by Grant, Pippa
“It’s not small to make someone’s day. And getting up to the counter to order a burger and finding out—”
I suck in a breath, and he freezes.
I didn’t say burgers. I said donuts.
“You did that at Beach Burgers,” he says quietly. “The day we inherited Remy.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, and I hope I’m talking to his bad ear.
No such luck though.
“Never saw a tip jar so full as it was that night.” His voice is a quiet, soothing rumble. “There’s a ripple effect. You do something nice for someone, they’re inspired to do something nice for someone else. You didn’t just buy a few hundred burgers, Daisy. You reminded a few hundred people of the power of joy.”
“I was buying happier feelings,” I blurt. “The funeral—it was awful. No one was sad they were gone. I didn’t do it for the people getting free burgers. I did it to make myself feel better.”
“You did it for both.”
“Does it really count as a random act of kindness if I’m doing it so someone misses me when I’m gone?”
“Who knew it was you?”
I mumble an answer, lower this time.
“Little louder for the good ear, Daisy.” He grips my shoulders firmer and turns me around. I want to bury my head over Remy, but I make myself meet his gaze.
“I said, no one. I mean, Tiana and Alessandro know, and the manager at Beach Burgers, but he also knows I won’t do it again if he lets it slip that it’s me, and his staff makes such good money on those days when I—I mean, I got a free burger out of it myself, and—”
“Why are you minimizing your impact in the world?”
“Because it’s not about them. It’s about making me feel good. And that’s just as selfish and stupid as my grandmother diving into a pile of cash in her version of an adult ball pit room in her fortress. I’m a horrible, awful, selfish asshole who only wants to have fun.”
He gapes at me like I’ve just sprouted some of my mom’s artwork out of my ears. Like he’s seeing me for the first time.
Like it all makes sense now.
I’m an alien in a human body, incapable of this love thing people speak of.
“Have you had so little love in your life that you don’t know how valuable you are? And I’m not talking about your bank account, Daisy. I’m talking about this.”
His hand settles high on my breast, next to Remy’s little head, as close as he can get to my heart.
“I don’t have one of those,” I tell him. “I can’t. I’m a Carter. We get them traded in for mechanical banks when we’re born.”
He doesn’t roll his eyes or grit his teeth, which is almost worse.
Instead, he cups my head. Smooths my hair back. Steps closer. “You could make yourself feel good in so many other ways. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex. But you choose to do it with random acts of kindness. And taking care of a baby that isn’t yours. And making the world a better place. How often do you get drunk? Really drunk? Because I’ve been here close to a month, and I haven’t seen it. Haven’t flown in any men from Europe or Australia to scratch an itch either. You could’ve been just like your cousin, tearing down everything and everyone publicly, but you don’t. You let three dozen kids into your house to paint your walls with artwork most of the world would’ve called graffiti. You think to buy coffee and donuts for other people. You’re not a selfish asshole. You’re a good person with a big heart and a shitty family if they’ve never told you how amazing you are.”
“You shouldn’t put me on a pedestal. I’m going to let you down.”
“People fuck up, Daisy. It’s what makes us human. Hell, I’m gonna let you down too. But you know what? I’ll forgive you. We’ll learn. We’ll move on. And we’ll be fine.”
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck on a roller coaster. Actually—fucking on a roller coaster could be fun. Except not when my heart’s about to fully unleash itself and take off on the joy ride of its life.
Is it possible to fall in love with a man when you’re not watching? Because I’m fairly certain I am head over heels in love with this man standing here telling me I matter.
Not for my name.
Not for my bank account.
But for every little thing I’ve ever done in my life.
This man—he’d treat me like a queen even if I were broke and living in that box in the Everglades. He could sue me for full custody, but he believes in me.
I suck in a big breath and turn back to the wall, hit the secret lever, and slip through to my bedroom.
Set the window and door alarms while West sighs heavily behind me.
I know that sigh.
It’s the sigh of a man who knows that he’s had his last moment with Daisy Carter-Kincaid.
In West’s case, he’s wrong.
So wrong.
I kiss Remy softly on the head and gently put him in the bassinet in the corner of my room that he’s outgrowing too quickly, then turn back to the secret door to my library, still open.
“West?”
He looks up from running a hand through his thick hair. “Hm?”
“I’m going to jump your bones.”
His eyes flare wide, and then a slow smile creeps over his face while I stalk to him. “Are you?”
“I am.”
“Tonight?”
“Right now.”
He gestures to my body. “While you’re wearing that?”
The shirt peels off in a flash, and that thick ridge I felt beneath me while I was in his lap on the chair leaps to attention, tenting his black shorts. “Better?”
“Fuck, Daisy,” he whispers hoarsely. His gaze jumps from my eyes to my bare breasts and back again.
“Not your first glimpse, Mr. Jaeger,” I remind him as I slip my arms around his shoulders and arch my back, putting my belly against his hard-on. “But if you want me to put it back on—”
A groan rumbles low in his throat, and he bends to capture my mouth while his hands slide up my sides to cup my breasts.
I shudder and press myself into his touch, because god, his hands are so perfect.
Rough skin. Firm touch. Dexterous thumbs.
He circles my nipples, and the sensation of another human being doing for me what I’ve had to do for myself for too long sends a jolt of lust pulsing between my thighs, and I’m suddenly climbing him like a monkey. “More,” I tell him. “Touch me more.”
He turns, carrying me while I dive deeper into this kiss, squeezing my thighs around him and rocking against his solid erection, his hands going to my ass, fingertips gripping my hamstrings so close to my core, digging in at the tops of my inner thighs, and I nearly spontaneously combust, because I love being touched.
Love it.
Love connecting. Love feeling. Love bliss.
But there’s a responsibility to this touch.
Giving myself to West isn’t about feeling good for an hour. It’s about letting him in.
He’s here.
In a room that not even Cam, Luna, and Emily have been in.
He knows I’m not perfect.
He knows so many of my secrets.
I want to know all of his.
And I want him to know they’re safe with me.
He drops to one knee, and I whimper when our bodies disconnect. “What—” I start, and then he’s lying me back on the fuzzy rug in front of my fireplace.
Thunder rumbles deep and low and long outside, reverberating through the walls while West slides down my body and sucks one pebbled nipple into his mouth.
“Oh, yes.” Fireworks explode in my soul. I gasp and grip his hair, holding him while he licks and sucks and nips at first one breast, then the other. I’m soaking through my pants, and my clit is hot and desperate. “Yes, yes, yes,” I chant while he feasts on my breasts and explores my ribs and my stomach with his hands. I hook my ankles around his back, and he suddenly chuckles.
“Not going anywhere, Daisy.” He strokes a hand down my thigh and ma
kes every nerve ending in my body stand up and beg for his touch. “I’ve been fantasizing about touching you for—well, it feels like years.”
“I can’t let you go,” I confess softly.
I can’t.
This isn’t a fast boom-bang-bye.
This is West.
He’s been my rock.
And I want to be his rock. I want to be the person he calls when he has a problem. I want to be the voice he needs to hear before he goes to sleep at night. I want to be the last naked body he wants to see for the rest of his life.
Oh, god.
I want him to love me as much as I love him.
The realization swells out of my chest and makes my arms and legs tingle.
It’s too big.
Too much.
And yet so right.
He’s studying me with dark eyes ringed in emerald. “You want me.”
“I don’t understand how any woman couldn’t.”
A wry smile darkens his face. “I’m very boring.”
“You are not.” I shove his shoulder until he rolls off me, and I follow him so I’m on top, tugging his shirt off.
He dutifully lifts his arms. “I am.”
And as soon as he’s tangled with his arms stuck in his shirt over his head, I scoot back down so I’m straddling that glorious hard-on and cradle it between my thighs while I lick a trail around the outline of his tattoos.
“Fuck, Daisy,” he gasps.
“You are not boring. You’re hilarious.”
“You’re—christ, that feels so good—the only—oh, fuck yes—person who thinks—so.”
“Huh. I’m the smart one for once.”
“You’ve always been—” he cuts himself off with a strangled moan.
Probably because I pinch his nipples and rock against his erection and lick his hot, flat stomach with its gorgeous artwork. We need to lose our pants. And then I need to suck on his cock until he can’t remember his own name, and then I’m going to treat him to a full striptease that’ll have him hard again in two minutes.
I’m going to make love to this man all night long.
“Westley?” I whisper as I lick my way up his throat.
“Yes?”
“You make me feel alive.”
He catches my face before I can attack his mouth again. “You have more life in your pinky than most people have in their entire families.”
“But you make my heart feel alive.”
The words slip out before I can stop them.
And I don’t think I would’ve stopped them even if I could.
Not when it makes that soft smile creep over his lips while he lifts his head to rub his nose against mine. “You make me feel not boring.”
“I drive you crazy.”
He pumps his hips against mine. “You do.”
We’re both laughing as I claim his mouth again, because I’ll continue to drive him crazy, and he’ll continue to tolerate me stoically, but I have this feeling he hasn’t had fun in his life in too long.
Oldest child. Marine. Dating single mothers.
He needs me. Because I don’t need him. Not to be a second adult in the house. Not to take overnight duty. Not to fix a squeaky hinge or chase cats out of pools.
I just want him.
So bad I almost can’t breathe at the thought of him not being here.
His tongue delves deeper into my mouth, his hands roaming while I stroke his beard, then his neck, and lower.
I need him out of his shorts.
Outside in the rain.
Dancing in the ocean.
Playing unicorn jousting in my pool.
Fixing me peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches.
Oh, god, I am so in love with this man.
His hands slip under my pants, and he freezes for half a second.
I smile into his kiss. “Whoops. Forgot to do laundry.”
“You did not.”
“Okay, I didn’t. Are you horrified?”
His fingers drift lower, down my crack, exposing my ass until he’s stroking a finger along my seam. “So fucking turned on,” he growls.
I whimper as his finger dips into my channel, because yes.
“So wet,” he murmurs, holding my gaze captive and fucking me with his finger. “Christ, you feel like heaven. Do you taste as good?”
I jerk against his hand, my breath ragged, my heart completely obliterated. “Maybe if you’re good, you can find out later.”
He grins. “I can be good.”
“Wait. Maybe if you’re bad, you can find out later. Ohmygod, don’t stop.”
“This?” he asks, pulling his finger all the way out.
I whimper. “Yes.”
“Now?” He traces my ass with both hands while I rub myself shamelessly over the steel rod still behind too many layers of fabric. “Maybe I want you to stroke me first before I give you any more.”
“You—distracted me.”
“With this?” he slides a finger inside me again, and I moan.
“Yes.”
“I can’t seem to help myself. Such a sweet, hot pussy.”
Westley Jaeger. Dirty-talker. I did not see that coming, but I probably should’ve.
And it takes an act of heroic strength, but after shamelessly thrusting into his touch three more times, I wiggle out of his reach and down his body to peel his shorts back.
“You—” he starts, but I bend and lick at the tip of his magnificent cock, and whatever he was going to say is lost in a rumble of thunder that’s either him groaning, or the storm outside, and I’m not sure which.
So I lick again, sliding my lips around his head while I use both fists to grip his length.
And that’s definitely West making those rumbling noises.
I suck on his tip, and he fists my hair in his hands, grunting and swearing while I tease his head, then take him all the way to the back of my throat.
He’s big. And thick. And so hard.
And I’m getting hotter in the pussy with how good he tastes.
“Daisy,” he rasps.
I hum against his dick, and he swears again.
And suddenly I’m being lifted off him. He rolls, and I’m trapped beneath him.
“I wasn’t done,” I tell him.
“I almost was.”
“And the problem with that is…?”
He ducks his head into my shoulder, hiding another of those smiles. “I want to be good for you. And it’s…been a while.”
“If you think this is the only time I’m getting you naked in the next forever, you are sadly mistaken.”
His eyes meet mine again, and there it is again.
That whisper.
That promise.
This one’s different.
“Are we going to fight for who’s on top?” I ask. “Because you should know I will always win.”
He presses a kiss to my neck and slides a hand over my breast, then down to dip into my waistband. “Do you?”
His fingers find my pussy again, and my tongue forgets how to make words.
“Condom?” he asks.
I point to the statue of a dog beside the fireplace.
I think.
He’s finger-fucking me again, and I can’t be held responsible for where I point when my eyes are crossed and all the blood is flowing to my clit.
He nips at my ear, and suddenly I’m coming all over his fingers, my body clenching tight while his brows go up and his eyes go dark as midnight.
“Christ, Daisy, you’re—”
“Oh my god, I’m coming!” I yelp.
And I can’t stop myself, because he’s pressing right there, that magic spot inside my pussy that’s making me spasm harder and higher than I’ve ever gone.
It’s blinding hot and I can’t feel my toes, but I know they’re curling while I pull my knees to my chest and let it all wash over me with West coaxing me until I’m boneless.
And that’s how I feel about him.
Boneless. Unable to resist him.
And completely fulfilled yet still wanting more.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of him.
But I’ll be perfectly content to spend the next forever trying.
Thirty-Three
West
There’s nothing more gorgeous than watching a woman transform during an orgasm, but Daisy—she’s more.
She throws herself into everything completely.
Even now, in the midst of a post-climax glow, she’s reaching for that weird dog statue.
“Because you’re so very talented with your fingers,” she declares as she slides the dog to one side and pulls a strip of condoms from behind it, “you get to choose. Blow job? Or your very impressive cock in my pussy?”
Either way, I don’t see myself lasting long.
Not with that mouth.
A cry suddenly accompanies a roll of thunder, and the lights flicker.
Daisy freezes.
I freeze.
And Remy wails again.
“Oh, no, he didn’t,” she whispers.
I sigh and drop my forehead to her shoulder. “I’ll get him.”
“No, you won’t. We’re both going to hold our breath for five minutes, and if that doesn’t work, then I’ll get him.”
Nooooooo, my balls wail.
“You can’t hold your breath for five minutes,” I tell her.
“Don’t test me.”
I’m smiling as I push up. “Five minutes, and I’ll have him back to sleep.”
Two hours later, though, Remy is still up, happily cooing away.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper to him.
He grins and squeals at me.
Like he knows he’s being a little cockblocker.
Daisy’s passed out on her bed, because my bedtime story for Remy an hour ago worked on her.
We’re never, ever, ever getting nooky again, my balls sigh.
They might be right.
Considering we spend the rest of the night awake, by the time morning rolls around, I can’t even think of getting it up without groaning at the energy it would require for my body to function.
The storm’s slowly abating about dawn, and Remy’s finally fallen asleep when Daisy stirs on the bed. She’s still topless, lying sideways with her soft pants on, and she blinks twice before her sleepy gaze lands on me.
