There was something about having her stand above him as he sat in his chair. His head tilted back and his body came alive. Stirring. Wanting.
She looked at him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “That is what I’m selling.”
“And I,” Crash continued, “for one, bow to your genius.”
One of her eyebrows rose in a perfect arch. She took a step toward him. “Do you, now?”
“I positively genuflect to it. In fact, I—”
Daisy held up a hand. “All talk. I’ve had tea and scones. You didn’t promise me adulation, Crash. You promised…”
She trailed off, and Crash found himself holding his breath, waiting for her to say the word.
“You promised…”
“I promised you an orgasm? Oh, no.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “You declined. I recall you promising to see to your own.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you asking me to leave?”
He paused. He considered. Then he crooked a finger at her. “On second thought… Come here.”
She took a step toward him, then another, until she stood next to his chair. He sat watching her. Wondering what she would do. Hoping…
She didn’t reach out. She didn’t lay a hand against his cheek. She looked at him with solemn blue eyes. He wondered, then, if she was remembering what had happened the last time they’d been in this situation—alone together, their bodies humming, reason taking its leave.
There had been nothing quite so vulnerable as that moment after they’d had each other, when passion was sated, when the future had opened up before them as a vast unknown. They’d wounded each other deeply then.
“Not again,” he said slowly.
She looked at him.
“I promise,” he said. “Not again. No matter what happens. I will never again lash out at you in anger. I will never tell you the words that other people would say. I will never say you’re less because I’ve been hurt. I promise.”
“I promise,” she said. “I will never again see you with anyone else’s eyes. Just mine.”
Their eyes met. His promise settled on him like a comforting weight. It felt like a velvet cloak in the middle of a winter night, shielding him from winds and cold.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “that I hurt you. So much that you shoved me away.”
She reached out and took his hands. “Make it better, then.”
He wasn’t sure if he pulled her onto his lap or if she came to settle there on her own. This time, when he kissed her, he kissed her for all his hopes, all his wishes. For the future he’d built. For the things he wanted for him. For them.
His hand slid up her spine. Gently.
She moved to straddle him, her thighs settling against his hips. Even through layers of petticoat and skirt and trousers, he could feel her body press against him. Against his cock, which slowly came to life.
They’d done this before, kissing and touching until they were both afire. This time, though, it felt… fragile, like a plant thought dead, poking new leaves through the soil after a freezing winter. Fragile and yet strangely robust, as if the roots had grown deep during their dormancy.
He kissed her gently, nurturing every unfurling leaf.
The gasp she made as he kissed her. The lift of her head as he pressed his lips to her neck, turning her face up like a flower to the sun. The parting of her lips as his hand found her nipple.
“There you are, Daisy,” he whispered. “There you are.”
Her hands slid down his ribs. “Here you are.” Their lips met once more.
“Here.” His hands slid up her skirt, skimming the soft flesh of her knees, her thighs. “Let me help.”
She was wet; when he slid his thumb between her folds, her breath caught momentarily. That little catch nearly broke him. He kissed the side of her neck, wanting more. She tilted her head back.
“There?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out on a hush. “There.”
“Wait.”
“Wait? I can’t—”
He bodily picked her up, holding her close. “If I set you on the bed, I can use both hands instead of just the one.”
She nodded, and he brought her there. He could smell her desire, the wet, intoxicating musk of arousal. He set her down, lay beside her, and kissed her again. A kiss on the lips; a brush of his hand back between her legs. She opened for him, mouth and body alike. Her hips moved against his touch.
“This is why I need my other hand.” He unlaced her bodice, freeing her breasts.
She froze when his lips found her nipple, but then exhaled and moved against him. They found a rhythm like that, her beside him, his hand between her legs.
Her breath grew faster, then faster still. Then she let out a little choking noise.
God, he’d missed her. Her fingers clamped on his arms; her passage clasped his fingers, and her hips moved in time with him. She came apart in his arms.
He wanted more. All of her. That dazed look in her eyes, that soft, sweet smile that she gave him. He wanted to do it all over, to go back to the last time he had this, to do it right this time.
Her skin was warm; her mouth was soft and inviting when she kissed him.
More. His body was hard and all too ready. Don’t think. Act.
“Daisy.” His voice was low. “Darling. We have to talk of what comes next.”
“No.” She smiled up at him. “We don’t.”
“We haven’t decided anything. We should—”
She reached up and pulled him to her, and all his shoulds went up in smoke. There was nothing but Daisy, her hands pulling the tails of his shirt from his trousers. Her fingers ran up his chest, and it became imperative that he disrobe. That they touch each other. That the next kiss, when he took it, be skin to skin with nothing between them.
He shed his clothing and slid back against her. He could feel the curve of her hips against him, the nub of her nipples against his chest. His cock nestled against her, hard and wanting, and he could not help that tiny thrust of his hips. God, he needed to think.
He pulled away six inches.
“Crash.” Her hair was spilled on the sheets; her eyes were wide and inviting.
“Daisy, dearest.”
He’d been here before, with her. Wanting her so badly. Needing her.
Now he wanted to redo it. To take that hurt he’d given her last time and turn it to pl
easure. Nothing but pleasure for her from here on out.
Even now, even with his blood insistently thrumming in his veins, with his desire riding high, he wanted to cuddle her close, to build a fortress with his body to keep the world from getting at her.
He couldn’t shield her from everything. He hadn’t even been able to shield her from herself.
She smiled and curled her finger at him, beckoning him closer.
And in that moment, he was helpless. He leaned his head down to her. “Daisy. We shouldn’t.”
She laughed. “Who are you,” she said, “and what have you done with my Crash? You sound like someone who cares about such things as propriety and manners. We should, and you know it.”
They should.
He knew it.
He kissed her again, longer this time, lingering. He let his hands slide down the sides of her body, let his knees nudge hers further apart. Her breath scattered.
He slid inside her.
“Oh, God.” The words fell from her lips.
“Sweetheart.”
She surrounded him, all warmth and tight surrender. He took her, slow sweet inch by slow sweet inch, waiting for her breath to loosen before he went further. She opened to him slowly. Perfectly.
Until they were together, until he was buried deep inside her, her legs wrapping around his hips. Until she smiled up at him, and he wanted this, nothing but this, forever, and he drove into her, gently at first, then harder still. Until the world began to break apart. He held that line, waiting, bringing her with him, until they both dissolved in pleasure.
He held her afterward. He didn’t ever want to let go. He felt soft and vulnerable and almost afraid of what might come next.
But they had to disengage. They had to lie next to one another.
They had to look in each other’s eyes. He had to stroke her cheek and say the words that he most feared. “Daisy, darling. We have to talk of the future.”
She exhaled, leaning her forehead against his. “The final round of the competition is tomorrow. I don’t know how to think beyond it.”
And yet beyond it was where they had to go.
The truth, sometimes, was a weapon. He didn’t want to wound her, but…