may actually have blacked out. By the time I came to my senses, I was in his arms, being settled and soothed into a sort of wakeful coma; so perfectly at peace. He shattered me into a million sparkles of brilliant delight, and he’s been calmly putting me back together ever since.

And not one part of what we did felt wrong.

We threw caution to the wind and did what everyone else in town would consider unthinkable, and it was the most natural, phenomenal thing in the world. If some part of me had doubts before, they no longer exist. I’m all-in.

I have felt stuck in an inescapable rut, but Daryl Winters just opened a door and showed me a whole new world. A beautiful and promising new view. He’s shown me what freedom looks like, and I am one-hundred percent going to grasp it. I am not folding myself back into the box everyone would have me live in. Our coming together has changed life as I know it. As we know it. He’s feeling it too.

As overwhelmed into a stunned freeze-mode as I am, he’s the opposite. He’s in constant action, and his every move is made with an aura of duty and protection as he makes sure I’m doing okay and looking okay. He carries me out of the bathroom, settles me into my desk chair, and makes sure I’m steady enough to keep my balance before he stands and looks around. My purse catches his eye, and he brings it over before he starts to rearrange my clothes, so they sit as they’re meant to.

He seems to understand I’m not capable of getting my shit together just yet and has taken the lead in my much-needed, post-climactic spruce up, because I definitely can’t be seen in this state in if we’re going to keep our indecent activities a secret. I looked in the mirror as I was carried out of the bathroom. I saw the look on my face. Messed hair, rosy cheeks, and rumpled clothes aside, my expression was a combination of shock and bewildered satisfaction. If my current look doesn’t scream the virgin just got some action, I don’t know what else would.

Which is probably why Daryl has taken on a very serious, vigilant, and responsible duty-of-care-type energy. I’ve never known a man to display that kind of behavior, but it’s hot as fuck. It’s giving doting boss-daddy vibes, and I am here for it.

He frowns with concentration as he studies my blouse. Despite having just re-buttoned and tucked it in for me, he tugs it free of my skirt, yanks it upward, pulls down the thin lace of my bra, and latches on to my hard nipple with a rumbling growl. His suction is fierce, and I gasp before a low, needy moan is pulled from my throat. I rock my body closer, instantly desperate for the relieving friction he knows how to give. “ Daryl .”

He moans into my breast and withdraws slowly, letting my nipple drag through his teeth with the most exciting, pain-edged pleasure. He drags his hand down his face and groans. “That wasn’t helpful,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. He re-fastens the three buttons that came open in the flurry of tit illation, and he does his best not to stare at my nipples, which definitely have no hope of hiding away when they’re still tingling with desire. “It’s really fucking hard to get you ready for the outside world when your gorgeous tits are demanding attention, Beautiful.”

“Sorry,” I whisper.

He meets my gaze and shakes his head. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize for being gorgeous and hot for me.”

Heat flares in my cheeks, and I avoid his penetrating stare by ducking my head.

Daryl crooks his finger under my chin and lifts. He searches my face, grunts softly, and kisses each of my cheeks. “This is going to be a real fucking challenge, isn’t it?”

I give him a shy nod, and he grunts again — this time, like he’s in pain. “You’re too fucking sexy for me to play it cool around you, but I’m determined not to let it show when it matters. I won’t let you down, and I’m going to do my best not to think so many thirsty thoughts — especially while I get you ready for the public. I need to fix your clothes and hair. Probably reapply your lip balm.”

“I can do it myself, now I’ve had a minute.” I rise to my feet and force my wobbly legs to firm up, but Daryl scoops me up and sets me back down in my chair.

“I want to do it,” he says, crouching in front of me. “Please.”

His face is so serious. Intent.

Unsure of his reasons for wanting to do such basic things for me when I’m capable of doing them myself, I’m unsure of how to respond, but more curious than disconcerted, I give him a small nod.

He bows his head in thanks and tucks my blouse back into my skirt. He then smooths the fabric and straightens my collar — efficient and methodical as he reverses every visible sign of my undoing that he did. We’re both so very aware that I need to walk out the door presentable, as if nothing life-changing or scandalous has happened between us.

I sit like a queen being dressed and primped by an incredibly handsome and attentive manservant. I’ve never had anyone pay such close attention to me. It’s half-unsettling, and half-intoxicating, and I’m fascinated by Daryl’s ability to hyper-focus on prioritizing my needs, when he looks just as undone.

I can smell myself on him every time he gets close. When I close my eyes, I can instantly recall the feel of his beard scuffing my thighs. A little rough, a little ticklish, and absolutely soaking wet. He needs to wash up and tidy his hair. It’s a mess from his enthusiastic foray under my skirt, and I’d love to run my fingers through it. There’s a sense of pride and propriety rising within me, for having been the one to have ruffled that thick mane. Maybe I’ll get to zhuzh him a little too, before we have to part ways and pretend nothing happened. I both know this little fantasy bubble we’re in has to pop soon, but I don’t think either of us want it to.

He digs around in my purse and pulls out my lip balm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be poking around in my personal spaces. Should it feel more intrusive than it does? Because I’m unbothered. In fact, I wouldn’t mind him poking around any of my personal spaces. I’d actively encourage it.

His intentions toward me are so caring I can almost feel him holding me in a calm and steady domain of safety — one he’s created specifically to provide stability just for me. It’s flattering and comforting and so incredibly supportive, I want to stay with him and feel this good all day. I can honestly say that I trust this man without a doubt. Does he trust me?

I raise my hand to touch his short wavy hair, which starts out dark at the roots and grows lighter toward the tips, but I get distracted by the way he starts dabbing lip balm over my pout. I can’t help but pant softly at his fingertips while he kneels before me, transfixed on the task.

Mid-sweep, he pauses. My lips are slightly parted, and he’s stalled in the center. His finger feels on the verge of entering the portal into my mouth, and my thoughts get so filthy, I flush with heat and curl my lips into a nervous smile. He lifts his gaze to lock with mine, and a charged heat passes between us.

He leans in and gives me a sweet, innocent kiss before he rests back on his heels again. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and his eyes sparkle before his eyelashes flutter sweetly. Is he tasting the subtle apricot shine he’s collected from me? Nothing is said, but I’m convinced he’s aroused by the flavor. His pupils are so dilated, it makes his eyes look dark and hungry, and I shiver with the thought of being devoured by him again.

A low rumble warns me to behave, and he shakes his head. “That’s the opposite of what we’re trying to achieve here, Sugar Britches.”

He drops my lip balm back into my purse and pulls out my hairbrush. I reach for it, but he meets my out-stretched hand with his much larger one. He carefully curls my fingers into a loose fist, which he presses to my thigh. “Please let me.”

It’s sort of a question, and he lingers waiting for me to grant permission, but we both know what he wants the answer to be. Even so, he makes no move to push me in any direction. He simply waits patiently for me to decide, making it clear that it’s up to me if I want to receive his offer to care for me or turn him down in favor of my independence.

What’s the right choice? My insides are a surprising mess of nerves and confusion. Nobody ever asks me what I want or how I want it done, and they sure as hell don’t offer or beg to help me with stuff. I’m the one who brushes the other person’s hair. I’m the one who does the caring, the acts of service. I have to fight for every shred of love I get, and most of the time, it’s not worth the argument. I’ve learned to preserve my energy by just doing everything myself, and Daryl’s behavior is so foreign, I almost don’t know if I can trust it. My eyes start to prickle with heat.

Daryl makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, and his eyes fill with compassion as he watches the first of my tears fall. “It’s okay, Beautiful,” he whispers with a nod. “I know it feels hard. It’s not meant to, but we can fix that, okay? Together. Because you deserve for it to feel easy. I know you’re strong, and you can do everything yourself, but I want to lighten your load. You deserve to feel the same kind of love you give to the world.”

He rises from his crouch, bends forward, to kiss my forehead, and then begins to brush my hair. Slowly. He gives me time to adjust to the beautiful feeling, and he’s so gentle, I feel like some precious, delicate thing he dares not break. Every stroke of my brush is followed by a smoothing pat of his hand, and I haven’t felt so treasured in… maybe ever. It’s the way I used to feel when Mom brushed my hair, but I’m not sure even she made me feel this cherished.

The rhythmical sound, the sensual dragging of the bristles, and the absolute love radiating from Daryl, lull me into a calm, almost hypnotic state, and still, I can’t stop crying. It’s not because I hate any part of it. I simply don’t want it to end. It’s like his touch is stirring up years of emotion I didn’t even know I had stored away, and the only way I can release it all is through my eyes.

I sniff and glance at the big clock on the wall. Normally, I’d be getting ready to lock up and head back home about now, to relieve Michelle and resume my position as Mom’s unofficial primary carer. The official title somehow goes to Dad, though how anyone could believe that truth when they know he spends so much time doing favors for everyone else, I’ll never know.

Every time I think about the need to go home, I want to shove the thought right out again. I want to call Michelle and tell her I’ll be late, though I’m wishing I could say I’m never coming home again. I want to stay in the library with Daryl and pretend the life outside doesn’t exist.

But I can’t do any of that without arousing suspicion, and now that I know how good it feels to be loved by Daryl, there’s no way I’m going to risk losing him. I wipe my eyes and sniff back any more tears threatening to fall. I need dry eyes and a rock-solid facade to show the world if I’m going to have my cake and eat it too.

Daryl notices the change in my posture and comes to stand in front of me. He gives me a nod, sets my brush back into my purse, and offers me his hand.

I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. Both of his big hands cup my face, and he bows his forehead to mine. “You are so fucking strong, and I love your sweet, sassy guts.”

I smile and tilt my chin enough to give him a quick, shy kiss. He gives a low moan and seals his mouth over mine in a kiss unlike any I could imagine. There is no sweetness to it, just raw desire — a glimpse into another, more carnal layer of things he feels for me. Things I’m immediately drawn to explore.

I respond as such, and he intensifies the kiss before pulling back with a warning growl. Not now , he seems to say without words, while I’m still trying to recover. The deep stroking of his tongue has left me breathless and dizzy and in awe of both his abilities and his enviable control.

He searches my face, mutters a few curse words, and pulls me back toward the bathroom, where he sits me on the closed toilet and makes me hold cold, damp paper towels over my eyes and mouth, to make the swelling go down.

“All that kissing and crying has you looking like I fucked your mouth and made it hurt,” he grumbles, before splashing water at the sink.

I think about that while I listen to him scrub at his beard, and then I have to see what that mouth-fucked looking face is like in the mirror.

The puffy eyes aren’t ideal, but I like the lips. Rouged and plumped, they’re kind of sexy.

Daryl stands behind me, watching me in the mirror as I angle my face differently while I purse my lips, to plump them more. I meet his eyes and blush at the look on his face. He swallows visibly and clears his throat. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Cadence Malone. It’s an honor to love you.”

My face flushes even more, and I quickly busy myself by holding the cool towels before my eyes. I know I’m not ugly, but I haven’t really had any practice at taking compliments. It always takes an extra effort to believe anyone means them, but Daryl’s so sincere when he speaks, it feels wrong to presume he’s lying. I don’t know about the honor thing, but I like knowing that he thinks I’m beautiful, so I let myself feel a respectable amount of delighted. “I think you’re beautiful too,” I admit quietly as I try to keep from grinning.

He ducks his head and shrugs, but I still see the cute smile he’s trying to hide, and it only makes him even more appealing. He’s obviously stoked that I like the look of him. He clears his throat and puffs his chest a bit, before he runs his hands through his hair and check himself in the mirror.

I frown. “I wanted to do that.”

“Do what?” he asks, pushing at his hair to achieve scruffy perfection.

I pull the children’s step stool out from under the sink, stand on it, and weave my fingers into his hair. I drag my nails over his scalp, and his eyelids flutter closed as he moans.

“ Mmm . You’re making it very hard for me to leave you alone, pretty girl. I’m seriously considering stowing away in the trunk of your car so I can spend a few more moments with you; maybe pretend you’re serenading me when you sing along to the radio.”

A snort of laughter escapes me, and then I pause. “Why don’t you?” I ask. “Dad never comes home till late, and Mom’s not going to tell anybody about it.” Did I just invite him to my place? Is it too much too soon? He was only joking about hiding in my trunk, right? I need to calm my shit down before my inexperience can mess this up.

“You probably have things to do,” I say, shaking my head at myself. “Forget I said?—”

Daryl’s presses his finger against my lips. “I’d love to,” he says. “I will never have anything better to do than being with you, so don’t ever think that again. Give me about three minutes to carefully break into your car unnoticed and then leave the library as you normally would.”

I grab his shirt as he makes for the door, and he spins back around. I stare at him. “Seriously?” I squeak.

The twinkle in his eye fades with his smile, and he studies my face. “Not if you don’t want me to…” he says, viewing me side-on. “It’s too much? You want to change your mind? Because you can. I meant what I said about doing whatever you want. No pressure, Cady. Ever.”

I take a big breath and check my eyes. The puffiness has gone, and although I look a little terrified about the choice I want to make, I still want to make it.

“Don’t you dare break into my fucking car.” I give him a shove toward the door. “There’s a set of spare keys in my desk drawer.”

Daryl turns on a dime, one side of his mouth snagging upward in a sexy smirk. “This,” he says, pointing his finger right in my face. “This right here. If we ever needed to make a list, this is one of the many reasons I love you, Cadence Malone.”

I wrap my fingers around his pointer and lower his hand, so I can step in close to him. “Under what circumstances would we ever need to make that list, Daryl Winters?”

He grins. “I could think of a few, given half a minute.”

“I bet. But I’d rather you spent that time sneaking into my car without being seen, because I need to get home before any more of Dad’s spies let him know my routine movements are off by half a minute or some other garbage thing. How do I look?” I hold my arms out and twirl for him. “Tidy and virginal?”

He appraises me carefully, tilts his head in close and makes a minor adjustment to my collar, before he scuffs my ear with his beard and whispers, “ Not for long .”