Page 9

9

CADENCE

H e rumbles, low and moody, as he begins unbuttoning my blouse. Transfixed and short of breath, I gaze up at him a moment before I help. The last button is set free, and I shimmy out of it.

Daryl stares at my breasts, swallows visibly, and I swear his hands are shaking when he reaches behind to unclasp my bra. It drops to the floor, and he seems to stop breathing. Is that good? His eyes say, hungry , so I’m guessing?—

He dives at me and latches onto my nipple with a ferocity that startles me. I cry out in both shock and delight, and I thrust my chest toward him. He growls into my flesh and increases his suction. It’s so strong, my knees buckle, but he’s right there to catch me.

Not releasing me from his mouth, he carries me to my bed and lays me out. He tugs and sucks and moans into my breast while he rips open his shirt, and then wrestles with my skirt. I unzip it and help him shove it down, along with my torn underwear. The man’s a fiend. A hot one, with a burly chest and a nipple piercing. And he who loves fucking asses and sucking on tits, and why the fuck does that excite me so much? Why does it all have to feel so good?

He switches breasts, tugging hard at the other one now, until my nipple is drawn down deep. Is that…? His tongue sweeps at me in hot lashes as he pulls, and I arch my back, needy in response. I want him between my legs, and as if he’s heard me think it, Daryl grips my thighs and spreads me wide.

He thrusts his thick fingers back inside me and mills my clit with his palm. Within seconds, I’m right back on the brink of wanting to come. I move my hips to meet him, wanting his fingers to fuck me harder. He mumbles something and rubs his hard cock into the side of my thigh, roughing my skin with the wet denim.

My pussy gets tight and stretched, and I pant and mewl with pleasure as I adjust. How many fingers is that? Three now? Is this what his big cock will feel like? I writhe and stomp my foot with how good everything feels. “I want you,” I say in a husky wail.

He releases his suction, and my nipple slips from his mouth. He licks his lips, breathing hard, and he eases his weight over me just enough to ground me in the sensation of having his body on mine without him actually climbing on top of me the way I want him to. “You have me,” he says, looking me in the eyes with intensity. There’s no denying I have his undivided attention.

I shake my head. “I want you inside me.”

“I already am.” He curls his fingers inside my pussy and presses a kiss to my brow. “Do you want more?” He slides a slippery finger over my asshole, and I clench it with a whimper. Why do I like that so much? And why do people in this town make it sound like butt stuff is wrong when it feels so damned amazing? I catch myself tilting to receive more of the naughty sensation, and then I quickly force my hips the other way.

Daryl eases up on my clit and watches me closely as his little finger traces slow circles around my ring. “Whatever you want to do is the right answer, Cady.”

I press my lips together.

“Fine,” he says. “Don’t say it. Let your body do the talking.” He dips his head to my breast and suckles gently, then harder. A shock of pleasure strikes through my core, and I buck against his fingers. Uncontrollably.

Daryl lifts his head and smiles down at me. “That’s it,” he coos. “Follow the joy. Your pleasure is for you, Cady. Nobody else gets to choose what you like, only you. You can do whatever the fuck you want right now. The only two people who’ll ever need to know about it, is you and me, and I’ll never judge you for anything.” He kisses me, fast and furious, while his fingers strum all the right notes on my body, as if he’s always known what songs it’ll play.

Oh God , I’m being edged . I recognize the signs from the descriptions in books, and now I’m living it. I’ve been so close to coming multiple times, and the need inside me has grown into an overwhelming monster. My body is like a stacked cache of fireworks with a fuse that has been lit and blown out, lit and blown out, and all I want is the explosion.

Daryl expertly meters the pressure on my clit and sets me right back on the edge of orgasm, and it’s threatening to be huge . There’s a tidal wave built up behind it, like every sensation has already been heightened to its max, and now I’m so needy and ready to fire, I can hardly keep from thrashing about. I clench tight again, to stop myself from doing that, because Daryl’s finger is poised near my asshole, ready to fuck it if that’s what I choose. And I want it. Desperately .

What does that make me?

Definitely not a good girl. It’ll be impossible to pretend I am if I let myself do what I want. I won’t be able to lie to myself — or perhaps anyone else, either. It’ll be harder to wear the mask when I’ll know more of the truth that lives underneath. Because how can I please everyone else above myself, if I’m as deviant and ass-obsessed as Daryl fucking Winters?

But as I break out in a sweat to keep myself from coming, I can’t deny that I might be. And why fight it, when I’m safe with him?

I close my eyes, press my head back into the mattress, and open myself wide to receive. I quit holding back, and thrust at that thick, slippery finger until it’s fucking me in the ass as fast and hard as the ones in my pussy. Pleasure shoots through me so strongly, my whole body jerks against Daryl’s. The weight on top of me intensifies, keeping me in place while I fall apart in a roaring fit of spasms, moans, and moisture.

I feel full and wild and free. Loved and happy. Anchored, but floating, and totally at peace in the bliss that wracks my body in crashing waves of ecstasy.

Daryl shudders against me with a moan of relief to match mine. “Such a good fucking girl,” Daryl rasps, his tone hoarse and strained. “Taking what you deserve. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He kisses my forehead and my hair, and he leans his head to mine. “Thank you for trusting me.”

My body begins to settle, but it won’t stop humming.

“Leave those.” I nod at the dishes Daryl’s rinsing. “I’ll do them later.”

“I had no idea you were a dancer,” he says, loading the dishwasher anyway.

I scoff and turn down the music some more before I carry two dinners to the table. One’s pureed, and the other is a double helping. I don’t want Dad getting suspicious about there being an extra plate having been used, so Daryl and I can share one. “I’m not a dancer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What would you call the sexy way you’ve been moving around the kitchen to music?”

I frown. “Was I?”

“Definitely. I couldn’t decide which to enjoy more, your hips or the dreamy look on your face. It’s like you were somewhere else. Someplace nice.” He closes the dishwasher and gives me his full attention.

I sweep my hair away from my cheeks as they warm. “I didn’t really notice.”

“Do you ever dance on purpose?”

I adjust Mom’s chair and make sure her bib is sitting right. “Sometimes. I guess. In the bathroom. I used to go to Morrinsville for hip-hop classes when I was younger, but…” I tip my head at Mom and shrug again. “It was one of the first things that got trimmed due to tightened belts and time restraints. I wasn’t a rising star or anything, and I understood.”

Daryl nods. “You’re a very understanding person,” he says, stepping over to the window. “Do you think my jeans will dry before your dad gets home?” He peeks through the curtains into the darkness again. “Your dryer is different from mine, so I can’t tell.”

It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s only wearing a pair of pink sweatpants that are far too small for him. His nipple piercing twinkles under the kitchen lights, and I hold my hand over another giggle while I rush to finish my mouthful and clear my throat.

“He rarely comes back before nine, and you’ll hear the neighbors’ dogs when he’s close,” I assure him. “Tonight’s excuse is prep work for the upcoming barn dance the Thompson place. It’s a couple of weeks away, so he’ll be able to use that one a few times yet.” I move my overloaded plate toward him and offer my fork. “Have some dinner and tell me how you’re going to avoid setting off those dogs when you have to sneak back to town.”

“You know they’re excuses?” he asks, sitting back at the table with me and Mom.

“What else would I call every possible reason the man thinks up to avoid having to face what his horse did to the love of his life?” I sigh. “He loved her so much, so I understand why it hurts him to be around her.”

Daryl studies me a moment. “Does it hurt you to be around her?”

I look at Mom. “Not in the same way. I’ve known her like this for longer than I knew her as the woman she was. Mostly it hurts to feel jaded and numb and torn. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m meant to be somewhere else, but I know I’m needed here. It’s a different kind of pain. Heartache and grief related, but different.”

His gaze is intense, as if he’s heavily invested in every word I say. He gives me a small nod and then eats a few things from my plate while I feed Mom.

I wipe Mom’s mouth, and turn back to find him watching me with another strange look on his face. Sort of half-sad and half-amazed, if that’s even a thing. His face is incredibly expressive, and I’m anxious to learn more about what all his little eyebrow twitches and jaw adjustments mean.

I view him through a squinty side-eye. “What?”

He gives me a small smile, loads the fork, and hands it back to me. “Thank you for sharing your delicious home-cooked food and this part of your life with me.”

I furrow my brow and eat my forkful of boring old broccoli and chicken, unsure how to respond. Delicious? I didn’t even make cheese sauce. I should have. It would have been more impressive. “Sorry it’s not anything more exciting. I do all the prep on a Sunday, and I’ve fallen into the habit of making the same basic meals out of ease, but now I’m wishing I’d made more of an effort.”

Daryl leans back in his chair with a sigh and runs his hands through his shower-damp hair. He slides his gaze toward the plate of food I put aside for Dad for when he gets home. “Why would you apologize for lovingly making a nutritious meal for your family?” he asks.

I frown again. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to know this isn’t my best work, and next time I’ll do better,” I promise and take another mouthful, because apparently, orgasms — when shared with another human — are massively amplified and make me very hungry.

Daryl moves around the table, picks up Mom’s spoon, feeds her another scoop of mush, and wipes her mouth when some oozes out again. He does it all with grace and a practiced ease that he probably gained when he was nursing his reclusive great aunt on her deathbed. He’s so practiced, in fact, that he manages to complete the whole process while staring at me, and although he’s silent, his eyes are filled with fire.

I gulp, and a too-big chunk of potato snags in my throat. “Did I say something wrong?” I ask once I’ve choked it down.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly, as he shakes his head. “Next time, I’m going to make dinner,” he says quietly. He sounds like he’s trying really hard not to be angry, and I lower my fork to my plate, now sure I said something wrong, or even worse, he doesn’t like my food.

“Why are you…?” My voice trails off, and I look around for a way to fix the situation. “You want some dessert? I think there’s ice cream.”

I push up from the table, but Daryl puts his hand on mine and looks up at me with sad eyes. “Sit down, beautiful girl. I don’t need ice cream. I don’t need anything at all, and you’ve already given me more than I ever thought I could be offered.” He takes a bean from my plate, puts it in his mouth and smiles. “Please.”

I lower myself back into my seat, and he loads my fork again and sets it in my hand. “Eat. You’re hungry, and you need your strength.”

I accept the fork and watch him as I chew.

He nods toward my Dad’s covered plate waiting patiently on the counter and loads up Mom’s spoon again. “Does he ever say thank you ?” he asks, holding Mom’s bib closer to her chin as he feeds her. “For any of this?”

When I don’t answer, he turns back to see my face. His lips thin into a line, and he nods. “So that’s a no then?”

I shake my head. “He says it all the time when we’re out. And that has more impact, right? If others get to see and hear how proud he is of me.”

Daryl runs his tongue over his teeth behind his lips. “Would it mean as much to you, or more, if he told you he was grateful when nobody else was around to witness it?”

The words hit me like a slap, and I swallow down the lump in my throat. I know exactly what it means if I’m triggered by that question. It means I don’t think Dad’s gratitude is sincere. That he’s happy to say it in front of others to make him look grateful, but when it’s just him and me, he takes it for granted that I’ll always do what’s needed. Because that’s my job. Nothing to be grateful for there, is there?

I scowl at Daryl. His words are making me look at things a different way, and I don’t want to believe my feelings about it. I don’t want to believe Dad’s gratitude is only shared to keep up certain appearances of him being a good father and me being a good girl. That he doesn’t care how I feel, only how I’m perceived. I don’t want to believe it, but I know it to be true, and there’s no changing that truth.

Tears threaten to fill my eyes, so I look up at the ceiling and refuse to let them flow. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters ,” Daryl growls. “Cady, I’ve gained more appreciation for you in the space of half a day than I have in the four years I’ve known you existed — and I was already a massive fan on day one . It’s actually overwhelming how fucking amazing you are, and I want you to know it both in public and in private — even though we only have one of those options right now.”

It’s hard to look right at him when my eyes are burning hot with my cheeks. My chin trembles, and I quickly firm my jaw and look away, trying to compose myself. “I’m not used to so much praise, Daryl. You’re going to have to tone it down a bit.”

“Never,” he says flatly. “It’s not praise. I just give credit where it’s due, so you’ll have to get used to it.”

I turn back, and he shrugs. “It’s just how it’s going to be, Cadence Malone, so there’s no sense in pretending it ain’t. I’m going to keep reminding you that you’re a wonder until you remember that you are, so feel however you want to feel about it.” He feeds Mom her last spoonful and wipes her face before returning his attention to me. “What’s next in her routine? Brushing her teeth? You want me to start walking her to the bathroom while you finish your dinner? I watched how you helped her from her chair to the table. I think I could do it.”

I stare at him.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises, apparently mistaking my awe for hesitation. “Or I could clear up and do the dishes while you do it, if that makes you more comfortable.” He looks me over and nods. “I can do that.” He gets up, moves to the counter, and opens the dishwasher.

My tears burst their banks, and I wipe them away. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” He turns back and notices my tears. His brows lift, and his eyes become sad. He closes them, pinches the bridge of his nose, and then comes to crouch in front of me. He takes my hand in both of his and meets my gaze. “Tell me something, Cady. If we were at my house, looking after my mom, would you offer to help?”

“Of course.”

He nods. “Exactly. Because you’re a good person. Anyone who sees you struggling and doesn’t offer to help, is an asshole. Okay? It’s that simple. Your dad’s an asshole. This whole town is full of assholes. Except for Michelle, who does a good job with your mom, but she also gets paid to, so although she might be I’m not going to assume she’s part of the asshole club. But you know what I say to assholes, Cady? Fuck ‘em .”

I snort softly. “Sounds about right.” I reach out and turn the shiny barbell threaded through his nipple. “It’s a pity you’re not an asshole,” I say quietly. “Because I really only want to fuck you.”

He grins. “Oh, I’m an asshole,” he assures me. “Guaranteed. I’m just not an asshole to you.”

Or kids or the little guys or animals.

I give his nipple piercing a gentle tug. “I appreciate that.”

“I can tell,” he says, still grinning. “You also appreciate how fucking sexy I look in your teeny, tiny, Pony-Pie-pink sweatpants.” He stands tall again, smacks his ass, and sashays back to the sink. “Eat your dinner and tend to your mom, so I can make out with you some more before I have to put my own clothes back on and head home across the fields.”

I pick up my fork again. “I think you mean Pinkie Pie . But it’s still kinda disturbing that you know the color of a My Little Pony character.”

He throws his head back and shakes it like he has a mane, as he puffs through his lips like a horse. “Baby girl, I know so many things about so many things, it would blow your mind. I’ve got a great library, and I’ve been plumbing its depths.”

“Mmm,” I agree around my mouthful before I swallow. “There’s a lot about you that’s mind-blowing, and I appreciate the insights you’ve shared already, and I look forward to learning more… Perhaps tomorrow?”

Daryl winks at me. “Ask Michelle if she minds you staying at the library an hour longer, so you can work on the new searchable database you’re creating for the books.”

I open my mouth, to say that sounds like a lie people will need evidence of, but then I look at his smile more carefully. Not many people know this semi-retired rodeo champ also worked as a coder for a software company, before his pal, Jason, got him into investing. They only know he works from home, for too few hours to be doing anything honorable or worthwhile. But I know this man can ride a bronco, run a self-made charitable foundation and scholarship fund from his kitchen, make my body tingle from head to toe, and do any other damned thing he puts his mind to. “You’re going to help me digitize the catalog?”

“Only if you want me to, Sweetness.”