Page 25 of Chaining Daisy
The bed dips as he sits down on the edge. His hand reaches up and he caresses my cheek. “I can’t sleep, little flower. And you’re in trouble because it’s all your fault.”
“My fault?”Shit. He did see me!I try to hide my guilt by contorting my face in mock confusion.
He nods solemnly, reaching for one of my arms and pulling my hand out from underneath the covers. Luckily, it’s not the one I was using on myself, but as he drags it closer I wonder if he’s going to check my hands. Fuck. I try to subtly wipe the other hand on the fitted sheet. I didn’t go beneath my panties, but they were drenched, and I have no doubt there’s evidence there.
But my frantic cover-up is all for nothing because he turns slightly to better face me and plants our joined hands over his erection. The stiff line tenting his pajama pants is thick and warm and wider than I expected. As Gunnar moves his hand to place it on top of mine and make me rub up and down his length, I realize he’s wider than half my palm.
Gunnar’s tone is pure sex as he groans at my touch. Then he says, “You made me hard, baby. I can’t sleep like this. So you’re going to have to take care of this problem.” His eyes are shadowed and hard to make out, but I can see the creases at the end of them grow deeper when he smiles a dirty, vicious smile—the type I’ve never seen from him before. It steals my breath away because it’s both intimate and intimidating.
I’m not even play-acting when I ask, “What do you want me to do?” Right now, with the way he’s staring at me, I’d do anything. Anything.
“Get on your knees and face me,” he orders as he pulls away from my hand and stands.
I quickly follow his instructions, tossing aside my quilt and kneeling sideways on the bed.
My eyes devour him as he whips off his shirt and then his sleep pants. He’s so fucking fit, and the veins in his forearms seem to be even more defined in the harsh shadows of night. His nipples are dark and pebbled, peeking out from the patch of chest hair. He pulls off the brand-new boxers he put on less than an hour ago, and finally I get to see it.
His dick is darker than the rest of his skin, swollen, with a thick mushroom tip already leaking precum. It’s already full mast, and knowing I made it that way makes me clench my thighs.
Gunnar walks forward with purpose, commanding, “Kiss it the way you kissed me earlier, baby.”
He stops, standing right in front of me on the side of the bed, and I lean forward, putting my hands on the mattress, tilting my head down, and opening my lips to kiss the tip. I swirl my tongue experimentally, tasting him. His precum is salty and I lap at his slit to get all of it before sliding further down onto him, rewarded by his surprised grunt.
I’ve given blowjobs before—but those feel like a million years ago—and I can’t really say I’ve got much technique. But Gunnar’s full of whispered instructions and encouragement, which makes me feel like I’m doing a good job for him.
“God, that’s it, baby girl. Use those sweet thick lips and seal them around me. Suck it hard. Oh, you’re being soo good for Daddy. You’re making me feel so good. Fuck.” He reaches down over my back and his big fingers land on my ass—start to knead it roughly through my pajama shorts. His manhandling makes me desperate, and I long to touch myself. I try to slide up to ask him for permission, but he bucks further into my mouth, taking control of me. Using me. He doesn’t push all the way into my throat, going easy on me, but he does test my limits until I have to yank my head back and gasp for air.
When I do, I meet his eyes. They’re a chocolate inferno. I maintain eye contact as I slowly slide back onto the tip and suck lightly, tonguing the underside.
My nipples have never been this hard. My body’s never been so tightly strung. But I’ve gotten an orgasm already. He hasn’t. I should wait. It’s only fair. Plus, if I want my next one to be half as good as the last one, I should definitely wait. That was mind-meltingly good.
I try to relax my throat so he can get farther in, which he does. He pulls my ass cheeks apart, digs his fingers into the crack, and holds me in place as he fucks my mouth.
“This ass. I’ve stared at this every day. Every fucking day, it’s been so hard not to just take you. But now you’re mine, baby. You hear me? Those lips belong to me. On my cock. I’m never going to let you go. Daisy. Baby, I’m going to come!” He warns me right before his cock jerks and spasms, shooting warm liquid onto my tongue. I do my best to swallow, but he comes a lot, twitching and pulsing as he pistons in and out, and some cum escapes the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin.
Gunnar pulls out slowly with a sigh, gazing down at me with a sort of dazed tenderness I’ve never seen from anyone before. His hand reaches over to cup my cheek, and I half expect him to scold me for not swallowing it all, but he just stares at me glassy-eyed for a moment before whispering, “You’re amazing.”
Be still my heart. Most guys mutter a “thank you” or immediately worry about cleaning themselves up, at least in my limited experience. But he’s praising me—with that look that makes me feel like I’m levitating. What is that look?
He does turn from me then. He bends and reaches for his t-shirt, scooping it up off the floor and wrapping it around his fingers before using a small corner of the hem to carefully dab at my chin, wiping me up with a gentleness that contrasts the bruises that are likely forming on my ass right now. He grabs the cup of water I always keep on my nightstand overnight and offers it to me.
As I drink, I watch him silently, wondering what he’ll do next. We’re well past the point where I’m going to guess what comes next. It’s giving me whiplash to try.
So, after he takes my cup and sets it back, when he turns, still naked, and whispers, “Scoot over,” I listen. I shuffle backward on the queen mattress and lay down on my side so I can watch him.
He gets into the bed right next to me and throws his arm over me, holding me close. Cuddling me. Drawing one of my legs over his waist and drawing soft circles on my hip. We spend a long moment just staring into one another’s eyes and I try to absorb the fact that this is actually real. We’re actually here together. When I woke up this morning, I never thought we would get to have a moment like this. I didn’t believe it was possible.
I don’t know if reality has sunken in, but whatever this dazed, lazy feeling—like floating on my back in a lake with the summer sun warming me up—is, I’m here for it.
After a minute or so, Gunnar whispers, “I need to stretch you, baby.”
We’re not done?I’d just cooled down to a low, rolling simmer, but when his hand slides down from my hip to my inner thigh, I heat right back up.
I’m still fully dressed in my pajamas, and I open my mouth, about to say something about it, when he orders, “Stand up and strip for Daddy.”
“Yes, sir.”
I slide my legs off the side of the bed and stand up near the window. I take a step back so that the dull light from outside is on me—so he can see me better. Even though I feel self-conscious, I really, really want to give him what he wants. A show.
