Page 75 of The Rogue and His Flower

I can feel the vibrations shudder through my body, cascading upwards from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, pleasure building in my core, urging me towards the edge.

“Oh God,” I cry out, all sense of self, of respectability, seeping from me as I grind against the seat. His hand grips my hip as my fingers dig into his leather jacket. I’m just grateful he can’t see my face, how my skin flushes with perspiration, embarrassment and pleasure.

So much pleasure.

I’m going to come, right here on the back of Dalton’s motorbike, with his friends cheering and hollering from the other side of the racetrack. It’s humiliating. It’s thrilling. It’s erotic and so, so dirty.

“Dalton, please…” I beg, and at this point I don’t know what I’m even begging for more, my release or the scraps of my self-respect that drips from my pussy.

“This won’t end until you finish,” he grinds out. “So you’d better come quickly, or my friends are going to know exactly what’s happening here.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, but that doesn’t stop me from rubbing my aching pussy harder against the seat as my eyelids drop shut and I press my helmet covered head against the centre of his back.

“Come for me, Daisy. Let me do something right for once,” he mutters.

And embarrassingly that’s all it takes.

I come so hard that I’m scared his friends will hear my cry as I go rigid, my stomach muscles contracting as white hot heat bursts outwards from my core, circling my throbbing clit until eventually I go limp, my hot breath steaming up the visor with every panting breath.

“Good girl,” he rumbles, releasing my hip and wrapping his hand around the handlebar. “Now hold on tight.”

I don’t get a chance to think as he pulls off. Instinct takes over as I grip hold of him tightly and he speeds off around the track and back towards the starting position, impossibly faster than before. I feel another rush of adrenaline spike in my blood, the unholy thrill still aching between my legs. It feels as though I’m letting go of the pain of last night, all the memories. I see them in my mind’s eye, the remnants of my past like pieces of curled and worn pages torn from a book, flying up into the air with every second that passes. I’m not foolish enough to believe that they’re gone forever, but right now, in this moment, as I hang on to the man that I never thought I could tolerate let alone become friends with, they float away giving me peace, if just for a little while.

It takes less than a minute to get to the other side of the track, and I’ve not nearly recovered from the exhilarating speed let alone my orgasm as he pulls up sharp and kicks out the footstand.

Sliding off the bike, he takes my hand and I stand, yet again on trembling legs. Reaching up, I pull off my helmet, needing to take a deep lungful of breath, gasping for air, thoroughly and completely overwhelmed as I watch him pull off his own helmet, a smirk pulling up his lips.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asks.

“That was…thrilling,” I whisper, barely able to meet his eyes as a smile curves up my lips and more heat floods my already flaming cheeks.

“It was,” he agrees. “But you know what’s even more thrilling?”

“What?” I ask, slowly dragging my gaze up to meet his intense one, the deep blue of his irises lit with fire.

“Knowing I was the one to put that beautiful smile on your face.”

“I think you’ll find that was the motorbike,” I mutter, choking on a smile.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

DALTON

At breakfast the following morning, a bright smile paints Daisy’s face in sunshine. Gone are the dark shadows of trauma that haunted her a couple of days ago, and in its wake is a lightness that seems to brighten up every corner of the dining room as she hums to herself. Even my father’s austere presence is unable to penetrate the happy little bubble she seems to have wrapped herself in, or perhaps it’s the canary yellow knitted jumper and purple leggings that’s protecting her from his judgemental gaze. My ego would like to think that it’s the memory of her orgasm that has her smiling so broadly. Either way, it feels good to see her smile. It feels good that she feels good. I don’t even care that she hasn’t even brought the subject up, her orgasm an erotic secret that’s just between us.

But I can’t deny it has affected me.

I went to bed last night fisting my cock and wanking off to the memory of her pretty mewls and high-pitched cry as she came all over my one-hundred thousand pound motorbike. With my hand covered in sticky cum, I vowed to myself that the next time she came it would be because my dick or my fingers were buried so deep inside of her that nothing else mattered but the feel of her pussy contracting around me.

As she nibbles on a piece of toast, her eyes scanning the newspaper laid out on the table next to her, my father clears his throat, causing both Daisy and I to look over at him.

“I have arranged for you both to speak with the vicar,” he says.

Daisy pulls a face. “The vicar, what on earth for?”

“It’s customary to visit with the vicar before you get married,” my father responds.

“We’re getting married in a church?” Daisy’s eyes widen as she looks at me.

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