Page 10 of Chaining Daisy
Gunnar turns me then, using his arm to gently nudge me until I face the counter instead of him. Both hands slide up my arms until he cups my shoulders, his warmth sinking into me as his fingers dig in, a slow, steady massage. “You’re just starting out. The rooms will be giant lecture halls that look kind of like lame sports stadiums cut in half. There will be a screen and a projector and a professor with a huge nose whose voice sounds like a frog mated with a braying donkey—”
He makes me laugh, my shoulders shaking, ruining any of the relaxing effects of the massage. “Why a huge nose?”
“All my professors had weird noses. I think it’s a thing.”
“It’s definitely not a thing.”
“Take pictures on your phone today and we’ll compare them over dinner. Bet you a hundred bucks all your teachers have sucky noses. I’ll DoorDash some Bánh mì.”
“You don’t have to. I can cook,” I offer, even though Bánh mì is my absolute favorite and Gunnar knows it.
“It’s your reward for being brave today.” His hands slide away from my shoulders and down my arms, wrapping around my waist as he pulls me back against him in a hug. My head settles back against his chest and I soak in the feeling of being comforted, cared for, reassured. I loved my mother, but cancer is a beast that steals away a parent’s ability to give you those things. I lived in uncertainty for so long, it felt like I was tiptoeing on glass.
Gunnar squeezes me harder, and my ass ends up pressed against him. Fuck. Either he’s naturally a shower, or he’s hard right now.
Get your mind out of the gutter, Daisy. You’re ruining a nice moment.
I feel even more guilty when Gunnar places a soft, innocent kiss on the top of my head.
See? Idiot. He’s just comforting you.
I force myself to tune back into the conversation, because Gunnar sometimes ends up on a soap box when he’s trying to encourage me. “You’ll see. Today is just new and different. But those things don’t have to be scary. In fact, they can be a good thing.” His fingertips lightly graze the bare skin of my stomach in a move I’m certain is purely accidental.
I wish it wasn’t.
I reach up to place my hands on top of his. “I know. I know it can be a good thing.”
We stay like that for a minute, him engulfing me in this hug as I selfishly soak it in. He’s so good and solid, and has been there for me even on the worst days, most of which he’s seen.
But then his fingers sweep deliberately back and forth across my belly, his pinkie fingers dragging over the very tops of my hip bones where they emerge from my jeans.
Heat flares across my skin just from his simple touch and I catch my breath. Twice in one day, he’s touching me. Twice in one morning. I don’t want him to stop. Lava drips down my spine and bubbles in my belly. God, he’s hardly grazing my skin but I’m suddenly burning hot.
“Do you really think this is what you should be wearing to school?” His tone is light, just like his touch, but his meaning is clear.
My throat dries out. “Lily said—”
“I didn’t ask what Lily said. I’m not Lily's daddy. I’m yours.”
I’m yours. Ugh, I wish he was mine. And he had to use that word. Daddy. Something about that word … how dirty and forbidden it is ….I have to resist the urge to press my thighs together as heat flares through me.
“Look. I’m not—” I start to defend the outfit but he interrupts.
“Daisy, I’m trying to control myself here. But you are making thatreallyimpossible.”
I freeze up at the darkness that creeps into his tone.Shit. Is he actually pissed about this outfit? But if so, why are his fingers making soft little circles on my skin?
He continues, “I don’t think this is the sort of thing a young lady wears to class when she plans on studying her subjects. This looks like an outfit for a girl interested in studying boys instead.”
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Gunnar’s always been strict about being on time, keeping the house clean, and curfew. But he’s never commented on my clothes before. Of course, I’ve never let Lily dress me up either and I’m more conservative than she is. I’m torn between mortification and this strange, perverse little instinct telling me there’s an undertone of jealousy in his words.
I’d know for sure if I rubbed my ass back and forth against his hips…if his dick twitched against me. But I’m not brave enough for that. Not brave enough to test him when he’s already snapping like a crocodile.
My words come out weak as I search for some way to smooth things over. “I don’t—”
“Am I paying for you to go studyboys?” Gunnar’s tone takes on the sharp edge, snapping like a whip, making me cringe.
My face is burning, my pulse thumping loudly in my ears as shame crawls up and makes every inch of me from the neck up turn bright pink. “No.”
