Page 116 of The Rogue and His Flower

“Fuck, I can’t believe I haven’t tasted you yet,” I rumble, staring at her pretty slit.

“You have,” she mutters, as I swipe my fingers gently between her folds.

“Not like this I haven’t,” I reply, resting back between her legs, kissing her lower stomach as a joyful laugh bubbles from her lips.

I smile against her skin, the sun slipping below the horizon as nighttime begins to fall, slowly enveloping us in the welcoming blanket of darkness and blinking jewels of starlight. Sliding my arms beneath her thighs, I rest my hands on her hips, and lower my mouth to her neatly trimmed pussy.

The second my lips meet her tender flesh, she moans and her thighs fall open, giving me full access. Under the cover of a night sky, lit by a full moon, and the twinkling fairy lights hung along the jetty, she reveals herself to me. Her willingness to bare herself, to let go and allow me to taste her, drives me wild as I spear her hole with my tongue.

She shudders, her hands flying to my head, gripping tight, urging me closer, deeper, harder. And I give her everything she needs, her sweet, musky taste exploding in my mouth.

Fuck, she’s delicious.

I groan. She whimpers.

I lick her from crack to slit, circling her clit, gently at first. Teasingly, I focus my attention on the tight bundle of nervesthat has the power to take her to another place where pleasure replaces all our past mistakes. Her breath hitches, her moans releasing from parted, kiss-bruised lips as her body's lubrication merges with my salvia. It’s erotic as fuck, and I’m more than willing to drown in her arousal.

Every stroke of my tongue brings her closer to the edge. Every moan, every gasp for air, the way she grasps my head tightly, only turns me on more. She’s so wet, so responsive. She opens up to me completely, her trust bleeding into every pore, every muscle, as I draw circles around her clit slowly, teasingly. Somehow this seems far more intimate than fucking, because this time it’s all about Daisy. Her orgasm, her pleasure,her.

Yes, I’m hard. So fucking hard, but I want to see her unravel more than I want to come.

“Dalton, I’m close. I’m close,” she cries, throwing her head back as her thighs draw together, trapping me between her as she begins to tremble, approaching the edge of orgasm.

A wildness billows inside of me, her pleasure becoming my pleasure. My cock pulses, my balls drawing tight. I’m so fucking turned on. So in awe of her, of this eddying, blazing attraction between us that no ocean can cool.

If she is fire, then I am ash, burnt to a cinder by this woman, Daisy, my flower, my wife.

My wife.

She’s my wife.

“Come for me, wife,” I demand, my voice raw with need.

I feel her internal muscles tense around my tongue, her breath hitching as I increase my pace, my tongue probing deeper, faster, revelling in her responses.

“I’m going to come, Dalton,” she moans, her nails digging into my scalp.

The sound of her so lost in pleasure, the sight of her so vulnerable and open, fills me with an inexplicable joy, and asshe reaches the peak, her body shudders violently, her muscles clenching around my tongue as her cry of release buries itself into my soul. It’s a beautiful, primal sound that resonates within me, echoing my own arousal.

I savour the moment, a rush of pride and possession sweeping over me as I lap at her until she slowly comes down from the high, her breathing easing into a steady, more even rhythm.

“That was…” her voice trails off as she sits up, flushed, dishevelled, overwhelmingly beautiful.

“Fucking perfect,” I finish for her. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Taking her hand, I stand, pulling her up on trembling legs and haul her into my arms. Holding her close, her body melts against mine as I wrap my arms around her back, and in the peaceful silence a voice deep inside of me screams the truth. A truth that I’ve run from for so fucking long.

All the years we’ve spent hating each other, all the times she’s been with other men, I’ve stepped in and interfered not just because I wanted to protect her, but because I didn’t want anyone else to have her.

BecauseI’vealways wanted her.

The truth hits me hard right in the centre of my chest, but I welcome it. Welcome how she makes me feel, how fuckingbeautifulwe are together.

“Dance with me?” I ask, as she leans her head back, starlight dancing in her eyes.

“Dance with you?” she questions back, another smile quirking up her lips.

“We never got to have our first dance. It’s tradition,” I reply, taking her hand in mine and pressing it against my chest.

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