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She snickers. “About Paris.”
“Let me hear it,” I reply, nudging her arm.
“No way! It’s just…thoughts and ideas. It’s not even good yet.”
“How long does it take you to write a song?” I ask.
She shrugs, twisting her pretty pink lips in a little knot. “A few days, maybe. Sometimes less.”
“Why don’t you ever record them? Or perform something?”
“It’s just a silly, little hobby,” she argues.
“No, it’s not,” I snap in return. “It’s a talent not many have. You shouldn’t waste something like that.”
“I’m not wasting it ifI’menjoying it,” she replies smugly.
“Well, other people could enjoy it too is all I’m saying. I certainly would.”
Her head shifts in my direction. “You want to hear my songs?”
“Very much,” I say as the car pulls up to the apartment building and the driver gets out to open my door. Just like last time, Daisy opens her own door, facing the street no less, before I can rush over to open it for her.
“Will you stop doing that?” I mutter sternly at her.
“I’m capable of opening my own door, Ronan.” Her tone is sweet but obstinate.
“I know you are,” I reply with a sigh as I lead her to the door. I’d still like to open it for her. I want to say that, and maybe I should. But Daisy doesn’t need to know all the things I’d like to do for her. Literally everything if I could.
When we reach the apartment, I notice her yawning on her way inside, and I’m surprised to see her walking toward the guest room. We might be keeping it strictly in the friend zone for now, but we’ve shared a bed nearly three times now, if you include the plane ride and the four-hour jet-lagged nap earlier today.
“Where are you going?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too desperate. I was looking forward to having her next to me tonight.
She starts to shuffle toward the bedroom, when I notice something strangely erratic about her behavior. As if she’s worriedly weighing the option of what bed to sleep in, like it’s a matter of life and death.
“I…uh, think I should sleep in the guest room tonight,” she stammers.
“Okay,” I reply, loosening my tie. “That’s fine. Is everything okay?”
Heaving a sigh, she looks at me in disbelief. “Don’t you need to…be alone?” she asks awkwardly.
“Be alone?” I’m confused.
She seems exasperated with me by the time she finally comes out with it. “We were just in a sex club, Ronan. I don’t know about you, but I’m in a severe state of arousal, and I am dying for relief.”
I’m not often struck speechless, but she’s done it. I don’t know what’s more stunning—her basically admitting that she has plans to masturbate or the fact that she’s excessively aroused.
“Okay,” I reply dumbly before she scurries off to the guest room, probably mortified at what she just declared she’s about to do. In a state of shock and confusion, I shuffle into the master bedroom and begin undressing.
The entire time I’m getting myself ready for bed, I have these questions roaming around in my head. Is she doing it right now? Is Daisy somewhere in my apartment touching herself under her covers? How does she do it? Does she roughly finger herself, curling them to find her G-spot? Or does she circle her clit with her thighs pressed together? Does she have a toy in there? Is she watching porn?
I’m going mad. Absolutely fucking crazy.
My body feels strung tightly, wired and anxious, ready to tear down the doors of this apartment to see what she’s doing. It’s obvious to me now that the more I deny myself what I want with Daisy, the more intense it’s going to get. Before long, she will have me literally insane with need for her.
I try to crawl under the sheets of my bed and go to sleep alone, ignoring what I know she’s doing a couple doors down the hall. I try, but I fail miserably.
Why did she have to tell me that?
