As overwhelmed into a stunned freeze-mode as I am, he’s the opposite. He’s in constant action, and his every move is made with an aura of duty and protection as he makes sure I’m doing okay and looking okay. He carries me out of the bathroom, settles me into my desk chair, and makes sure I’m steady enough to keep my balance before he stands and looks around. My purse catches his eye, and he brings it over before he starts to rearrange my clothes, so they sit as they’re meant to.
He seems to understand I’m not capable of getting my shit together just yet and has taken the lead in my much-needed, post-climactic spruce up, because I definitely can’t be seen in this state in if we’re going to keep our indecent activities a secret. I looked in the mirror as I was carried out of the bathroom. I saw the look on my face. Messed hair, rosy cheeks, and rumpled clothes aside, my expression was a combination of shock and bewildered satisfaction. If my current look doesn’t screamthe virgin just got some action,I don’t know what else would.
Which is probably why Daryl has taken on a very serious, vigilant, and responsible duty-of-care-type energy. I’ve never known a man to display that kind of behavior, but it’s hot as fuck. It’s giving dotingboss-daddyvibes, and I amherefor it.
He frowns with concentration as he studies my blouse. Despite having just re-buttoned and tucked it in for me, he tugs it free of my skirt, yanks it upward, pulls down the thin lace of my bra, and latches on to my hard nipple with a rumbling growl. His suction is fierce, and I gasp before a low, needy moan is pulled from my throat. I rock my body closer, instantly desperate for the relieving friction he knows how to give. “Daryl.”
He moans into my breast and withdraws slowly, letting my nipple drag through his teeth with the most exciting, pain-edged pleasure. He drags his hand down his face and groans. “That wasn’t helpful,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it. He re-fastens the three buttons that came open in the flurry oftitillation, and he does his best not to stare at my nipples, which definitely have no hope of hiding away when they’re still tingling with desire. “It’s really fucking hard to get you ready for the outside world when your gorgeous tits are demanding attention, Beautiful.”
“Sorry,” I whisper.
He meets my gaze and shakes his head. “Don’t you dare fucking apologize for being gorgeous and hot for me.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, and I avoid his penetrating stare by ducking my head.
Daryl crooks his finger under my chin and lifts. He searches my face, grunts softly, and kisses each of my cheeks. “This is going to be a real fucking challenge, isn’t it?”
I give him a shy nod, and he grunts again — this time, like he’s in pain. “You’re too fucking sexy for me to play it cool around you, but I’m determined not to let it show when it matters. I won’t let you down, and I’m going to do my best not to think so many thirsty thoughts — especially while I get you ready for the public. I need to fix your clothes and hair. Probably reapply your lip balm.”
“I can do it myself, now I’ve had a minute.” I rise to my feet and force my wobbly legs to firm up, but Daryl scoops me up and sets me back down in my chair.
“I want to do it,” he says, crouching in front of me. “Please.”
His face is so serious. Intent.
Unsure of his reasons for wanting to do such basic things for me when I’m capable of doing them myself, I’m unsure of how torespond, but more curious than disconcerted, I give him a small nod.
He bows his head in thanks and tucks my blouse back into my skirt. He then smooths the fabric and straightens my collar — efficient and methodical as he reverses every visible sign of my undoing that he did. We’re both so very aware that I need to walk out the door presentable, as if nothing life-changing or scandalous has happened between us.
I sit like a queen being dressed and primped by an incredibly handsome and attentive manservant. I’ve never had anyone pay such close attention to me. It’s half-unsettling, and half-intoxicating, and I’m fascinated by Daryl’s ability to hyper-focus on prioritizing my needs, when he looks just as undone.
I can smell myself on him every time he gets close. When I close my eyes, I can instantly recall the feel of his beard scuffing my thighs. A little rough, a little ticklish, and absolutely soaking wet. He needs to wash up and tidy his hair. It’s a mess from his enthusiastic foray under my skirt, and I’d love to run my fingers through it. There’s a sense of pride and propriety rising within me, for having been the one to have ruffled that thick mane. Maybe I’ll get to zhuzh him a little too, before we have to part ways and pretend nothing happened. I both know this little fantasy bubble we’re in has to pop soon, but I don’t think either of us want it to.
He digs around in my purse and pulls out my lip balm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be poking around in my personal spaces. Should it feel more intrusive than it does? Because I’m unbothered. In fact, I wouldn’t mind him poking aroundanyof my personal spaces. I’d actively encourage it.
His intentions toward me are so caring I can almostfeelhim holding me in a calm and steady domain of safety — one he’s created specifically to provide stability just for me. It’s flatteringand comforting and so incredibly supportive, I want to stay with him and feel this good all day. I can honestly say that I trust this man without a doubt. Does he trust me?
I raise my hand to touch his short wavy hair, which starts out dark at the roots and grows lighter toward the tips, but I get distracted by the way he starts dabbing lip balm over my pout. I can’t help but pant softly at his fingertips while he kneels before me, transfixed on the task.
Mid-sweep, he pauses. My lips are slightly parted, and he’s stalled in the center. His finger feels on the verge of entering the portal into my mouth, and my thoughts get so filthy, I flush with heat and curl my lips into a nervous smile. He lifts his gaze to lock with mine, and a charged heat passes between us.
He leans in and gives me a sweet, innocent kiss before he rests back on his heels again. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and his eyes sparkle before his eyelashes flutter sweetly. Is he tasting the subtle apricot shine he’s collected from me? Nothing is said, but I’m convinced he’s aroused by the flavor. His pupils are so dilated, it makes his eyes look dark and hungry, and I shiver with the thought of being devoured by him again.
A low rumble warns me to behave, and he shakes his head. “That’s the opposite of what we’re trying to achieve here, Sugar Britches.”
He drops my lip balm back into my purse and pulls out my hairbrush. I reach for it, but he meets my out-stretched hand with his much larger one. He carefully curls my fingers into a loose fist, which he presses to my thigh. “Please let me.”
It’s sort of a question, and he lingers waiting for me to grant permission, but we both know what he wants the answer to be. Even so, he makes no move to push me in any direction. He simply waits patiently for me to decide, making it clear that it’s up to me if I want to receive his offer to care for me or turn him down in favor of my independence.
What’s the right choice? My insides are a surprising mess of nerves and confusion. Nobody ever asks me what I want or how I want it done, and they sure as hell don’t offer or beg to help me with stuff.I’mthe one who brushes the other person’s hair. I’m the one who does the caring, the acts of service. I have to fight for every shred of love I get, and most of the time, it’s not worth the argument. I’ve learned to preserve my energy by just doing everything myself, and Daryl’s behavior is so foreign, I almost don’t know if I can trust it. My eyes start to prickle with heat.
Daryl makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, and his eyes fill with compassion as he watches the first of my tears fall. “It’s okay, Beautiful,” he whispers with a nod. “I know it feels hard. It’s not meant to, but we can fix that, okay? Together. Because you deserve for it to feel easy. I know you’re strong, and you can do everything yourself, but Iwantto lighten your load. You deserve to feel the same kind of love you give to the world.”
He rises from his crouch, bends forward, to kiss my forehead, and then begins to brush my hair. Slowly. He gives me time to adjust to the beautiful feeling, and he’s so gentle, I feel like some precious, delicate thing he dares not break. Every stroke of my brush is followed by a smoothing pat of his hand, and I haven’t felt so treasured in… maybe ever. It’s the way I used to feel when Mom brushed my hair, but I’m not sure even she made me feel this cherished.
The rhythmical sound, the sensual dragging of the bristles, and the absolute love radiating from Daryl, lull me into a calm, almost hypnotic state, and still, I can’t stop crying. It’s not because I hate any part of it. I simply don’t want it to end. It’s like his touch is stirring up years of emotion I didn’t even know I had stored away, and the only way I can release it all is through my eyes.
I sniff and glance at the big clock on the wall. Normally, I’d be getting ready to lock up and head back home about now,to relieve Michelle and resume my position as Mom’s unofficial primary carer. The official title somehow goes to Dad, though how anyone could believe that truth when they know he spends so much time doing favors for everyone else, I’ll never know.
