What does that make me?
Definitely not a good girl. It’ll be impossible to pretend I am if I let myself do what I want. I won’t be able to lie to myself — or perhaps anyone else, either. It’ll be harder to wear the mask when I’ll know more of the truth that lives underneath. Becausehow can I please everyone else above myself, if I’m as deviant and ass-obsessed as Daryl fucking Winters?
But as I break out in a sweat to keep myself from coming, I can’t deny that I might be. And why fight it, when I’m safe with him?
I close my eyes, press my head back into the mattress, and open myself wide to receive. I quit holding back, and thrust at that thick, slippery finger until it’s fucking me in the ass as fast and hard as the ones in my pussy. Pleasure shoots through me so strongly, my whole body jerks against Daryl’s. The weight on top of me intensifies, keeping me in place while I fall apart in a roaring fit of spasms, moans, and moisture.
I feel full and wild and free. Loved and happy. Anchored, but floating, and totally at peace in the bliss that wracks my body in crashing waves of ecstasy.
Daryl shudders against me with a moan of relief to match mine. “Such a good fucking girl,” Daryl rasps, his tone hoarse and strained. “Taking what you deserve. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He kisses my forehead and my hair, and he leans his head to mine. “Thank you for trusting me.”
My body begins to settle, but it won’t stop humming.
“Leave those.”I nod at the dishes Daryl’s rinsing. “I’ll do them later.”
“I had no idea you were a dancer,” he says, loading the dishwasher anyway.
I scoff and turn down the music some more before I carry two dinners to the table. One’s pureed, and the other is a double helping. I don’t want Dad getting suspicious about there beingan extra plate having been used, so Daryl and I can share one. “I’m not a dancer.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What would you call the sexy way you’ve been moving around the kitchen to music?”
I frown. “Was I?”
“Definitely. I couldn’t decide which to enjoy more, your hips or the dreamy look on your face. It’s like you were somewhere else. Someplace nice.” He closes the dishwasher and gives me his full attention.
I sweep my hair away from my cheeks as they warm. “I didn’t really notice.”
“Do you ever dance on purpose?”
I adjust Mom’s chair and make sure her bib is sitting right. “Sometimes. I guess. In the bathroom. I used to go to Morrinsville for hip-hop classes when I was younger, but…” I tip my head at Mom and shrug again. “It was one of the first things that got trimmed due to tightened belts and time restraints. I wasn’t a rising star or anything, and I understood.”
Daryl nods. “You’re a very understanding person,” he says, stepping over to the window. “Do you think my jeans will dry before your dad gets home?” He peeks through the curtains into the darkness again. “Your dryer is different from mine, so I can’t tell.”
It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s only wearing a pair of pink sweatpants that are far too small for him. His nipple piercing twinkles under the kitchen lights, and I hold my hand over another giggle while I rush to finish my mouthful and clear my throat.
“He rarely comes back before nine, and you’ll hear the neighbors’ dogs when he’s close,” I assure him. “Tonight’s excuse is prep work for the upcoming barn dance the Thompson place. It’s a couple of weeks away, so he’ll be able to use that one a few times yet.” I move my overloaded plate toward him andoffer my fork. “Have some dinner and tell me how you’re going to avoid setting off those dogs when you have to sneak back to town.”
“You know they’re excuses?” he asks, sitting back at the table with me and Mom.
“What else would I call every possible reason the man thinks up to avoid having to face what his horse did to the love of his life?” I sigh. “He loved her so much, so I understand why it hurts him to be around her.”
Daryl studies me a moment. “Does it hurtyouto be around her?”
I look at Mom. “Not in the same way. I’ve known her like this for longer than I knew her as the woman she was. Mostly it hurts to feel jaded and numb and torn. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m meant to be somewhere else, but I know I’m needed here. It’s a different kind of pain. Heartache and grief related, but different.”
His gaze is intense, as if he’s heavily invested in every word I say. He gives me a small nod and then eats a few things from my plate while I feed Mom.
I wipe Mom’s mouth, and turn back to find him watching me with another strange look on his face. Sort of half-sad and half-amazed, if that’s even a thing. His face is incredibly expressive, and I’m anxious to learn more about what all his little eyebrow twitches and jaw adjustments mean.
I view him through a squinty side-eye. “What?”
He gives me a small smile, loads the fork, and hands it back to me. “Thank you for sharing your delicious home-cooked food and this part of your life with me.”
I furrow my brow and eat my forkful of boring old broccoli and chicken, unsure how to respond. Delicious? I didn’t even make cheese sauce. I should have. It would have been more impressive. “Sorry it’s not anything more exciting. I do all theprep on a Sunday, and I’ve fallen into the habit of making the same basic meals out of ease, but now I’m wishing I’d made more of an effort.”
Daryl leans back in his chair with a sigh and runs his hands through his shower-damp hair. He slides his gaze toward the plate of food I put aside for Dad for when he gets home. “Why would you apologize for lovingly making a nutritious meal for your family?” he asks.
I frown again. “I don’t know. I just wanted you to know this isn’t my best work, and next time I’ll do better,” I promise and take another mouthful, because apparently, orgasms — when shared with another human — are massively amplified and make me very hungry.
