by Kayt Miller
This is it. I’m about to do it with Gage Golden.
With one knee on the bed, he grasps my ankle and holds my legs open so he can slide between my legs. I help him with my other leg, wrapping it around his waist.
“You sure, Daisy?”
“More than sure.” I want him inside me. Now.
Looking down, Gage places himself at my entrance and slowly presses in.
He’s big. Definitely very big. I hold my breath, expecting to feel pain, but that’s not what happens. By the time he’s seated all the way, I release the breath and smile. He feels good. Really, really good.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice sounding strained.
“Yeah.”
And then it begins. He starts off slow, in, out. When I lift my hips to meet him halfway, it must be the right thing to do because his slow in-and-out changes into hard thrusts. Wonderfully passionate thrusts.
“There,” I purr the second he hits the right spot.
“There?” he says with a pant.
“Yeah.”
With the skill of a man who’s had lots of sex, which I try not to think about, he begins to pound into me harder and in the right spot until I’m flying off into the universe. Stars are swirling around my head just as Gage moans his own release.
With both of us out of breath, he lowers himself until he’s lying next to me. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into him until we’re face-to-face. “That was amazing,” Gage says, kissing my eyelid.
“It was.”
His palm is on my back, rubbing it up and down several times. When he stops, his palm is resting on my left ass cheek. I love how it feels.
That’s when I hear him. His breath has evened out, and he’s snoring a little. It’s cute.
Reaching down past our feet, I grasp the comforter that I now see is the same blue color as the one in the spare bedroom and pull it over us. I spend a few minutes gazing at the beautiful man next to me. I refuse to think of tomorrow, though. Something tells me tomorrow is going to change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gage
It’s my fault. I let it happen. I should have stopped it in the hallway, but damn, her mouth, that body pressed against mine… how could I refuse her? She said, “Please,” for shit’s sake. When a woman asks you to fuck her and she says, “Please,” you fuck her.
“Shit.” I run my fingers through my hair. What was I to do? I wanted her as bad as she wanted me. Maybe more. I mean, my dick’s hard whenever she’s around, and while it’s not necessarily good, it’s just the way it is. God, her scent alone drives me crazy. I feel like a feral animal around her, like I can’t control how my body responds to her. It wants her. I want her.
So now I’m standing outside my own front door, dreading what I have to do. And all of it because of my job.
You see, when I went to work this morning, I knew I had to clear everything with Captain Billings. I waited until the end of the day, needing the time to figure out what I was going to say. Things didn’t go as I’d hoped. Not at all.
I sat in Captain Billings’s office waiting for him to get off the phone, ready to tell him about Daisy and me. And while I’d told her last night that it was going to be okay, I wasn’t so sure.
As soon as he hung up, he leaned over his desk, placed his elbows on top, and said, “That was Social Apartments’ management. They’re sending over the footage from the elevator.”
“Finally,” I grunted. “Did they give you any indication what was on the tape?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He nodded. “So, what can I do for you?”
Clearing my throat, I started at the beginning. When I got to the part where I explained why she was staying at my place, I glanced at the captain and winced. His face said everything I needed to know.
“What the fuck, Golden?” He stood abruptly and pointed at my face. “That’s against fucking protocol, and you goddamn know it.”
I nodded. I did know it.
“She’s a fucking eyewitness,” he continued.
“We already know Tayler Soren—”
Shaking that off, Captain Billings shouted, “That’s not official yet. The D.A. hasn’t dropped the charges against her.”
But they will. “I know. It’s just—”
“You’re thinking with your dick, Golden. That’s unacceptable.” He stepped around his desk until he stood next to me as he glared down at me. “Get her the fuck out of your house. Today. Or you’re off this case.”
So that’s why I’m standing at my own front door, dreading this conversation I’ve got to have with Daisy. Before I overthink it, I unlock my door and step inside to the smell of something delicious cooking. When I look up, I see her in my kitchen working away at something.
Fuck. She cooked for me.
“Hey,” she says with her pretty smile. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I am. I’m starving. For her.
Clearing my throat, I return her smile as I step closer to the kitchen. “It smells delicious.”
“I made meatloaf. My mom’s recipe.”
Goddamn. I love meatloaf.
I scan the kitchen. It’s a mess with pans, bowls, and utensils everywhere. The sight makes my heart jump in my chest. My kitchen has never looked so good. And seeing Daisy… fuck, she’s beautiful with her dark hair piled on top of her head and her oversized glasses resting on the tip of her pretty nose.
She’s doing this for me.
Well, fuck Captain Billings. I’m not giving her up. Someone else can catch a killer. This right here is what I’ve been searching for my entire life. And no, I’m not searching for a woman who’ll cook for me. I’m searching for everything this represents. With Daisy here, this isn’t just a house. It’s a home.
“I also made homemade mashed potatoes.”
Jesus. She’s going to kill me. “Real mashed potatoes?” I haven’t had those in years.
“As real as they get.” She beams. “I also made a loaf of bread, but it looks sort of sad.” She holds up a loaf pan. The bread looks golden brown from here.
Stepping up behind her, I wrap my arms around her middle, lean down, and kiss her neck. Peeking over her shoulder, I get a closer look at the bread. She’s right, it’s a tad deflated and wrinkled. “I’m sure it still tastes good.” Because, damn, it smells good.
She smells good.
Now that her body is against mine, I’m sure she can feel me because, of course, I’m hard.
“Gage.” Her voice sounds soft and sexy.
“Yeah.” I kiss her neck again before swiping my tongue over that spot.
I feel her hand touch one of mine that’s wrapped around her waist. When she tugs on it, I let her move it up and up until I’m cupping her breast.
“You want me?” I ask, hoping her answer is “Yes.” Tell me you want me. For longer than today.
“All I’ve done today is think about you.” Her voice is husky now.
I move my right hand from her waist into her jeans. They’re a little snug, but I’m still able to make it inside and down between her legs. “You’re fucking soaked.”
“Told you,” she breathes. “All I’ve done today is think—”
My mouth is on hers before she can finish that sentence. I press a finger inside of her, which causes her to moan into my mouth.
This is too much. Too overwhelming. Pulling my hand out of her pants, I bring my other one down until I’ve worked the button loose on her jeans. Unzipping them, I’ve got her jeans and panties down to her knees before you could say “Meatloaf.” I make quick work of my own pants and boxers until I’m free and hard against her ass.
“This okay, honey?” I murmur.
“Yes.”
“Bend over. Hold on to the counter.”
“O-Okay.”
With my palms on her hips, I pull her closer to me. Lining myself up, I’m inside so fast, I feel dizzy. She felt like a fist on my cock last night, but this w
ay, from behind, it’s like a velvet vise.
“Fuck,” I spit as I pull out and thrust back in hard. “Hold on tight.” This is gonna be fast.
“It feels good, Gage.”
With every thrust in, she presses back. It’s like we’re doing a well-choreographed dance—one we’ve done a million times before. But this is only the second time for us, and it’s so. Fucking. Good.
I’m close. Reaching around her, I find her clit and circle it fast, then slow. When I give it a little pinch, she comes, and I feel it down to my toes. She’s pulsing around me, which puts me there. With a growl, I come hard inside her.
Oh fuck.
Inside her.
“Daisy?” I look down at the place we’re joined, watching as I seep out of her entrance. It’s confusing me because the animal in me loves the idea of Daisy and me mating. But the human male in me, who’s always responsible and thoughtful, is fucking disgusted with himself. “I didn’t wear a condom.” I pull out and reach into the drawer next to her right arm for a clean dishtowel. Pressing it against her, I wipe away the excess. Folding it onto itself, I hold it there, waiting.
She’s silent for way too long before she finally says, “Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
She reaches down and pulls up her pants. “I just finished my period. I’m sure it’s okay.”
“If not….” If not, I’ll be there for you. Except I don’t say it.
“No worries.” She shrugs. Turning to face me, she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I guess you like meatloaf.” Then she giggles and I’m able to breathe again. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Bending down, I kiss her softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” I hope she understands what I mean.
“Okay.”
I’m going to take that as a good sign.
“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes if you need to, um….” She looks down at me. I’m still naked from the waist down.
“I’ll go clean up and change.” I reach down and pull up my pants and boxer briefs. “Back in five.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Daisy
I’m not on birth control. Why would I be? I mean, before Gage Golden knocked on my door, I practically hid from the world. Hell, the night he discovered her… Kara, I barely opened my door.
Now all I want to do is be out. I want to be with people, to see the world, to experience all the things I’ve missed out on. I’m not sure a baby would fit into this revised worldview, but like I told him, my period ended less than a week ago. I’m sure I’m okay.
Even if I’m not, I could live this life. You know, the one where I do my thing all day while he’s at work. Sometimes I could make him dinner, sometimes he would cook, but every day we’d do what we did in the kitchen just now. Because wow-wow-wow, that was sexy and hot and it felt so good. No way can my toys replicate that. Not in a million years. No, Gage and me, we’re in sync when it comes to sex. Very in sync.
It’s too bad it won’t last. Nothing this good ever does. To be honest, I was surprised he came home and did what he did. I figured he’d go to the station, tell his boss what was going on here, and be forced to choose between me and his job. But I guess he was right. Everything was okay there.
Shaking off my negative thoughts, I smile as Gage eats a third portion of, well, everything. “You like it?” I want to laugh at my question because it’s obvious he does. He’s barely spoken since he took his first bite.
“Mmhmm,” he says, nodding. Shoveling a scoop of potatoes in his mouth, he closes his eyes and nods again. “Good.”
Oh, he said a word. I giggle to myself because it feels wonderful to do something for another person—one who appreciates the gesture.
I didn’t set out today to be Betty Crocker for Gage. No, I left right after he did and hopped on the bus en route to a phone store to replace the one I left on CyRide. This time, the phone’s in my name, and I’m the only one who has access to it. I made sure to choose a different service provider, just in case.
After that, I walked to my favorite thrift store to shop for more clothing. The things I bought yesterday are fine, but I needed more since the weather is turning colder. I found several sweaters, a wool skirt, and a pair of retro-looking shoes, then moved on to another large chain store to buy more underwear and a black bra and some tights. As I passed the grocery section of the store, I decided I would cook Gage a good meal. It was the least I could do, you know other than sleep with him, since he was letting me stay at his place. But I didn’t sleep with him for him. That was all for me.
Making meatloaf and mashed potatoes was a no-brainer—it was my mom’s favorite meal, and because she loved it, so did I. My attempt at homemade bread was all my idea, though. I didn’t ever recall her making bread, but how hard could it be, right?
It turns out it’s harder than it looks. Not even YouTube videos helped me.
Reaching out, I pick up my slice of bread with butter slathered on top and bite. “Mm,” I say aloud. “That’s not bad.”
“Good,” Gage grunts again, and I laugh.
“What?” he asks with his mouth full.
“Nothing.” I smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
I watch him swallow his bite. After drinking a sip of water, he smiles at me. “I do. It’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”
For some reason, his words make me blush.
“I’m happy to hear that.”
I really am.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gage
We’ve eaten dinner, done the dishes, and now we’re sitting on the sofa watching a sitcom. It feels so damn domestic. I should probably cringe at the notion and run for the hills, but that’s not the way I feel about it. No. I’m content. Happy, even. I mean, my stomach is full—very full—and my arm is wrapped around my girl, who’s cuddled into me and laughing at something funny on TV. Pepper Anderson is curled up in Daisy’s lap like she’s meant to be there, all while Daisy strokes the top of her yellow head.
This is the life.
At least it’s the life I’ve always wanted. A life I only imagined with one other person, but she’s better off where she is. I know that now, because I was never supposed to be with Quinn Maxwell. No, I’m sure I was always meant to meet Daisy.
“Well, that was a funny show.”
“It was,” I say absently as I run my fingers over a strand of hair that must’ve fallen out of her bun. It feels silky as it slides along my hand. “I’ve never seen it. I’m usually on patrol at this time of night.”
Daisy turns her body until we’re facing each other. “That’s right. I forgot about that. You were on patrol that night.”
“I was.”
“So, after this investigation, you’ll go back to working nights?” Her dark brows furrow, and her nose scrunches up. It’s fucking adorable.
“I assume so. Why? Does that bother you?”
I’m waiting for a response, but all she’s doing is blinking. I can see worry in her eyes. “No. Of course not. Are we…?” she stammers. “Is this…?”
Taking her hands in mine. “I think we are, and I think this is, but only time will tell.”
She’s searching my eyes, though for what, I’m not sure. “It’s moving fast.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I don’t think so.
Turning back to her spot cuddled up against me, she says, “I don’t know.” Picking up the remote, she presses the Guide button. “It’s only eight. Let’s watch something else.”
I guess we’re done talking about that, which is okay with me because it got heavy real fast, and I don’t have any answers for us right now. Neither of us does.
As she slides through channels, I spot something I’ve wanted to check out. “Let’s watch The Great Gatsby.”
“Ha-ha,” she deadpans. “Funny.”
“What? Why not. It’s got that Leo guy in it, right? I heard it’s good.”
Daisy presses her face into my arm and groans. Or maybe gr
owls is a better word.
“What?”
Pushing away from me, she looks me square in the eye and says, “I’m named after the heroine in The Great Gatsby, although ‘heroine’ denotes someone good or heroic, and she was definitely neither of those things.”
“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure where she’s going with this. “So, no to the movie?”
I guess what I said was funny because she laughs. “Fine. I haven’t seen this version of the story, so if you want to watch it….” She looks me square in the eye, “But if you think I’m anything like that character—”
Raising both hands, I pronounce, “I promise. No comparisons.”
“Because my father is an asshole, and it started the day I was born. He cursed me with this name, and he did it on purpose.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Because his father, Rochester Buchanan, who was named after the character Edward Rochester from Jane Eyre, named my father after a character in an Oscar Wilde novel. His only novel.”
“Why is that a curse?”
“Because.” She sighs. “He’s named after the main character in The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
“What’s wrong with that?” She’s going to have to spell this out for me.
“Wow. Okay. So, The Picture of Dorian Gray is about this young, wealthy man who has a painting of himself commissioned. The artist is so taken with Dorian’s good looks, he becomes obsessed with him. It ends up being this artist’s masterpiece. In the course of the sittings, Dorian’s introduced to another man, a lord. I can’t remember his name, but this lord shows Dorian the dark side of London.”
“Dark side?”
“You know, drugs, prostitutes, things of that nature. The London underbelly.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Anyway, Dorian gets so deep into this underbelly, it goes on for a long time, and he ends up murdering someone. But the part about this story that made it so strange was that no matter how old or debauched Dorian got, it never showed. Years pass and he never ages or changes. None of his excess affects him. Instead, all of his bad, terrible deeds appear in the painting.”
