Page 107 of The Rogue and His Flower

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DALTON

“Not any more,” Daisy whispers, her red-rimmed eyes locking with mine. “I need you to fuck me.Please, Dalton.”

I can’t deny her.

God-fucking-help-me, I can’t deny her this anymore than I could the pain she begged I inflict on her not moments before, not when she looks at me the way she is doing now, as though, somehow, I’m worthy enough of fixing her, of healing her pain.

When I’d heard her screams, I’d been lying awake unable to fucking sleep after our conversation at the ruins earlier. She’d told me that she sees something in me, something that I don’t, that others never have. For the first time in my fucking life I felt hope, hope that I can be a better man and not end up like my father. Ruthless, callous, heartless.

I don’t want to be like him, alone with nothing but his riches to measure his worth. It’s a sad life, fucking lonely, I see that now. I understand what she was trying to tell me.

“Dalton,” she whimpers, her nails digging into the flesh of my shoulders. “Please.”

Rightly or wrongly, her brokenness has given me a twisted sense of comfort, and that maybe, somehow, I can find peace in it, and more importantly, that she can find peace in me. SoI don’t deny her, I simply nod, and as she lowers herself onto my dick, inch by torturous inch, my eyes stutter shut at how her body fists mine, at the blissful awareness she draws out of me.

Everything feels heightened, my senses, my… feelings.

Feelings.

Christ, she drags them all to the surface with her whimpers of pleasure, with her tears of pain, with her faith in me as a man. I don’t know when her opinion of me shifted from one of hate and annoyance to affection and acceptance. Was it that night she revealed her past and I refused to fuck her? Was it when she clung onto me tightly around the racetrack, putting her trust in me to keep her safe? Was it before either of those times when I brought her a dress and supported her right to wear colour because I understood how much it meant to her? When I stood up for her in the garden of this very mansion? Was it at the arcade when we’d laughed so much our bellies hurt? Was it when we fucked that first time, overcome with need for each other? Or was it a culmination of all those moments?

I guess it doesn’t matter now.

What matters is that she isn’t hurting any more. What matters is that the happiness and joy my father tried so hard to extinguish is still alive inside my chest. It’sstillthere.

And it’s because of her. Daisy.

The girl I once loved to hate has become the very reason I want to feel joy, happiness, acceptance… Maybe, eventually, love. Is that really possible for me? It’s a question I’ve asked myself over and over again. I still don’t know the answer.

Right here and now, confined by the walls of the bath, all I can do is hold her in my arms as she rocks against me, the soft mewling sounds releasing from her parted lips making my cock thicken and grow within her. The way she grinds against me, using my body as a talisman to ward off her demons, only makesme more protective of her. She can fuck me like this forever if she wants, and I would welcome it.

My hands find their way to her breasts, cupping them, and beneath my palms I feel the steady thrum of her heart thrashing against her rib cage, a reminder that it still has the capacity to beat despite her trauma, and the people who tried so hard to break it.

I’m in awe of her, swept up in her courage as she grinds against my cock, taking everything that I give her willingly. Mouth parted, her gaze never leaving mine, she rides me harder. Gripping my shoulders, she anchors herself to me, and my hands fall to her hips, supporting her, my pelvis rocking in time to her rhythm.

Minutes pass, and I’m in no hurry to come. This isn’t the frantic, all-consuming fucking we’ve shared before, where we’ve both sought the welcome release of orgasm. This is different, it’s more… and I’m not able to fully comprehend what’s happening between us. I don’t even want to. I need to just live in this moment, wrap myself up in it, let it consume me, guide me.

As we move in sync, the horror of her trauma has faded to bliss as her features soften, and this sense of belonging washes over me. She needs me, and God help me, I need her, need this, whatever this is.

She’s my friend, my lover.

She’s a woman unafraid to point out my flaws.

She’s brave, and stubborn. Fierce and kind.

She’s colourful and bright. Determined and focused.

And in just a few days time she’ll be my wife.

My wife.

“Dalton,” she murmurs, caressing my cheek, her lips lowering to mine in a kiss that begins to unravel everything I’ve built to protect myself.

My arrogance is torn to shreds by her vulnerability.

My selfishness is pulled apart by her courage.

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