The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(46)

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.” This 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.