Dear Life(97)

I roll my eyes. “Oh Carter, you’re so buff. You have muscles for days, all bulgy and brawny, like Mr. Clean.”

“The bald cleaning guy?” he asks, distaste in his question.

“Yeah, he can be sexy.”

“You want to rub that slick head of his? Pull on his earring?”

“He has an earring?” This is news to me. I can’t picture it.

“Yeah, tough guys have earrings.”

Leaning from side to side, I examine his ears: not pierced. “You don’t have an earring,” I point out.

“Nah, I’m more of the broody type than tough. But, I am able to step up to tough if you ever need someone to get hijacked in the face. I’m not opposed to fighting.”

“Well, I am.” I search his eyes. “Have you ever punched someone? Has anyone ever punched you?”

His eyes soften, his hand pushing my hair behind my ear. “You want the truth?” I nod. “Okay, yeah, a lot. I can’t even count the amount of times, especially growing up. I’ve been punched by schoolmates, friends, my dad, my uncle, random assholes. I learned to defend myself pretty quickly.”

“Your uncle and dad punched you?” He just shrugs as a response, causing my heart to split in two. I don’t understand how an adult can raise a hand to a child. It makes no sense to me. Is that why he is often so distant, aggressive?

Cupping his face, I gently kiss his lips. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that.”

“Like I said, my life has been a struggle. I’m used to it. No use in fretting over it.” Before I can say another word, he flips me over in bed, pinning me to the mattress. “Now, enough of this sad shit, I can’t wait to taste you again.”

“Again?” I ask in disbelief.

“Yeah, Snowflake. You’re not a one-and-done girl. You’re the forever kind.”

Smiling down at me, I take everything in about this man. He’s so genuine, so honest, the perfect combination of sweet and masculine. Joining Dear Life has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I feel as though the blinders have been removed and I can see more shape to the future of my life. I now have a sister I adore, have made new friends, and of course, right now, in Carter’s arms, I feel alive. Never saw that coming. Never saw him coming. He wasn’t what my mind had conjured up as the perfect man for me, yet we seem to . . . fit.

Day by day, the little steps I make toward being that woman in the mirror, it’s all about proving my existence, one small gesture at a time.





CARTER


Standing in my boxer briefs, flipping my signature French toast, I think about last night. Hell, I’ll be thinking about last night for a damn long time.

Daisy was everything.

Innocent, yet invested. Pure, yet sinful. Shy, yet explorative.

The way her hands moved across my muscles, it was sensual as hell, her fingertips not quite sure what to do, but her lust egging her on.

Then there was the look in her eyes, the pout to her lips, the way her hair fanned out against my pillow. Fucking hell, so damn beautiful.

It was hard to keep my hands to myself, to give her a break knowing she was going to be really sore, but I wanted her over and over again. By letting me inside her, she claimed me. I was a goner. I’m still a goner.

Looking at my bed, I love my view: her naked body spread across the mattress, the sheets covering just enough to have me wanting to rip that damn fabric away, and her little feet poking out the bottom. God, I want to wake her up. I want to dive in between her legs and wake her up in the best way possible, with my tongue to her amazingly sweet pussy.

Talk about a heavy craving. Hell, I fucked her with my tongue three times last night because I couldn’t keep away. And then there was her “blow job” which consisted of her kissing the tip of my dick because she was scared of “getting shot in the eye” and moving her hand up and down my length so loosely that it was more of a tease than anything. After five minutes of her featherlight touches and dick-hole kissing, I took her hand, gripped my cock hard, and showed her how to do it. She was scared to hurt me after our first encounter where she thought my dick was a dangling doo-dad she could grab with a death grip. I can understand the hesitation, so I showed her the proper pressure and grip to apply, and once she got the hang of it, sweet Jesus, I came hard. She was so determined, so set on getting me off, and her persistence paid off. As for when I came, she squealed so damn loud, my neighbors most likely heard her. Her reasoning, she never thought it could “spray like that.” Not going to lie, her little handy got me some record height.

What it boils down to is her innocence. It turns me on so damn much. It’s one of my favorite things about her.

A few feet away, rustling fabric draws my attention. Peeking past the bundled-up sheets, Daisy looks out into the open space of the apartment, her hair mussed from last night and early this morning.

“What smells good?” she croaks out in a sexy morning voice.

“French toast. You interested?”

Like a bolt of lightning, she sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist, giving me a monumental view that will have me hard all damn morning. Her arms above her head, she stretches from side to side, enjoying the morning sun.

I turn away because if I don’t, the French toast will burn, breakfast will be ruined, and I never ruin a meal. A quick glance in Daisy’s direction has me reconsidering, but before I can make a move, she’s putting on my shirt from last night and pushing up the sleeves that ride long on her arms.