Crazy for Loving You

by Grant, Pippa

  So much—so much sensation. Physical. Emotional. Spiritual.

  She strokes my legs while she sucks down my climax, and my heart waves a white flag.

  We’re done.

  We surrender.

  There have been no women before Daisy Carter-Kincaid, and there will be no women after who have or will ever completely capture me, body, heart, and soul.

  My body goes limp, and she slides off my cock with a soft pop, then kisses my tip and tucks me back into my pants.

  “You are so fucking hot,” she whispers as she crawls back on top of me, the world tilting and rolling as the trampoline adjusts beneath us.

  “I don’t—think—you can—talk,” I pant.

  She grins, squeezing her arms together to make her cleavage more pronounced, and fuck, I’m getting hard again.

  How does she do that?

  I trace the line between her breasts. “You know you don’t need to put these on display to be sexy and gorgeous. It’s all in here.” I brush a thumb over her heart, then her temple.

  Her eyes go shiny, and she blinks quickly. “Dammit, West. You’re ruining my sex goddess high.”

  I roll and pin her beneath me on the trampoline. “Sex goddesses can feel with their hearts and minds too.”

  She squirms, and I start to lift off her, but she grabs me around the ribs and holds me tight. “My fucking skirt is too tight to wrap my legs around you,” she grumbles.

  “I could help with that.”

  One brow arches. “Westley Jaeger, are you offering to rip my skirt off me?”

  “Maybe. If the lady says one nice thing about herself first.”

  “I have a killer rack and I give one hell of a blow job. Your turn. Go caveman on this damn skirt.”

  “Something nice about your personality,” I correct.

  She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “This is pointless.”

  I nip at her ear, and she hums happily. “More of that if you say something nice about yourself,” I whisper.

  “But why?”

  “Because you’re amazing, and I don’t think you know it.”

  She eyes me warily. Like she doesn’t like that we’re heading into personal territory.

  But I don’t just want her body. I want her mind. And her heart. And I want her to know she can trust me with all of her. That I’m safe.

  I won’t hurt her.

  Something flickers in those blue eyes, and then the willpower and determination kick in. Like this is one more challenge.

  And she’s up for it.

  “I sometimes anonymously donate dog food to shelters,” she says softly.

  “Human shelters?”

  Her eyes flare wide for half a second.

  I grin.

  She cracks up. “You—you—”

  I rock until she releases me, then leap off her and take off on the trampoline. “You know someone who thinks of the baby first after she chokes on a carrot is a person with a big heart, right?” I call while she chases after me.

  “Sheer terror of the torture my grandmother the vampire would inflict if I screwed up her plans for the next host body she plans to inhabit.”

  “She tries to control you because she knows you’re bigger and better than she is.”

  “Boob envy. How are you all the way over there? Get back here! I have a condom and I have every intention of using it!”

  “No more of my cock until you say three nice things about your personality.”

  Fuck, this is fun.

  I dive off the trampoline and into one of the ball pits, and Daisy shrieks and comes bouncing after me, her breasts barely contained in that little black bra, her legs constricted by the skirt, but her cheeks are flushed and she’s laughing as she leaps like she’s drunk and finally lands in the massive ball pit with me.

  “I have an awful singing voice but I sing anyway because it gives me joy, and I want other people with bad singing voices to know it’s okay,” she says.

  I’m wading through the balls, diving like I’m in a pool, pretending I’m running from her. “Fine. We can count that one,” I concede with a grin.

  “For that one, you should strip out of your shirt, because that was very big of me to admit. Most people think I think I could be the next Taylor Swift if I’d just take the time to get into a studio.”

  “You’re too old to be the next Taylor Swift.”

  Her eyes flare again, and then she falls over backward in the balls, laughing. “Oh my god, West. Just when I think you’re all honey drops and powdered sugar, you show your minty saltwater taffy side.”

  “I’m only ninety-eight percent saint. But I suppose I can give you this.” I stand up straight, swing my hips like I’m dancing to bad music on a porn video, and make a show of lifting my shirt until I whip it the rest of the way off, swing it like a lasso over my head, and toss it to her.

  Just like I wanted to the night we met.

  She snags it and pulls it to her nose, and fuck, I’m full-mast again.

  Her eyes go dark as she watches me. “I speak six languages,” she says. “But I’m self-taught, and I don’t actually trust myself to not accidentally tell someone I went down on his mother last night, so I only practice on staff I occasionally hire for part-time jobs to do my translations for me.”

  I’m simultaneously aroused and heartbroken for her lack of confidence. “Which six?”

  “English, pig Latin, pirate—”

  I make a flying leap for her in the pit, and she shrieks, but she doesn’t move.

  “Which six?” I repeat, trying to get a hold of her in the ball pit, which keeps shifting around us and making us both sink deeper inside it.

  “English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Japanese.” She frowns while blue and yellow and red balls start to swallow her face, and then switches rapid-fire into several different accents. “I’ve also mastered pretending to be British, sometimes Canadian, eh, and g’day, mate, Australian is my favorite. Look at that. I’m holding your blue balls in my hands, eh?”

  “You’re incredible. And also disappearing.”

  She laughs, and I keep trying to grab her while we sink deeper and deeper into the cool, dark depths of the ball pit.

  Her arm hooks around mine, and I realize we’ve hit the bottom.

  “And I would do literally anything for Cam, Emily, and my Moon,” she whispers. “Bluewater is the only community I’ve ever developed outside my family’s properties, and it was so much fun. I wouldn’t have done it without them. So that’s not a nice thing about me. It’s a nice thing about them.”

  “You go out of your way to make other people happy and to make them feel good about themselves.”

  “Completely self-serving.”

  “Liar.”

  “Okay, fine. I’m compensating for the ugly. Because people deserve joy with their trials. Happy now?”

  “Almost.”

  I can’t see her clearly—the light’s dim at the bottom of a ball pit, but I find her nose with mine, and then I angle in for a kiss.

  And she lets me.

  It’s not an I want to rip your clothes off kiss.

  It’s an I love you kiss.

  The words scare me. I used them liberally in my younger years, and I always got burned. But Daisy—she’s so fucking easy to love.

  Her big parts and her hidden parts.

  “West?” she whispers.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m very naked in here.”

  I stroke a hand down her body, balls all around us, and holy fuck, she is.

  Butt naked.

  I press a trail of kisses to her jaw. “Where did that skirt go?”

  “Oh, someone will find it eventually next time I have a party. We’ll call it a souvenir.”

  “The fuck they will. It’s mine.”

  She strokes a hand down my neck. Then my back. And lower, until she’s tugging my pants down again. “I like being yours.”

  “You’re going to destroy me. You know that?
”

  “Never. You’re too special.” Her hand finds my cock, and she squeezes and strokes once, and I groan in sheer pleasure from having her hands on me. “I’m going to take care of you, Westley Jaeger. You wait and see.”

  She strokes me again, and my head brushes the soft skin on her lower belly, those damn plastic balls filtering between us, and then her other hand joins in, except—

  “Fuck, yes,” I groan while she slides a condom down my length.

  “I didn’t lose the important part,” she says, all cocky self-assurance that makes me laugh.

  And then I’m sliding into her hot, slick pussy, and she’s gasping and chanting yes, more, there, and nothing—nothing—has ever felt as right as making love to Daisy in the middle of a ball pit.

  I start to laugh while I pump into her, because I’m making love to a woman in a fucking ball pit.

  “West,” she whispers, arching into me while I thrust.

  “We’re crazy, you know that?”

  “You’re the only man I’ve ever seduced in my ball pit,” she informs me. “Or on my trampoline. Or…in my home.”

  I meet her eyes in the low light, with a fucking yellow ball between our cheeks and I realize she feels it too.

  The I love you that we’re both too scared to say.

  “My nuts and I are highly honored,” I tell her.

  And then we’re both laughing again, and I thrust deeper inside of her until we’re not laughing anymore, until we’re two people chasing mutual pleasure, except I’m positive this gorgeous, amazing woman panting and writhing beneath me is holding out until I get off first.

  “Daisy—”

  “Oh my god, look at this place!” my sister Allie suddenly shrieks somewhere above us.

  “Love the walls,” Staci says dryly.

  I freeze.

  Daisy freezes.

  And then she squeezes my dick with her inner walls, and fuck, I’m gonna come.

  Again.

  I pull back slowly, then push inside her while my sisters squawk about above us.

  If they jump in this pit, I’m going to dismember each and every one of them.

  Daisy flexes her channel around me again as I bury myself fully within her, and oh, fucking glory, she’s so tight and hot and perfect.

  “One more,” she whispers desperately. “Just one more, West. One more.”

  I reach between us as I pull out, find her clit, and flick it as I drive in, and she bites my shoulder while she clenches tight and hot and hard, and suddenly I’m coming too, stifling my groans in the crook of her neck while we climax together, hidden under layers and layers of balls, finally, finally feeling like I’m home.

  Where my heart belongs.

  With this hilariously fun, unpredictable, chaotic woman who’s hiding more love under all her layers than anyone I’ve ever known, while my family tries their best to wreak more havoc above us.

  Daisy snort-laughs into my shoulder.

  And I crack up too, despite all the overwhelming sensations that are just too much around my dick right now.

  Dude, get us a cigarette, my nuts say. And then one of those Costco-sized boxes of condoms. Or maybe four. You know. A week’s supply.

  “Hold on,” I whisper to Daisy. “I’ll get rid of them.”

  “Don’t move,” she whispers back. “I’m not done soaking in the feel of you.”

  I kiss her shoulder. Her jaw.

  An errant ball pit ball when I try to reach her cheek. “Dammit.”

  She giggles.

  I stifle another snort of laughter.

  “Why are those balls moving?” Keely suddenly says.

  “Oh, shit, I have to pee,” Allie replies. “Is there a bathroom in here? Fucking childbirth.”

  “Wait. Why are those balls moving?” Staci says.

  “It’s the alligator,” I call. “Get out.”

  “West is getting nooky in the ball pit!” Keely shrieks.

  “I am not going in there,” Brit says. “Gross.”

  “He’s not getting nooky,” Staci tells them all. “He’s probably trying to find a place to hide to get some sleep.”

  “I love your sisters,” Daisy whispers.

  “I’m about to love horrifying them by standing up naked,” I murmur back.

  “West? Are you getting nooky?” Allie asks.

  “You could jump in and find out for yourself,” I call.

  There’s a beat of silence.

  And then a rustle of bodies moving.

  I tense, because I don’t actually trust my sisters to not jump in here. But the door slams, and when all is silent for another full minute, during which Daisy runs her hands over my chest, my shoulders, my face—I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

  And go back to the kissing.

  Because I am never going to get enough of kissing Daisy.

  Thirty-Six

  Daisy

  West’s family is the best ever.

  We spend two days hanging out and getting to know each other and wrangling the cats and playing in the pool. Between our moms and his sisters, Remy is spoiled rotten while both West and I manage to get caught up on work some too.

  And also sneak away to bang at every opportunity.

  We’re very busy, but in the best way.

  I’ve set a goal, which I emailed him about in detail, about the way we’re going to christen every single room in my house.

  And it turns out, he’s very good with executing a plan. Which doesn’t surprise me in the least.

  This whole being in a relationship thing is new.

  And awesome.

  Finding new ways to make West smile is the best. He’s not the grumpy, straight-laced Marine all the time. Turns out, he’s fucking amazing at relaxing. And tolerating all the shit his sisters give him. And giving it right back.

  And he’s always aware of exactly when I need something.

  It’s a skill I’m studying closely so I can figure out how to turn it on him.

  Late Friday, my grandmother calls—which is eight million times better than her stopping by—to tell me Margot Roderick has been arrested.

  I’m still sitting at my desk in my office, staring at my phone in shock while Elvira makes herself at home on my dick rug, when West pops his head in. He’s gotten a haircut, but it’s not military short—just trimmed up—and it shows off the silver strands I’ve started to notice more and more amidst all the dark brown.

  I love them.

  They’re more evidence that he’s seen enough of life that he knows what he’s getting into with me.

  “Daisy?”

  That’s all he says—just my name—but it’s everything.

  Are you okay? What do you need? What can I do?

  He doesn’t need to do anything—this is the kind of news I could handle on my own just fine, because I’m an independent woman, except I don’t want to handle it on my own.

  I want to decompress about it with someone.

  “Froyo run?” I ask.

  His face scrunches into one of those don’t bullshit me faces, but he still strolls over to my wall of frozen yogurt, grabs two cups, and fills them both before crossing to my desk and setting them both in front of me.

  My windows are open, and there’s an ocean breeze rolling in. The sun’s starting a slow descent in the late afternoon sky.

  And all is right in the world.

  I mean, as right as it can be right now.

  He drops into the seat across from my desk, a dainty, round ivory spinny chair that his large, masculine frame should look ridiculous in, but he blends in everywhere from the pool to my bed to sitting under my mom’s dick art, so I shouldn’t be surprised he looks right here.

  I take a slow bite of caramel froyo—I swear, he always knows exactly what I’m in the mood for—and then I burst into tears, which startles the cat so badly she darts out of the room.

  “Margot hired a hitman to take out Julienne,” I sob.

  West’s eyes go wide, an
d then he’s one big blur of motion, leaping across my desk, clearing the froyo without any danger of sending it flying, lifting me out of my chair, and pulling me close, my ear to his heart, his lips pressing kisses to my crown.

  “Ah, Daisy,” he whispers.

  “She’s—in jail—and I—” I stop, hiccup, and don’t even try to continue.

  There was so much more my grandmother said.

  Restraining order filings.

  Lawsuits.

  Private eye reports on Anthony Roderick.

  But it all comes down to one thing: Remy’s safe.

  Margot’s in jail.

  Anthony’s being investigated for tax fraud, and all appearances are that he’s fled the country.

  My grandmother’s family lawyers filed to have the Rodericks’ challenge to the will dismissed, but it’s a mere technicality.

  Remy’s safe, and he’s ours.

  And the emotions are too big for me to handle on my own. The relief. The joy. The love.

  “I’m okay,” I babble to West’s chest. “It’s all—it’s—”

  “Too much,” he finishes.

  I nod and reach for my phone and open my email. The full message from The Dame is on top, so I click it open and pass it to him.

  The details—I don’t want to think about the details.

  I want to go hug Remy. And my mom. And West’s sisters and his mom. And then go tell Luna and Cam and Emily. And throw a party. And hug and kiss Remy.

  But more, I want to stay right here.

  Snuggled up to West.

  Except maybe naked.

  Out on the beach.

  Yes.

  “You read this?” he asks me softly.

  I freeze. “Oh, fuck. Did she say we have to get rid of you now? She’s such an asshole. Ignore her. I’ll handle her. She tries to get rid of my mom and my Uncle Jethro at least three times a year too.”

  He chuckles. “I don’t care if she doesn’t like me. So long as you do.”

  “I love you.” I gasp and slap a hand over my mouth, because I wasn’t supposed to tell him like that.

  There were supposed to be candles. Flowers. Peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. Vanilla froyo, which is his favorite, sometimes with a light layer of rainbow sprinkles.