The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)

by Natasha Anders

  The next half hour dragged by, and even though Daff constantly checked her messages, Spencer didn’t contact her. She knew he was probably busy with those “additional details,” but it was killing her not to talk to him about this. After six weeks of hearing about all the hopes he had for that place, for it to finally come to fruition . . . Daff wanted to share in that joy with him. It almost physically hurt her not to be there with him right now.

  “Daffy,” Daisy exclaimed, and Charlie sniggered when Daff glared at her sister. “What’s going on with you? You’re squirming like you have ants in your pants.”

  “Well, you’d know what that looks like, wouldn’t you?” Daff scowled. Daisy and Lia burst into laughter.

  “Yeah, sorry not sorry!” Daisy hooted, and Mason frowned.

  “What’s this now?”

  “We once put actual ants in her pants.” Lia chortled at the recollection.

  “Oh, I remember that.” Now their mother was laughing, too.

  “God, sometimes you guys really suck,” Daff muttered when Mason and even Charlie joined in on the laughter. “Some of those little bastards nearly crawled up my cooch.”

  “Daffodil! Language!” their mother admonished, clapping her hands over Charlie’s ears. The teen squirmed, still laughing, as she tried to free her head from Millicent McGregor’s hold.

  “You put soap on our toothbrushes,” Daisy reminded her gleefully. “You had it coming.”

  “Ugh. Keep laughing, I’m heading home . . . to chuck your caterpillars in the dustbin.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Daisy gasped.

  “That’s where the caterpillars disappeared to?” Mason asked, his eyes still alight with laughter.

  “I so would! Come and find them in the trash tomorrow,” she taunted with a wave as she grabbed up her purse and hastened to the front door.

  “Daff!”

  “Night, all!” Daff called cheerfully as she slammed out of the house to a chorus of Daisy’s frantic calls and everybody else’s laughter. Once she was outside in the cool night air, she leaned back against the front door and turned her attention on Spencer’s dark home just yards away. She could sit on his porch and wait for him, but it was a chilly spring night and there was no telling when he’d be back. Especially since he wasn’t answering his texts.

  She considered calling him, but knew that if he hadn’t even seen her text, then his phone was probably off.

  I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with you tonight. I know how much this means to you. I wish I could have been there. She contemplated her message for a long time before adding a sad face, followed by a heart and a kiss. Before she could think about it too long, she sent the message and trudged to her car.

  She was getting ready to climb into bed nearly an hour later when her doorbell rang. Startled, she froze for a second, wondering who on earth it could be at nearly twelve at night.

  Her phone buzzed and she picked it up from the nightstand and grinned when she saw the message: Open the door, Daffodil.

  She hastened to the front door and, after a quick peek through the window to confirm who it was, threw back the bolts and yanked the door open. He strode inside without a word and shut the door purposefully behind him.

  “You know I hate it when you call me Daffo—” Her words were cut off when his strong arms wrapped around her waist and yanked her to his chest. He sighed and buried his face in her hair. She smiled contentedly and snuggled there, rubbing her face against his well-defined pecs, while her own arms wound around his back and held on tight.

  This.

  This, right here, was perfection.

  “You did it,” she whispered, and he shook in her arms, mute testimony to how much that center meant to him and how afraid he’d been that it would be rejected. His grip around her waist loosened, and his hands reached up to cup her face and tilt her head back.

  “Daff . . . darling.” He hadn’t used the endearment in weeks, and Daff shuddered in response to it. He watched her for a moment and then, without any hesitation at all, lowered his head to claim her lips in the hungriest, hottest kiss she’d ever experienced. There was no subtlety as his tongue swooped into her mouth and simply claimed her, and for once, Daff was happy to be claimed. Her hands trailed to his shoulders and up around his neck as she gave and received in equal measure.

  He moved, hooking an arm around her waist and carrying her with him until she felt the wall at her back. He lifted his head and caged her with his body while she quivered in his hold. His forearms rested on the wall on either side of her head.

  “I can’t be your friend,” he whispered, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear and nuzzling. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want more.”

  She nodded in response to his words, unable to find her voice, her body warmed by the intense waves of heat coming off him. In this moment, she wanted more, too. No reservations, no insecurities, and no worrying about who was in control of what. They could both be captains of this freaking ship and ride out this storm together.

  “God, Daff, I burn for you.” He lifted his mouth and swept it up her throat and seared his way to her hungry mouth. He cupped her face again, palms on her cheeks. He used his thumbs to tilt her head back. His tongue found her mouth, and it felt like she was welcoming him home. Her hands stroked over the hard planes of his torso and up over his chest, where her fingers found the taut masculine beads of his nipples, evident even through the thick fabric of his shirt. She smiled when he jerked beneath her touch—it thrilled her when he reacted to her like that. Made her feel powerful.

  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.” T
his 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.

  “Stop thinking about it,” he instructed firmly. “And stay right here in this moment with me.”

  “Spencer,” she whispered helplessly.

  “Right here, with me,” he maintained. “Daff. Look at me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She lifted her eyes to his, and he grinned.

  “Keep looking,” he coaxed and then rewarded her by unfastening the top button of his shirt and dragging it over his head. He tossed the shirt aside and she nearly sighed at the familiar sight of his gorgeous chest. She reached up to touch all that smooth, firm flesh and was delighted when his muscles bunched and jumped beneath her fluttering touch.

  “Oh God, Spencer. You’re magnificent,” she said in awe, and his grin widened. She lifted her head and started trailing her lips over his warm, smooth, and slightly salty skin. Her mouth found his taut nipples and began to voraciously lick and suck the sensitive flesh.

  “You’re just so—” The rest of whatever he was saying was muffled against her neck, which he kissed and sucked before he found his way back to the lure of her mouth.

  He dragged his head up to peer down to her pouting breasts in unabashed hunger. They were both topless now, Daff in her panties and Spencer in his jeans. He reached down reverently to cup her breasts with both hands, testing their weight in his palms, his thumbs finding and teasing her nipples again. He stalled there, spending so much time on her nipples, Daff found herself uncomfortably overstimulated, dizzy and disoriented. He had to stop—he was literally driving her insane with pleasure.

  “Spencer,” she pleaded. “I can’t stand it anymore. Please.”

  “Hmm.” His mouth clamped over a nipple, the suction bordering on painful, and his hand burrowed beneath her panties, where his thumb stroked her clit while his middle and index fingers buried themselves inside her tight, wet sheath. She shuddered and screamed as she came almost immediately. He continued suckling on her nipple while his free hand stroked the other, prolonging and intensifying her powerful orgasm. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and fought for breath. Her complete focus was on the pleasure he was giving her.

  When she finally stopped clenching around his fingers, she melted onto the bed in a boneless, exhausted, sweaty heap of satisfaction. She was still trembling from her release and feeling more than a little shattered by the sheer magnitude of her orgasm. Spencer dragged her panties off, tearing them a little and leaving the ruined and soaked garment tangled around one of her ankles.

  “Okay, darling?” he asked gently, and Daff barely found the energy to shake her head.

  “No. Damn you. I’m not.” It took everything in her not to cry like a baby again. What was it about the orgasms this man gave her that made her dissolve into an emotional heap every single freaking time? He kissed her again, and she was vaguely aware of him tugging something from the back pocket of his jeans. He got off the bed to very carefully drag off the offending denim garment. Good thing, too. Those damned jeans had overstayed their welcome.

  God, he had superlative thighs. Heavy, well defined, and gorgeously muscled. A sportsman’s thighs. Her mouth went dry as she watched him climb back onto the bed. Brandishing that massive erection like a club, he clambered between her thighs, and she gawked at that huge thing so comfortably resting on top of her naked mound. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the red, plum-size glans shone with moisture. She unthinkingly reached down to pet it.

  “Uh-uh,” he rasped, intercepting her hand. “Hair trigger, remember?”

  Daff stared mutely up into his beautiful, savage face.

  She couldn’t believe they were finally going to do this. It felt so right. There was no overthinking it, and she was happy in this moment to trust Spencer not to abuse the power she was ceding to him.

  She watched him open the little foil package and drag the latex up over his hardness. Afterward he sawed that sheathed column up and down against her cleft and she groaned, more than ready to go again.

  “Spencer,” she whispered, thrusting up against him, wanting so much more. She felt open and exposed, but she didn’t care if he could see right into her soul. Not anymore.

  “Darling Daff,” he growled, intensifying the sawing against her clit. He never quite allowed her to come down from her previous climax, and it was driving her crazy because while she felt sated, she didn’t feel finished. Finally, he reached between them and took hold of his shaft, placing himself at her entrance. Very slowly and very gently he eased himself inside. Daff whimpered at his impossible size, bigger than anything she’d ever felt before. She craved more and moved impatiently against him, even while his largeness felt uncomfortable. He refused to rush, doing this in Spencer time. And Spencer time crept along at a snail’s pace.

  “You’re so tiny, tell me if it hurts.” Everybody was tiny next to him, but Daff appreciated his concern and, considering the size of him, was grateful now for the slow pace he had set. She sobbed slightly at the stretching fullness. He really was uncomfortably big. Sensing her uneasiness, he reached down and found her clit with his thumb. All thoughts of discomfort fled as her body blindly followed instinct and moved restlessly beneath his. He hissed in reaction when she thrust her hips against him.

  “No, darling, don’t move. I don’t think I can—” She ignored him and pushed up even farther, grinding herself against his hand as she sheathed him almost completely. Spencer groaned, sounding almost pained, and swore shakily when she slid down, guiding the rhythm for now, before pushing back up to gain another inch.

  Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes shut in concentration as he remained
completely still, allowing her to set the pace. Daff widened her thighs even more and planted her feet flat on the mattress as she slowly slid down his hard length again. He moved his knees under her butt, giving her more control, while her shoulders remained flat on the bed. Her bum was on his lap and angled just enough to give her complete and unrestricted access to his penis. Using only her feet for leverage, she slid slowly up and down his shaft. His hands moved to her straining breasts, strumming her nipples, while his eyes slid back and forth between her face and the sight of his hardness sliding in and out of her softness.

  “Spencer,” she whispered, one hand reaching up toward his face, and he lowered himself just enough for her to hook her palm around his neck and drag herself up until she was straddling his lap and her breasts were flattened against his chest.

  “You feel so good,” she sobbed, loving this so much. Her other arm flung around his neck, and he buried his face in her neck. She felt him huffing for breath against her skin while his arms wrapped around her waist.

  She wasn’t sure who was directing the pace anymore, and she didn’t really care. It was all give and take in this moment, and she felt his breath quickening against her.

  “I can’t much longer, Daff,” he groaned. “Going to fucking come.”

  “Good,” she huffed as she continued to rock against him. He felt wonderful inside her. Filled her completely. He belonged right there for all eternity. The thought scared her, but she shoved it aside as she focused on her building orgasm.

  “Spencer,” she entreated, not sure why she was pleading with him when he was doing everything right. He yanked her closer with one strong arm while bracing his other hand on the mattress behind her. He maneuvered her until she was flat on her back and he was propped above her, and this time there was no mistaking who was in charge as he slammed into her. His face hovered above hers, his eyes entangled with hers. He was dripping with sweat, his biceps and shoulders bulging as he held his weight off her.

  She grunted with each thrust, the sound guttural and in no way, shape, or form ladylike. There was nothing ladylike about her at all in this moment, and she didn’t care. This was primal, it was fierce, it was perfect.