The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(48)

She was still at the pinnacle when she felt him tense, groan, and then shudder in her arms, and they both floated down to earth together. He wrapped himself protectively around her, as if to shelter her from the world, and in his own quiet way made her feel safe and protected and cherished.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



She didn’t cry. She thought perhaps she was too wrung out to cry. She felt like crying, but she felt like laughing, too. She felt like running a mile or sleeping for days. She felt restless and contented. Wrong and right. Her emotions were jumbled up inside her, and it was both terrifying . . . and exhilarating.

All she knew for sure was that she felt safe in Spencer’s strong arms. Welcome and at home. It was a powerful and addictive feeling, and while she knew it should probably scare her, she didn’t really have the energy to worry about it now.

Spencer was quiet. He hadn’t said a word since their breathing had evened ages ago. She would have thought he was asleep if not for the gently stroking hand on her naked back. She was wrapped in his arms, her head on his bicep and her face against his chest. One of her hands rested on his waist, and the other was curled up against his chest. She never wanted to move.

“You okay?” he asked after another few minutes had passed.

“Yes.”

“I’m not sorry this happened, Daff,” he said, sounding almost defensive, and she smiled against his chest.

“Neither am I.” Sex had never been like this for her before. So emotional and intense. It had never felt this natural and beautiful, either. No toys or ropes, no whips and chains. Just them . . .

Spencer and Daffodil, giving and taking in equal measure. Daff had never really known it could be like that, and yet, that’s how she’d always known it should be.

“And I want to do it again,” he asserted, sounding stubborn, and her smile widened. She lifted her head so that he could see it.

“Good,” she said. His brow lowered in confusion, and she stretched up to kiss him lightly before lowering her head back onto his bicep.

“And I don’t want a no-strings thing this time.” Daff sighed and pushed herself up to face him, sitting cross-legged with her hands folded in her lap. He sat up, too, dragging a sheet over his hips and hiding that beautiful, burgeoning erection from her.

“You’re bound and determined to talk about this now, aren’t you?” she asked, pushing her messy hair out of her face.

“Hmm.” She grinned at the huffy sound.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that, big guy. You’re the one who wants to talk.”

“Just like to know where things stand, is all,” he groused.

“Why should we put a label on it? Why can’t it just be? You’re always overthinking things.”

“I just want people to know—” He stopped abruptly, as if thinking the better of what he’d been about to say.

“Uh-uh, I’m curious now,” she said. “You’d better finish that sentence.”

“I just want people to know that you’re with me, that’s all.”

“I told you, I don’t do that whole ownership thing anymore.”

“Yeah.” He looked moody and unsettled and confused. And boy, could she relate. “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“What?”

“Casual. Like it means nothing, when it fucking means everything.”

“I don’t know how to be what you want, Spencer,” she whispered. Unsettled by his words. By how much they echoed the way she felt about their encounter.

“That’s okay, darling,” he whispered back, cupping the side of her face. “You already are exactly what I want.”

There was no way to respond to that. None. For a man of few words, he often found just the right ones to say at just the right time.

She shook her head and smiled at him.

“I really don’t know what to do with you, Carlisle.” She sighed sadly, and he smiled.

“Right now? I have a few ideas.” He pointedly looked down at the tent that had formed in his lap and she giggled lightheartedly, only vaguely aware that she was seeing him through a haze of tears again.

“Yeah? Do enlighten me.”

The night passed in a beautiful blur of orgasms and laughter. Once he’d stopped asking difficult questions and expecting impossible things, they’d gone back to the easy relationship that had developed between them over the last few weeks. It was surprisingly uncomplicated, even with sex thrown into the mix.

“You have the sexiest legs,” she said during one of their breaks. They were sitting naked on her bed and eating the awful leftover pasta she’d cooked for dinner two nights ago.

“Hmm? I could say the same about yours.”

“These scrawny chicken legs have nothing on yours.” Her eyes drifted to the surgical scar on his left knee, and she pulled a face. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?” he asked absently, his eyes riveted on a dab of pasta sauce that had dropped to her naked breast.

“Playing.” He dragged his hungry scrutiny from the sauce to stare at her blankly, and she laughed in disbelief before elaborating even further, “Rugby. Do you ever miss playing it?”

He grinned sheepishly before shrugging.

“Honestly? And this stays between us. I fucking hated it. Hated every single thing about it. I never liked the sport, but it was my ticket out of here. I was relieved when I tore my ACL. I could have done the rehab, gone back, played again. But it was the excuse I was looking for to get out. I’d already gotten what I wanted out of the sport. It was time for me to move on with my life.”

She laughed incredulously at that revelation.

“I prefer cricket,” he continued conspiratorially, and she laughed even harder. She didn’t even know why she found it so funny, but it just made her admire him more. He’d done whatever the hell it took to better himself—what was not to admire? The man was amazing.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” he said seriously, “I hate to see good food go to waste.”

He bent over and finally claimed the errant drop of sauce that had trickled its way down to her nipple. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.

It was nearly dawn when she told him her most shameful secret. She didn’t know why she did it—it just came out, and she found herself grateful for the dark while she spoke.

“I don’t think I ever really liked sex before,” she blurted out into the night. The darkness helped, as did Spencer’s quiet breathing and patient silence. The up-and-down movement of his hand on her arm never faltered.

“My first lover—not first boyfriend, I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. I haven’t slept with most of them.” She cleared her throat after that awkward confession. “Anyway, my first lover—Jake—he was charming and nice. He seemed perfect. He was an out-of-towner, one of Shar’s friends. Great background, wealthy family, the works. Everything a stupid twenty-year-old girl aspires to. He was a good kisser.” She could feel Spencer starting to tense beneath her, obviously not keen on hearing about Jake’s kissing prowess. She patted his chest comfortingly, mutely begging for patience, and she could feel him force himself to relax.

“When I thought I was ready, I let him know that I was willing to, you know . . . ?”

“Hmm.” It was all the encouragement she needed, and she gulped before continuing.

“He took me to this place he was renting in Knysna. It all started pretty innocently, the kissing and petting and stuff. I was relaxing, enjoying it, but when I was naked he . . . he picked up his brush and spanked me.” Spencer tensed again, and she patted him once more. Feeling the need to comfort him, because nobody had ever comforted her. Nobody had ever even known about this until now. It was a lot harder to talk about than she’d expected, but she’d started this and she would tell him the rest of it.

“I don’t know why. He made it seem normal and said something about all girls loving a good spanking.” Spencer’s hand had stopped stroking her arm and just lay there. Not moving at all. “I felt . . . well, I don’t know how I felt. I was confused. I didn’t like it. It had taken me out of the moment, so to speak. He went back to kissing me and playing with my breasts, but he pinched my nipples too hard. It hurt. He kept asking me if I liked the stuff he was doing, and I suppose saying I did made him escalate it a notch every time. But I liked the kissing and the stroking. Not the other stuff. He would kiss me and lick me and say, ‘You like this, don’t you?’ and just when I said yes, he’d pinch me, or slap my butt, or do something painful. It was so confusing.”

Spencer’s breathing was no longer even and quiet; it was starting to sound ragged and labored, and she wasn’t sure if she should continue.

“What happened?” he asked after she’d lapsed into a silence that lasted a beat too long.

“He flipped me onto my stomach, kissed me some more, touched me, played with me, made me feel good. Then he said, ‘This is okay, right?’ I remember feeling more relaxed, finally enjoying it and saying that it was fine . . . but he had a b-ball gag just slightly in my line of vision. I didn’t notice it. But when I said it was fine, he said he knew I’d be game and put it in my mouth. He tied my hands to the headboard and spanked me again, with something else. I don’t think it was the brush.” She took a deep, bracing breath. Reliving it made her feel so dumb. Why hadn’t she known how manipulative he was being? Why hadn’t she seen it until years after it had all ended?