Dear Life(78)

What I think is a pleasurable experience for Carter, my hand squeezing his penis, apparently is not a good time for him as he starts to swat at my hand and yell at me in a high-pitched lady voice.

“Daisy, let the fuck go.”

“What?” I ask, in between licking my lips and giving his penis mini palpitations with my palm.

Penis Palm Palpitations. I shall search the Internet for such a phrase. Maybe I can copyright it.

“Let go!” Anger spills from his lips just as he rips my hand away from him.

“Hey, I was squeezing you.”

Sitting back on the couch, his arm slung over his eyes, his chest heaving, he says, “I’m well aware of your squeezing. Christ, Daisy.”

Was that a good Christ or a bad Christ?

Needing to find out, I crawl over to him. With my approach, he flinches, his eyes opening and his hands going in a protective position over his crotch.

I’m guessing that was a bad Christ.

“Was that not sexy?”

“Do you find castrating me, sexy?”

“I wasn’t castrating you,” I say, feeling smaller by the minute.

“Snowflake, your hand was acting like a vise on my penis. What the hell were you trying to do?”

This is not how my first chance at being sexy was supposed to go. Was the licking of the lips not right? I might have been a little aggressive with grabbing his penis, but once I had hold of it, I didn’t want to let go. It was like a baton in his pants, my hands being the participants in passing it around.

Knowing I have to answer him, I say, “Um, I was being bold, you know, sexy Daisy.”

“Sexy Daisy?”

“Yeah.” Shying away, I sit on the couch next to him, facing the rest of his living room because I’m too shy—horrified—to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to step out of my comfort zone and try to be sexy. From the look of horror in your face, I failed tremendously.”

“Snowflake, why are you trying to be sexy? You don’t need to be—”

“I want to be.” I hate feeling as though I need to defend myself. “I’m so sick of you calling me adorable. That’s something a big brother would say about his little sister. I want to be so much more than adorable. I want to be wanted.”

From the corner of my eye, I see his face soften. He approaches me with a warm embrace, pulling me into his chest so we rest back on the couch, the ceiling in my line of vision. Leaning forward, his breath tickles my ears as he speaks. “Snowflake, you think I don’t want you?”

“I don’t know. I just . . .” How do I put this into words without sounding completely insecure?

I don’t get a chance to answer because Carter is whispering in my ear, his voice so strong, so sexy that I feel my legs start to tremble from the way his baritone voice hits me with every stressed word.

“You don’t think I want you? You couldn’t be more wrong, Daisy. This pull between us, this connection, it’s unmistakable. It’s in my blood that I need to be near you, that I want you. There is no denying it. I don’t need you to try to be sexy, because you’re already sexy to me. By being just you, you’re sexy to me.” He kisses the side of my neck, his hands working their way down my arms to my waistline. “Calling you adorable, now that’s never going to change.”

“Carter.” I go to protest when his hands cross over my stomach and work their way to the button on my jeans.

Immediately, my hearts starts to hammer in my chest, my stomach drops, and a dull ache takes place between my legs, causing them to fall apart.

“Do you know why you’re adorable, my sweet sexy girl?” he asks, his lips dancing across my lobe.

My mouth is watering. I’m afraid to speak, so I shake my head.

Without even looking, his dexterous fingers undo the button of my jeans, a rush of heat flooding my body, yearning taking over every nerve ending that’s prickling with anticipation.

Undoing my zipper—my heart’s in overdrive, my breathing erratic—he kisses my neck again and then says, “Because, with just my light, little movements of undoing your pants, you’ve become so sexually charged, so palpable with need that I’m about to lose all self-control and fuck you right here on this couch.” A gasp pops out of me, but the thought doesn’t deter me. “But it’s not going to go down like that,” he say, his fingertips slowly working their way under my jeans, under the elastic of my thong.

“Instead of me flipping you over, your stomach against the arm rest, my dick propped up behind you ready for entry, I’m going to take my time with you. Do you know why? Because you’re special, you’re one of a kind, and I would rather savor every inch of your virtuous and honest body, than have a few minutes of quick, dirty sex.”

The tips of his fingers play with the top of my pubic bone, rendering me speechless.

“Wha-what are you doing now?” I ask, not really sure what to say in this situation. Awkwardness starts to consume me, that’s until Carter moves his fingers down lower until they hit the top of my slit. “Oh,” I sigh in surprise, shifting my body closer against his where his erection is pressing against my back.

I’m turning him on. How is that even possible? He’s so much cooler than me. So much more experienced, so much more . . . everything.