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It doesn’t take long. Daisy loves coffee. It’s her morning go-to.
Her green eyes open slowly and meet mine. They look almost emerald in the light of the day, shimmering like gemstones beneath the rays of the sun that have filtered in through the window.
“Morning, babe.”
“Morning,” she rasps through a still-sleepy voice and clears her throat. A hint of a smile lifts her mouth when she glances down at the cup in my hand. “Is that coffee?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Nope.”
“What?” she questions and sits up in bed. The comforter falls down her body, revealing miles upon miles of gloriously naked skin.
“I’m kidding,” I say with a small grin and carefully hand the fresh cup of joe to her.
She grabs it greedily with two hands and takes a sip. “Oh, that’s good. That’s real good. And made to perfection. Thank you.”
I know it’s made to perfection. Two sugars with a little creamer, that’s Daisy’s preferred coffee style. After living together for a while now, I know more about Daisy than I’ve ever known about anyone. Her little quirks, her favorite foods, the fact that when she says she’ll be ready in ten minutes, it really means thirty.
“What are you listening to?”
“‘Un bel dì, vedremo.’”
She tilts her head to the side, and a wry grin covers her mouth. “I’m sorry…what?”
“It’s from the opera Madama Butterfly.”
“You like opera?”
“Yes. You don’t?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’ve never really listened to it.”
“Have you ever been to an opera?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s…sad, Daisy. Everyone should experience going to the opera at least once in their life.”
“Flynn Winslow likes opera. Wow. That is…quite the revelation.”
“That surprises you?”
“Uh…yeah,” she answers through a giggle. “But then again, I’m finding you’re full of surprises. I mean, I never would’ve pegged you as a guy who went to culinary school.”
Her exaggeration makes me chuckle. “A few cooking classes, babe. Not culinary school.”
She just grins. “A motorcycle-riding, leather-jacket–wearing chef who loves opera music. You are an enigma.”
“As are you, Daisy,” I answer and reach out to tuck a few of her curls behind her ears.
“Oh, I’m not that interesting.”
I strongly disagree. She’s the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.
My hand trails down her bare arm, across her bare belly, and I don’t miss the way goose bumps cover her arms when the music playing in the background reaches a climax that almost always gives everyone the same reaction.
“This song is…powerful,” she says, her voice quiet as she listens intently.
“That’s opera.”
She looks at me quizzically, and when my eyes flit down to her bare breasts and belly, I get an idea. A brilliant fucking idea that is one-hundred-percent selfish on my part.
“Would you like to play a game, Daisy?”
“What kind of game?”
“A game that will show you just how powerful opera music can be.”
She quirks a brow but then shrugs. “Okay, sure.”
Fuck yes.
Carefully, I take the cup of coffee out of her hands and set it on the nightstand. She pouts, of course, but I just shake my head and gently ease her back down onto the bed. “This won’t take long. And stay right here. I’ll be back.”
Out of the bedroom and into the living room, I grab a pair of noise-canceling headphones and the remote for my speakers.
Once I’m back in the bedroom, I climb onto the bed and position myself right between, thanks to my devious hands, her now-spread thighs.
Her mouth forms a little “O” of surprise when she realizes the intimacy of our position. “Is this game a sexy kind of game?”
I nod. Her eyes light up.
“I’m going to show you that opera music is so powerful, you are going to have the most intense orgasm of your life. And it’s only going to take about three minutes.”
She laughs. Outright. “Three minutes?”
I nod again. “Yeah, babe. Three minutes and you’re going to be seeing fucking stars.”
I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I gently place the headphones over her ears and help her relax back into the mattress.
She keeps looking at me skeptically, but it only makes me smile. Because I know in just a few minutes, she’s going to feel the kind of pleasure that’ll make her think she’s having an out-of-body experience.
From my phone, I choose the one song that will seal her pleasurable fate—“Nessun Dorma.”
Sung by Luciano Pavarotti, the one and only man who could sing it to perfection.
I know this piece like the back of my hand, and once I hit play and the music is flooding into Daisy’s ears, I engage in my selfish desires of putting my mouth on her.
Without preamble or hesitation, I bury my face between her thighs and lap and lick my tongue against her. She’s sweet like honey, and every time her hips jolt forward from the sensation of my mouth, it makes my cock grow harder by an inch.
Fuck, this is heaven.
