The Best Man

by Natasha Anders

  “Your fucking aunts,” Spencer muttered, sounding pissed off. “Why would they sabotage your self-worth like that? I thought family’s supposed to lift you up and make you feel special.”

  “I think they thought they were complimenting me. Daff’s the cute one, Lia’s the pretty one, and Daisy’s the clever one,” she intoned before snorting in dark amusement. “More like Daff’s the neurotic one, Lia’s the needy one, and Daisy’s the insecure one.”

  “I swear to God, if they start carrying on about this crap at the wedding, I’ll—” He paused and she felt him shrug. “I don’t know. Steal their dentures and force them to eat popcorn and apples or something.”

  She surprised herself by giggling.

  “Badass!” she teased.

  “You know it.” She lifted her hand to cup his jaw, and he leaned into her touch.

  “Spencer, I think this whole year for me has been about proving that I can take care of myself. That I can live alone, I can quit my job, I don’t need a man, and . . . I don’t know, I can find what really makes me happy.”

  “I get it,” he whispered, covering her hand with his own. He turned his head and kissed her palm tenderly.

  “So this thing between us . . . I can’t. The timing . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “I know.” His voice was a gentle rumble and filled with nothing but understanding. Her tears overflowed, and she tried not to let on that she was crying. But somehow, despite the darkness, he knew.

  “Don’t, Daff. Don’t cry. I’m here for you. In whatever capacity you need me.”

  “I just don’t want to label this.”

  “But this exists?” She could hear the question in his voice and nodded.

  “It does. But no boundaries, Spence. No parameters. No labels.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” she sobbed. “Because I don’t even know if I do.”

  “Ssh.” He kissed her palm again. “I won’t be yet another thing for you to worry about, darling. No labels. Just this.”

  He turned until he was on his back and she was straddling him, his hard shaft pulsing beneath her wet nakedness.

  “Condom?” she asked, her voice wobbling with excitement. Even after everything they’d done that night, she still couldn’t get enough of him. Of this. And she had never been on top before. She was practically quivering in anticipation.

  “I left a few on the nightstand,” he grunted, arching up against her. She hissed in pleasure at the contact and fumbled around in the predawn grayness until she found what she was looking for. She had him sheathed and poised for entry in moments, and when she finally sank down and accepted him into her body, they both sighed blissfully.

  Nothing had ever felt more perfect.

  Neither of them got any sleep after that, and about an hour and a half later, after sharing a quick and naughty shower, they left Daff’s place—Spencer to dash home for a quick change of clothes before work, and Daff heading straight for the boutique.

  Despite her exhaustion, Daff couldn’t stop smiling for most of the morning. Definitely out of character for her, and she was happy that Steph, the manager in training, didn’t come in on Saturdays. She even found herself humming a couple of times, and when her phone rang at eleven and the cartoon penis flashed onto the screen, her heart did a weird little loop-the-loop in her chest.

  “Hey,” she hummed.

  “Do you still have me listed as the Dick in your contacts?” he asked without any preliminaries, and her smile widened.

  “Yep. But I’m thinking of changing it to Mr. BAD.” No response, and she knew that Spencer, being Spencer, probably didn’t get it. So she elaborated, “Y’know? Big-Ass Dick?” He was quiet for a beat, and then he chuckled.

  “Yeah?” He sounded half-embarrassed, half-flattered.

  “Only the truth.”

  “Well, then—” He gave another huffing little laugh, and Daff would bet decent money that he was probably blushing. He cleared his throat before changing the subject. “Just checking in to see if you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Feeling a bit achy. You?”

  “Same. I miss you.” She rolled her eyes while grinning so broadly it felt like her cheeks would split.

  “Shut up. You saw me like three hours ago.”

  “Too fucking long ago. Want to have lunch at MJ’s?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

  “I want to order takeout from MJ’s, head to your place or mine, and not surface again till tomorrow.”

  “That sounds doable.”

  “Meet you there after one?”

  “Yeah. Don’t know how I’m going to last that long without you.” Damn it. Why did the man have to be so freaking adorable?

  “Later, Mr. BAD,” she singsonged and disconnected the call with a swipe of her thumb. After that she leaned on the counter and daydreamed about him and all the things they had done last night and would do later. The man was frighteningly addictive, but Daff had decided not to worry about that. To just enjoy this for however long it lasted. Just another leg—extremely vital—on her journey of self-discovery.

  That evening, after a day of nothing but fantastic sex mixed in with periods of long conversation about everything and absolutely nothing, Daff and Spencer sat cuddled on her sofa, blindly staring at the bright images on the television screen. Daff’s head was on Spencer’s bare chest. He had very thoughtfully brought a pair of pajamas for his sleepover, of which Daff was wearing the top and Spencer the bottoms. Her legs curled over his lap, and she was more interested in his relaxed breathing and strong, reassuring heartbeat than she was in the movie on TV. She didn’t even know what it was—something with UFOs and way too much talking. She kind of resented the stupid movie, because right now Spencer seemed more interested in it than he was in Daff.

  Jealous of a movie. What in the actual fuck was up with that?

  It wasn’t like the man hadn’t showered his undivided attention on her all day. She had been his entire focus for hours, but Daff felt like a junkie. She discovered that she absolutely craved his every look, touch, and smile. She hoarded them and found herself recalling everything he’d said and done with absolute clarity. It wasn’t even about the sex—well, not entirely about the sex; he made her feel absolutely precious. She found his gentle and thorough lovemaking so much more appealing than anything else she’d experienced before. His reverent touches, appreciative compliments, and long, lingering kisses made her feel like a shy young girl around her first crush, yet she hadn’t felt awkward or unsure around him once today.

  She snuggled closer, and his arm, which was resting casually across her shoulders, tugged her even nearer. She lifted her face and buried her nose in the nook where his neck met the strong curve of his broad shoulder. He smelled clean and faintly like lavender after using her soap in the shower. Combined with his unique masculine musk, it was almost irresistible. She planted a soft kiss in the spot, and he tilted his head until his cheek rested on top of her hair.

  Her hand, which had been resting on his flat stomach, crept up over that spectacularly ridged abdomen, enjoying the feel of every hard, smooth inch as she explored her way up to the gorgeous pec that her cheek was resting on. She watched as his nipple drew tight and smiled in complete feminine satisfaction. She didn’t touch it but brought her hand to rest in the shallow valley between his impressive pecs. She walked her middle and index fingers down between his six pack, along the happy trail of silky black hair there. She ignored his ragged inhalation of breath, too focused on watching the way his muscles twitched as her fingers stepped lightly over them. They reached the indentation of his navel, and she paused as she contemplated her next move. Spencer’s heart was racing beneath her ear, and his breathing came in gasps.

  She circled her index finger around the sensitive oval of his belly button before her fingers continued on their little trek down the now slightly wider trail of silky hair. When her fingers reached the elastic barr
ier of his pajama bottoms, they paused again, and she became aware of the fact that Spencer had gone completely still. Even his breathing had stopped.

  She took the higher road, literally. Instead of burrowing beneath the waistband, her hand glided over the top and found his straining length beneath the fabric. She slid her palm over his hard, thick shaft and cupped him possessively. His breath exploded from his chest on a long groan, and it was all Daff could do to stop herself from groaning in sympathy. She wanted him again. She couldn’t get enough of him. She climbed on top of him, straddling his lap, and allowed herself one quick grind up against him before she lifted her warm wetness all the way off him.

  His hands went to her hips as he tried to drag her back down, but she smiled into his strained face before putting her own hands over his and pulling them away.

  “Nope. I’m driving this bus, mister. Just keep your hands to yourself.”

  “You’re killing me, Daff,” he said hoarsely.

  “You’ll survive.” She lowered her head and latched her mouth onto his neck and sucked, knowing that the pressure was too strong and uncaring of the mark she’d leave there. He loved it, throwing his head back to allow her more access. His arms were stretched out over the back of the sofa, and for now he followed her rules and kept his hands well away from her.

  Daff kissed her way down over his chest, lavishing attention on his nipples, and his hips bucked, sneakily stealing another quick grind against her naked core. She hissed at the scalding sensation and bit back a cry of pleasure.

  “Keep that penis under lockdown, Spencer. It’s not allowed to join the fun and games yet,” she instructed sternly, and he practically sobbed in response to that. Her mouth went back to his nipples before following the same trail down his torso that her fingers had just moments ago. She crawled off the sofa until she was kneeling between his spread legs, her hands braced on each hard, thickly muscled thigh, spreading them farther apart to allow her better access.

  Her lips reached the same barrier her fingers had, and she lifted her face to contemplate the pajama bottoms thoughtfully. Her hands crept up to the waistband, and her fingers folded over the elastic and tugged. When they didn’t budge, she looked up into his strained face.

  “Lift your tight little butt, big guy, I’ve got work to do here.”

  “Daff?”

  “Don’t make me ask again,” she warned him, feeling a little giddy with the extent of her arousal. She kind of liked bossing him around like this. She was drenched with need, and every time he wordlessly obeyed one of her commands, her lady bits clenched painfully. He closed his eyes and did as she demanded, lifting his hips just enough for her to tug his pajamas down over his lean hips. They snagged over the rigid pole of his penis, and she gently lifted the elasticized waistband up and over his pulsing staff.

  She groaned hungrily when he was exposed to her and licked her lips at the beautiful sight just inches from her face.

  Spencer wasn’t sure what her endgame was, and he watched her intently as she examined his aching cock without making a move to touch it. He was happy to let her play and discover, knowing that after years of feeling helpless during sex, she needed the opportunity to explore the true extent of her power over him.

  Her small hand wrapped around his penis and peeled it away from his stomach, and he hissed in response to the sensation of her tight fist closing around him. He looked at her silky hair, unsure of what to expect, and then sighed in relief when he felt her hand begin to stroke him, slowly and sensuously. His breath was shuddering unevenly in and out of his lungs and, unable to resist, he reached down with both hands to caress her hair gently. Just this touch—surely she wouldn’t begrudge him this touch.

  “Feels good, darling,” he encouraged hoarsely. “Feels so . . . Oh my God !” The top of his head just about blew off when he felt the first tentative stroke of her tongue on him. She licked him delicately, like she would an ice cream cone, along the top, down the sides, then back up to the top. His hips jerked abruptly and uncontrollably before he tried his best to minimize his movements, not wanting to scare her off. His resolve lasted only as long as it took for her to add a little suction, and that was when he cried out, his eyes welling with tears of bliss and frustration. His hands curled into fists in her hair. His instinct was to thrust, but he knew he couldn’t. She needed to control the movement. But dear God, it was killing him. Until finally, miraculously, she found a rhythm.

  “Oh . . . Jesus!” She increased her suction, took more of him, moving her lips up and down the hard shaft so damned sweetly that he nearly wept at the incredible sensations. But—“Daff, you’ve got to stop . . . Stop, darling, I can’t hold off for much longer.”

  To his eternal regret, she lifted her mouth to look at him.

  “Why?” she pouted. For the first time, he noticed that her other hand was between her thighs as she took her own pleasure while giving it to him. It made him so fucking happy that she was taking enjoyment from this act, which had seemed so distasteful to her before, that for a moment he lost his train of thought.

  “Uh. Because, I’m going to come,” he finally remembered to reply, and as if on cue his cock throbbed in her hand, which was encircled around the base.

  Daff frowned, confused by his words. Of course he was going to come—that was the point. She wanted him to come. It was such a turn-on having him in her mouth, feeling his helpless responses to her every touch and kiss.

  Who knew?

  “I want to taste you,” she said resolutely, her voice sounding embarrassingly sexy even to her, and before he could respond, she went back to her task and this time didn’t let up until he cried out hoarsely, the sound filled with a crazy mix of anguish and ecstasy, and came so copiously she could barely keep up.

  She loved how, during his orgasm, which looked and felt mind-blowing, his grip on her head never tightened. He never took over the rhythm or shoved himself all the way to the back of her throat. He allowed her to decide how much she was willing to take and she adored that about him. Her regard shifted to his face; his eyes were screwed shut, his head thrown back, and the cords in his neck were strained. He looked beautiful, primal and fierce, and seeing him like that sent her over the edge. She lifted her mouth from his waning hardness and cried out as she came violently and powerfully. She went limp and was dimly aware of him dragging her trembling body up until she was cradled in his lap, his softening penis fitting snugly against her bottom.

  He planted little kisses all over her face and claimed her mouth for a hot, deep, very thorough kiss. Another surprise. In her—admittedly crappy—experience, guys didn’t like to kiss her after she’d gone down on them.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, sounding completely drained.

  “No, thank you. That was such a turn-on.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you—” He didn’t complete the question, but she knew what he wanted to ask.

  “Well, for starters, this movie blows. It’s boring as hell. So I found something more entertaining to do.” She heard the deep rumble of his chuckle beneath her ear and smiled. “I loved it. Now stop overanalyzing crap again. And you’d better get used to the bj’s, dude. Because the menu has changed and you’re now on it.”

  He laughed outright at that.

  “Cheesy, McGregor.”

  “Give a girl a break, Carlisle. You’ve tired me out. My brain is on autopilot. And don’t change the channel—this movie is the perfect sleep aid.”

  They went to bed early and, exhausted from their day of excessive sexual indulgences, they did nothing but sleep—naked and wrapped up in each other’s arms—all night long.

  The following morning, Spencer cracked open an eye and groaned at the bright sunlight flooding the small bedroom. He flung an arm out, looking for Daff, wanting to introduce her to his morning wood, but she was nowhere to be found. He frowned and sat up. The room was empty.

  Panicking for a moment, concerned that she
was once again sporting a pair of cold feet, he flung the bedcovers aside and jumped out of bed, intent on finding her and kissing her doubts away. He was headed toward the bedroom door when it creaked open and Daff carefully shouldered her way in, clutching a breakfast tray in her hands. She looked startled to find him standing just on the other side of the door.

  “Oh, you’re up,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. “I fixed us some breakfast.” His eyes swept down to the tray in bemusement. Two cups of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. And a fresh flower in a slender vase. He peered at the flower closely.

  “Is this a daffodil?” She went bright red at the question.

  “It’s the only flower I could find out in the garden. Daisy planted a crapload of daffodils when she first moved in. I’m pretty sure she did it to annoy me or something. She knows I hate them. Anyway, they’re the only ones in full bloom this time of year.”

  “Why do you hate them? I love Daffodil . . . s.”

  Daff rolled her eyes at Spencer’s lame little quip, but he barely cracked a smile and she blinked uncertainly.

  “Let me help you with that tray,” he offered, and the awkward moment slipped by. “This all looks awesome, thank you.” They retreated to the bed and sat cross-legged facing each other. Daff aimed an exasperated look at his lap.

  “You couldn’t put on your pajamas?” she asked, tossing a pillow into his lap to cover up his eager erection. She was wearing his top as usual, and it was modestly tucked over her lap, concealing her from his hungry scrutiny.

  “Couldn’t find them.” He shrugged. “Besides, putting them on just to take them off again seems like a waste of time and energy.”

  “Uh-uh, Spencer, no time for any rumpy-pumpy this morning, boy-o. We’re taking Charlie out, remember?”

  “Fuck. I forgot.” He’d made arrangements to pick her up at ten this morning, and while Charlie hadn’t seemed too enthused, Daff’s mother had ignored the girl’s surly reaction and had cheerfully agreed that Charlie would be ready and waiting for them.