Page 92 of You Said I Was Your Favorite

“It’s okay.” I tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. Draw my thumb across her bottom lip. “You’re okay. Right?”

She’s still for a beat too long for my comfort before she nods hesitantly. “I’ve never shared that story with anyone before.”

“No one?”

Daisy slowly shakes her head. “Nobody.”

I’m blown away that she would share it with me. “I hate that your mother’s death happened on your birthday.”

Her face begins to crumple. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“I’m not saying it was. I just—I don’t like that your birthday has been tainted forever because of it. She wouldn’t want that for you.”

“I know.” Daisy sniffs, nodding. “I know.”

“I tried to make today good for you.” I really did. I wanted her distracted and happy but in the end I failed.

And I don’t like failing.

“You did a great job, I promise. Dinner was wonderful.” She rises up a little, her lips brushing mine and I cup the back of her head, keeping her in place.

Kissing her because I can’t resist. It’s my favorite thing to do.

She’s tentative at first. Like she doesn’t want to do this. Not here. Not now. I realize it quickly and am about to pull away when she kisses me again, her lips clinging. Again.

And again.

Until my lips coax hers open and my tongue is touching hers. Lightly at first. I don’t want to push.

Fuck that. All I want to do is push when it comes to Daisy. The second she gets close, our bodies brushing, touching, mine is set on fire for her.

No one else. Just her.

I continue to kiss her. Light, sweet kisses with a hint of tongue. Just persuasive enough until our tongues are tangling. Our breaths accelerating. My heart racing.

My dick fucking throbbing.

Daisy’s sweetness is what does me in. Makes me crave more. I use so much restraint when it comes to these private moments with her. My need to possess her grows and grows every time I kiss her.

Every damn time.

I drop my hand so it rests on the outside of her thigh.A purely innocent touch, I tell myself. I’m not going to try anything else.

But the kiss deepens. The moan sounds low in her throat. The groan rumbles in my chest. Without thought, my hand is sliding beneath her skirt, fingers skimming across her soft flesh until they encounter the side of her panties, right at her hip.

I give them a tug and she gasps. I slip my fingers into the front of them and she whimpers. She’s wet. A few kisses and she’s ready for me and Jesus, I shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t take advantage of her when she’s in such a vulnerable state but here I am with her on my lap in my car, my fingers sliding into the wet heat of her pussy. Back and forth, featherlight, making her shiver.

Making her hips push forward, eager for more.

A soft sigh escapes her when I begin to stroke and her hips shift with my hand, seeking more. I keep my mouth on hers, my fingers busy, the sounds of her wet pussy filling the close confines of the car. The scent of her.

God.

I get her off quick, her orgasm hitting her at the exact moment she breaks our kiss. Her hot breath bathes my neck as she pants into my skin, her body shaking. I kiss her forehead and hold her close, trying to give her whatever she needs. Comfort. Caring. A shoulder to cry on.

An orgasm.

She slumps against me, her face still buried against my neck, her body soft and pliant as it melts into mine. I tighten my arms around her and when she starts to move, I try to let her go, but she stops me.

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