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“Fuck me, Bronson,” I say through gritted teeth. After a whole night of teasing me at dinner, building me up, reminiscing about some of our hottest memories together, I was already dying to be fucked tonight. Now, though, after his ministrations, the fire in the pit of my belly is even worse.
“So impatient.” He clucks his tongue, faux scolding. “Don’t you even want me to put on a condom?”
I glance over my shoulder to catch his eye. “I’m on the pill,” I say. “And I’m clean.” I haven’t fucked anyone since I’ve been with you, is what I don’t say, because it feels too pathetic to say aloud. Has it really been that long?
But I’ve been busy. I’ve had work to contend with, not to mention moving to a whole new city and adjusting to LA life. Who had time to date?
Before I can get too lost in my own head, I feel him part my pussy lips, and the head of his cock presses against my entrance gently. “I’m clean too,” he says, eyes on mine. “If you trust me.”
“For this, I do,” I reply, knowing better than to just tell him I trust him again. I can’t, not completely. But I forget about that, now, because he’s pressing against me harder, insistent.
I hold my breath, freezing in place. His other hand returns to my hip, so he grips me from both sides, balancing me in front of himself. Then, slowly, agonizingly so, he pushes forward. His cock glides inside me easily, moving an inch at a time, until finally, he thrusts the rest of the way home inside me. He stretches my walls, making me feel achingly, gloriously stuffed full. He draws back just as slowly, and I rock with him, tilting my hips to allow him the best angle.
When he thrusts back into me a second time, it’s a little harder, a little faster, and I moan my encouragement.
“Your pussy is fucking perfect, have I ever told you that Daisy?” He draws back again, thrusts into me again.
I moan a little louder this time. Catch my breath before I respond. “You might have mentioned it once or twice…”
“Well. Not enough, then.” He pulls out of me, thrusts back in, his thick cock stretching my pussy each time, setting every nerve ending in my body on fire. Before long, he builds up to a steady rhythm, driving into me in slow, regular thrusts, each one a little harder, a little faster.
At the same time, his hand dips between my legs, and his forefinger gently circles my clit. I cry out, my clit already sensitive and swollen with desire.
“Now you can come for me,” he murmurs, circling his finger faster, thrusting into me harder.
“Fuck,” I groan, my hips arching as I try to thrust in time with him. “Right there, right there…”
“Come for me, Daisy.” His voice hardens, goes sharp with command. And his finger circles over my clit, and his cock feels so fucking good inside me, moving in and out, filling me…
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hear myself saying, unable to stop it, unable to even think as I near the edge.
“I said come for me,” he repeats, and that’s when the orgasm hits, sweeping through me with enough force to make my knees shake and my arms tremble where they’re pressed against the glass to hold me up.
He keeps his finger circling over my clit, keeps thrusting into me, and before long, another orgasm, like an aftershock of the first, hits me. I cry out, nonsense this time, unable to verbalize anything as colors burst behind my clenched eyelids. I can feel my pussy convulsing around the length of his shaft, as the contractions from the orgasm hit.
His hand drops away, grabs my ass, and then he really starts to fuck me. I tilt my hips, thrust back against him as hard as I can, giving as good as I get. He slides one hand up to grip my breast, his fingers teasing my nipple as he fucks me. He pinches once, just hard enough to make me cry out in mingled pain and pleasure, and I arch my back, as he grips my ass hard with his other hand.
“Fuck, Daisy, you feel so. Fucking. Good.” He emphasizes each word with another deep thrust into me, and my eyelids flutter shut, as his cock grazes along my inner walls with each thrust, his head tracing over my G-spot in a way that sends me rocketing back up to a peak even as he continues to fuck me.
A third orgasm makes my knees shake and my legs quiver in my heels. I’m not sure I can stay standing much longer, but that’s when he inhales sharply and starts to drive into me so hard his balls slap against my pussy lips each time he enters me completely.
Another thrust, a second, a third and then he comes with a guttural growl, his cum feeling scorching hot inside my aching pussy. “Fuck, Daisy,” he whispers again, softer this time, and I reach back to wrap both hands around his hips, his ass, pinning him against me.
When he steps back away from me, we both laugh as a hot spill of our mingled juices leaks down my thighs, dribbling down my legs. “You are messy,” I point out, eying him.
“Me?” He arches a brow, then leans in to cup my chin. He tilts my head back until I’m gazing straight up at him, and then he leans down to claim my mouth with his, his tongue invading past my lips. “You’re the messy one,” he says when we break apart, both of us still breathless. My pulse pounds in my ears, making it hard to think straight. “So wet for me, even before I’d touched you.” He slides a hand back down to cup my pussy gently, and I groan at the heat of his palm, searing after that hard fuck.
“You are… definitely to blame for that,” I say, still catching my breath, especially when he kisses me hard enough again to steal it away once more.
When we part again, he’s smirking. “I claim no responsibility,” he says. Then he raises his palms before himself in faux surrender.
I roll my eyes and try to walk away, but I wind up staggering in my heels. Before I can say a word, he scoops me up into his arms. I laugh and gently punch his chest in protest, trying to explain that I’m fine and I can walk straight, dammit. But he just carries me through the apartment, past a wide open kitchen and dining area that looks like it just materialized straight out of one of those Better Home and Gardens magazines, and carries me into the bedroom. Like the living area, it’s mostly windows, huge floor-to-ceiling ones that afford us a view of the rest of downtown this time. In between the windows and the walk-in closet on the other side, there’s a huge more-than-king-sized bed. He tosses me onto it, and pauses to hit some button near the light switch. I turn to gape as the windows shade themselves darker, like those light-shifting glasses for night and day, except somehow switch operated.
“How much did those cost?” I ask, my eyebrows raised.
He shrugs one shoulder. “They came preinstalled.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course they did.” I don’t even want to know what this penthouse apartment cost, truth be told. I’d much rather pretend it was just me and Bronson again—the Bronson I knew back in Georgia. The down-to-earth, normal guy I had something approaching a life with, if only for a month. Not Bronson the Secret Billionaire, who I feel like I don’t really know at all.
“If you don’t like my interior decor,” he says, lying down alongside me on the bed and pulling me close to him, his body hot against mine. “We can go to yours next time.”
I snort with laughter, thinking about fucking him with my four roommates listening in through our paper-thin walls. He’d barely even fit into my twin bed—which, come to think of it, might be why I haven’t gotten laid since the day I set foot out here in LA. It’s not like I’ve got a stellar pad like this one to bring guys home to. “Do you always offer to fuck your girls at their houses?” I ask, arching a brow. “Or am I special like that?”
His eyes search mine, like he’s seeing right through my failed attempt at lig
htheartedness. He knows what I’m really asking. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath, terrified of the answer, until he leans in to kiss the tip of my nose. “I’ve never brought another girl here, if that’s what you’re asking,” he murmurs.
And it’s enough of an answer that I want to hear, that I don’t press him for more details. I just let my head fall back, and close my eyes as his lips find mine.
9
Daisy
I wake up at the same time I always do, in time to make it into work early. But it’s not a workday, I realize, squinting blearily at my surroundings. And there’s no alarm clock in sight, or any other means of waking up that I can find. Bronson’s fancy tinted windows are still in dark mode, though through them, I can see hints of the sunlight that’s starting to shine outside, the sun already risen and a few inches above the horizon.
Closer at hand, there’s the solid warmth of Bronson’s naked body beside me, his arm draped casually around my waist as though this is normal. As though we wake up like this every day.
The scary thing is, it feels normal. It feels like we really have done this every day. As though no time at all has passed since I last saw him.
As though he didn’t break my heart when he disappeared from my life.
Suddenly, I need to get up. To move. I should get dressed, leave. I don’t know, something. Anything but lie here and daydream about the past as though it’s really something we might be able to get back to. But the moment I shift in bed, trying to gently ease myself out from under the solid drape of his arm, Bronson stirs beside me.
He makes a quiet little noise in his sleep, then a louder sigh as he cracks one eye, and before I know it, he’s blinking at me, waking up with his eyes on mine the way we used to. “Morning, sexy,” he murmurs, and leans in to press a chaste kiss to my lips, before he shifts his arm. He presses his hand to my belly, trails it lower. “How are you feeling this morning?” His hand cups my mound, gently, not enough pressure to actually make me ache, but I can already feel how sore I am.
