Page 54 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)
JOSIE
“Once you eat, you can go to bed.”
I’m in a daze, stuck in a cloud of ecstasy. Post-orgasm waves still wrack my body. Every so often my clit softly pulses and my body shudders uncontrollably. It feels like my body is still chasing the high from just a few minutes ago.
“I really would’ve been okay with just water,” I murmur into his neck.
My stomach decided to grumble after we got out of the shower. Personally, I could’ve skipped food all together and just gone to bed. All I wanted was to put on my pajamas, wrap myself in my blanket, and replay everything that happened in the shower, but Daniel wasn’t having it.
He’s been taking care of me. More so than usual.
It’s the bare minimum, but he washed me off after he came on me, wrapped a towel around me, gave me his shirt and a pair of socks so I wouldn’t get cold even though my room is just a few feet away from his.
Now he’s carrying me down the stairs because I told him I didn’t feel like walking.
I’m holding on to him, my chest to his back, arms wrapped around his neck, legs strapped around his torso.
“No, I want to make this a ten out of ten experience for you. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t feed you after giving you the greatest orgasm of your life?”
I lazily smile. “The greatest orgasm of my life?”
“I’m pretty certain I heard you say it. You probably don’t remember. You were too busy screaming my name.” I hear the smirk in his voice.
I scoff a laugh. “It’s called acting.”
Now he scoffs as we enter the kitchen. “Josefine, please. Was it acting when you came the first? Second? Third? Fourth time? Or when you squirted all over me? If you don’t remember, I’ll gladly give you a play by play with all the details.
” He sits me on the island, spins, and parts my thighs, settling between them.
“I happen to have a pretty damn good memory.” He flashes me a crooked grin.
“I’m good,” I deadpan.
“You sure, baby?” He lifts a brow. “Did I not leave enough cum inside your pussy? I’m happy to give you more, if that’s what your needy pussy needs.”
I fight against clenching my thighs, but my face might be a dead giveaway because it warms at the stupid pet name. I fucking melt anytime he calls me that. And at the reminder of his cum inside me, my body blisters.
“You look good in red,” he conceitedly states, tucking my damp locks behind my ear before he pushes away and opens the fridge.
I roll my eyes, place a cool hand on my searing cheek, but drop it when he turns. He sets the butter, Boursin Garlic & Fine Herb, and cheddar cheese slices next to the stove, but pauses in his spot, eyes raking over me.
“What?” I self-consciously drop my gaze. I’m still in his baseball practice T-shirt. I was going to take it off, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it. It smells like him and fits me loosely. It’s nice considering clothes don’t usually fit me like this because I’m tall.
“Keep it.” His gaze descends to the hem where it sits on the middle of my thighs. “And don’t fight me. While I enjoy arguing with you and begging, it’s a little late for the back and forth.”
My lips jerk. “It’s never too late.”
He steps forward into my space, standing between my parted thighs, hands resting on either side of me on the marble. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll go all night.”
I open my mouth, but my stomach grumbles loudly.
He chuckles, pushing away and as he does, from my periphery I note a tinge of red on his knuckle. I look away but do a double take as I notice the rest of his knuckles on his right hand are bright red.
How did I not see that before?
“What happened to your hand?” I grab his arm, spinning him back around before he can get further away. I take a hold of his hand, studying the bruising surrounding the bone. “Did you get hurt during intermission or something?”
I had my eyes on him the entire game. I would’ve noticed if he would have gotten hurt or looked off.
But if something had been wrong, he must have masked it extremely well because the way he played today was different.
He was playing with an energy that even the commentators couldn’t help but marvel in.
He tries to pull it back, but I keep a firm hold on it. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t seem like not nothing.” I gently circle the pad of my finger around the bruising, his stiff hand going lax in my hold.
Daniel studies me tentatively. He looks like he wants to say something, but a wave of uncertainty flares in his eyes. He blinks and it’s gone. “It’s really nothing. Angel and I were messing around, I went to punch him, but he moved and I punched the wall instead.”
I don’t know why but I’m not sure I really believe him. I feel like he’s hiding something, but he only smiles and draws his hand away.
“I’m okay.” He goes to the pantry and takes out the sourdough. “I know it looks bad, but it doesn’t hurt.”
I want to say something, but I’m not too sure what.
“You’re about to have the best grilled cheese.” He grabs a pan from the bottom cabinet and sets it on the gas cooktop.
I can’t help but feel a pang in my chest knowing he’s not being honest with me. I shove the feeling away—whatever happened, it’s not my business. He doesn’t owe me anything.
“I thought you weren’t a fan of garlic?”
“No, but you are.”
The ache dulls for a moment as flutters take over. Jesus, I’ve really gone soft.
I fold a shaky leg over the other, bringing my hand back, bracing my weight on my palms. “You should try it.”
A muscle in his jaw works, gaze trained on the way the shirt rides up. “Having you here is going to be a hazard.”
I smirk. “Get it together, Garcia.”
Daniel grins and while he waits for the pan to heat up, he goes to the living room, and I watch as he flicks through the massive CD booklet.
Yesterday, I helped him bring out the stuff he wanted to put in the living room. Now there’s a large bulky stereo, a record player along with CDs, vinyls, and cassettes sitting on the shelf or wherever we could find space.
We agreed to go to the store and buy another bookshelf tomorrow after his game just because he has so much stuff.
“Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie blasts from the speakers of the stereo. Daniel bobs his head as he dances his way over to me.
I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing the laugh that threatens to escape as he goofily moves and sings. He sounds horrible, his voice cracks every few notes, and he burns himself twice, but that doesn’t deter him from using the spatula as a microphone.
By the time the song ends, small bubbles of laughter slip past my lips and I’m clapping. “Please, I’ll pay you to not do that again.”
He gasps. “I thought I sounded pretty good.”
“Baby goats sound better.”
“That’s hater behavior.”
“No, it’s called honesty.”
“Hater,” he coughs into his hand.
I snort. “You’re so lame.”
“That’s not what you were screaming earlier.” He shrugs unapologetically.
My body thrums with need. “Is that going to be your comeback for every argument?”
“Hell yeah, it is.” He peers over his shoulder at me and shoots me a wink.
I roll my eyes, but my face burns again.
“Have you listened to your CD yet?” he asks as he flips the grilled cheese over. My mouth waters at how golden it looks in the buttered pan, the cheese oozing out on the sides.
Glad he forced me to come downstairs.
“I have actually. I’m listening to one song each day. Hope you don’t mind if I keep the CD player a little longer?”
“You can keep it as long as you want.” He looks genuinely happy, his entire mood more vibrant, livelier. “Are you liking what you’ve listened to so far?”
“Yeah, ‘Wobble’ is a…masterpiece. It’s just what I needed. Really made my day.” It’s a bit sarcastic, but I mean it.
I was caught off guard when it started playing through the tiny earbuds today. I had expected something soft, maybe even inspirational, but not V.I.C.
“Yeah?” His lips flatten in a line as if were trying to stop himself from smiling or laughing. “I can’t wait for you to listen to the rest.”
I’m not sure what to expect, but I’m really excited now. It’s kind of hard to believe that a few months ago I didn’t look forward to anything, and now I look forward to moments with Daniel.
It’s really silly though considering he’ll be gone in a few months. The thought settles splinters in my stomach.
My chest feels heavy when I breathe in, but I play off the ache when he turns, holding two plates in his hands.
“Bon appétit, mademoiselle.” He hands me the plate, smiling from ear to ear.
We talk—well, he mainly does—and listen to music as we eat. I’m partially listening, stuck between reveling in this moment and hating myself for falling for him.