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With Spencer, she felt sexy and confident because she had no doubt that he wanted her, just the way she was. With all her flaws and quirks and craziness, he still wanted her.
“Again,” he demanded, and Daff’s hands moved back up to his chest, kneading and exploring hungrily along the way.
“Daff, darling,” he grated, lifting his lips just enough to say the words. “You know what I want, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Say it,” he commanded, and she smiled again.
“To take a shower and watch a movie?” she teased, and he half laughed, half groaned, clearly recognizing the ludicrous suggestion as his own.
“Never mind. I’ll just show you.” He kissed her again. A little more roughly this time, his tongue unapologetically forging its way into her mouth. She sighed happily when it demanded a response from hers. She buried her hands in his soft, springy hair and pushed herself against him while he murmured something inaudible against her lips. He swung her into his arms, the gesture outrageously romantic, and, without lifting his mouth from hers, strode blindly toward the bathroom.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked with a breathless giggle, and he paused outside her open bedroom door.
“I do now,” he growled, and she thrilled at the intense masculinity in his voice. Forceful men didn’t usually do it for her, but on Spencer it was mind-blowingly sexy. Because she knew he’d never do anything to hurt her. He strode into the room and then paused to shove the door shut with his booted foot.
His mouth was on hers again, and Daff was dimly aware of a dizzying sensation that could be attributed to either his fantastic, all-consuming kiss or the fact that he’d swung her around to deposit her on the bed. He settled himself between her spread-eagled thighs and unabashedly ground his hard length up against her aching core.
The move had her nearly arching off the bed in reaction, but he settled her down with a gentler kiss before lifting his mouth and staring down into her flushed, dazed face with his wondering, heated gaze.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said thickly. He reached for her tank top and shoved it up over her small, naked breasts. Daff lifted her chest toward him, proudly displaying herself to him, inviting him to taste and touch, but he simply knelt between her thighs and stared at her with such burning intensity that she uncharacteristically found herself blushing.
“Hmm.” This time it really was just a sound. One of yearning and appreciation. The sound a starving man would make at the dinner table.
He reached out and thumbed both nipples gently and she nearly came off the bed in response to that.
“Love how sensitive these are,” he muttered, his thumbs circling the aching centers now, tormenting her by not touching her the way she needed to be touched.
“Spencer, please,” she begged, and he reluctantly lifted his burning regard from her breasts to her eyes.
“Still trying to meet that sex deadline, are you? There’s no rush, darling,” he teased gently. He dropped another hot kiss on her lips, and she wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into his strong back. He was still wearing too many clothes. Why was he always wearing too many clothes?
She forgot about the disparity seconds later when he lifted his head and trailed his mouth over her sensitive skin, all the way down to her chest. Once he reached the slope of one aching, taut breast, he planted soft, gentle kisses around the crest of her nipple and Daff shuddered when she felt his hot breath against her sensitive flesh.
“Oh God, Spencer. Oh please. Please,” she begged unashamedly, and he put her out of her misery by drawing the tight, aching bud into his hot mouth, suckling so hard that the pleasure was almost pain. He lifted his head and planted a sweet, apologetic kiss on the aching nipple before moving over and gracing her other breast with the same treatment.
He straightened, still kneeling between her spread thighs, looking as fiercely beautiful as a demigod. She didn’t know how it had happened, but she noticed that the fly of his jeans was unsnapped, revealing that hard, gorgeous column of flesh straining between his thighs. She reached for it, and he gently pushed her hand away.
“Not now, darling,” he denied her, and she cried out in frustration.
“I want to touch you.”
“I know. I want you to. But that thing has a hair trigger right now. One touch from you and it’s going off.”
She huffed impatiently and he smiled at her, the strain evident on his face. He gently pushed her hair out of her face and kissed her again.
“Beautiful Daff, you mean the world to me,” he said, and the words caused a lump to form in her throat. Did she? How could she? She wasn’t sweet like Lia, or clever and witty like Daisy, she didn’t have a kind heart like Spencer. She was just Daff. Mouthy, sarcastic, and confused.
