Page 117 of The Rogue and His Flower

“There’s no music…” she whispers.

I press my mouth against her ear and begin to sing the chorus ofStargazingby Myles Smith. Badly, sure, but I sing it nevertheless.

“Who knew you could be so romantic?” she murmurs as we sway side to side.

“Not me,” I reply, grinning, feeling more alive than ever before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

DAISY

After spending the following day exploring our surroundings and swimming in the turquoise ocean, Dalton and I sit on the porch of our beautiful, secluded bungalow, eating ripened fruit and crudités, washing them down with sparkling champagne. The shade of the vine-covered pergola above us creates a mosaic of warm afternoon light that dances across our skin, and I feel slightly intoxicated. Not just from the single glass of champagne I’ve just consumed, but from a heady mix of emotions swirly inside of me, and the memory of Dalton’s tongue and mouth on my pussy last night.

It was the single most erotic experience of my life.

Yes, we’ve had sex. Yes, I’ve come all over his cock, but this was different.

It was…more.

It wasn’t just the way he brought me to orgasm with his lips and his tongue, and didn’t expect anything in return. It wasn’t just the way he called me his wife, or the way he’d pulled me into his arms afterwards and held me like I was someone precious to him. It wasn’t just the way he kissed me like he’d never get enough of me, or the way he danced with me,sungto me. It was all of that, and it was so much more.

I feltworshipped.

Right there on the jetty, with stars sparkling above us and Dalton’s baritone voice filling up an emptiness deep inside of me, I felt our connection strengthen into something powerful. That feeling of being utterly adored lingers still, and as I slowly chew on the sweet slice of mango, I feel Dalton staring at me, the heat of his gaze caressing me with sin. Everything seems so heightened, and I’ve spent the day walking around in a daze of arousal, wanting nothing more than to submit to the pleasure he can, apparently, so easily conjure within me. Instead, we’ve taken the time to justbe… With each other, ourselves, and it’s been such a beautiful day of hand-holding, laughter, and heightened awareness.

But my heart is yearning for more.

I want him to fuck me again.

No, I want him to makeloveto me.

“Daisy, what’s on your mind?” Dalton asks, breaking the silence between us as a warm breeze coasts over my skin, the scent of the ocean only serving to remind me of the way I’d so willingly submitted to him last night.

“Do you want the truth?” I reply softly, turning to face him, my pulse thrumming in my ears, between my legs.

“Yes, I want the truth,” he replies, his gaze locking with mine.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night,” I admit. “I feel…”

“You feel what, Daisy?” he gently prods, resting his empty glass of champagne back on the table, his strong fingers and wide palms pressed against his thighs as he waits for me to answer.

My gaze falls to his bare chest, and the way his open shirt reveals the beautiful tattoos that adorn his sun-kissed skin, darkened a little after a couple of days in the sun. He’s cut to perfection, a Grecian god, made of marble, dipped in ink.

“I feel aroused,” I whisper, my cheeks heating at all the other words on the tip of my tongue. Does he feel that closeness too, the beautiful connection between us? The joy of finding the other part of you?

“You’re aroused now?” he says, his voice strained.

“Yes. I feel wound up tight, and…”

“And?”

Shit. A sudden wave of uncertainty washes over me. What if I’ve read this all wrong? What if he doesn’t feel what I feel? What if this is all in my head? He’s told me on countless occasions that he can’t love me, that he doesn’t know how. Then again last night he’d said he’d regretted a lot of the things he’d said, that he wants to build on our friendship. Do I trust what I felt between us? Do I listen to my head, or to what he’s told me? Should I be truthful and open my heart, sharing my doubts with him, or should I keep them underwraps?

I chew on my lip, trying to decide.

“Daisy?” he questions, canting his head to the side, frowning a little as he stares at me. “Talk to me.”

“I’m afraid, Dalton,” I admit.

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