Page 152 of The Rogue and His Flower

“I’ve missed this. I’ve missed us together like this,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice muffled yet raw.

“I’ve missed this too,” I reply, gasping as he presses the flat of his tongue against my slit and licks me in one firm stroke.

“Fuck, your pussy is so wet for me…”

He licks me again.

“You taste so fucking good…”

He circles my clit with his tongue, over and over and over until my mouth drops open and starlight glitters behind my closed eyes.

“Dalton,” I whimper, needing more, wanting it all.

Coasting his hand over my stomach and between my thighs, he slides a finger inside of me, gently, slowly, with utmost care. My pussy tightens around it, my internal muscles squeezing as I moan..

“Fuck, yes… You like that, huh?” he rumbles, flicking his tongue fast across my clit, pumping me gently with his finger..

“Yes. So much. Oh… Oh… Ahh… Dalton, please,” I cry, my words almost unintelligible, the wet, slippery noises only turning me on more.

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, alternating between sucking and licking my clit to running his tongue between my folds, keeping up the steady rhythm with his finger.

My legs begin to tremble, overcome with the sensation as he worships me, and then, as he twists his hand between my legs, and crooks his finger, pressing against that spot deep inside, he sends me over the edge.

“Dalton!” I cry, my entire body convulsing as an orgasm barrels out of nowhere. My toes curl, my fingers tighten in his hair as I come, and in that moment of pure bliss all the broken parts of me begin to stitch back together. All the unhappiness turns into joy, into this huge, beaming warmth that ripples outwards from my core, settling into every inch of my body, my heart, my soul.

As the pleasure subsides, my muscles turn liquid and I sink into the mattress, breathless, spent. I look at Dalton as he pushes up on his hands, a smile quirking up his lips, his mouth and chin glistening with my arousal.

“Better?” he murmurs against my skin, gliding his lips higher before pressing a kiss ever so gently against the tiny pink scars left behind from my surgery.

“Much,” I reply, stroking his hair.

“Do they hurt?” he asks me.

“No,” I reply.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, resting his cheek gently against my stomach. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve lost.”

“What we’ve both lost,” I whisper, stroking his hair as he nuzzles against my stomach, pressing hot kisses against my skin.

“I wish I could make everything better,” he says, lifting up slightly, his elbows pressing into the mattress as his warm hands rest against my stomach as though he’s trying to heal me with his touch.

“You can,” I say, cupping his cheek, running the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip.

“How?”

“By loving me. By making love to me,” I say.

“Isn’t it too soon?” he asks, the tip of his tongue tentatively licking my thumb.

“It’s been a month since my operation, Dalton. I’m okay. You won’t hurt me. For now, just be gentle.”

“I can be gentle,” he replies, kissing my stomach. “But if it hurts, you tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“I will,” I agree as he pushes upright.

Kneeling between my legs, he edges his boxers over his erection, pushing them down his thighs before removing them. I reach between my legs, coating my fingers in my wetness, then smother the crown of his cock, loving how soft his skin is, how hard he is for me, how he groans.

“Daisy,” he murmurs, his hips thrusting into my palm as I gently grip him.

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