2. Daphne

Chapter 2

Daphne

Holy freaking bananas! What have I done?

Some people are yanked into this world with the confidence of gods. My older sister, Juniper, is one of those people. Dazzling, brilliant, and with so much self-esteem, you could use it to power a rocket ship.

The rest are like me, an extra-special brand of fake-it-till-you-make-it, whose every decision is thoroughly considered and digested until the cringe-inducing reel is on replay in my mind.

It was fun to pretend to be the former tonight, but now I’m in a hotel bathroom with a man whose name I don’t even know.

Am I really about to have my first one-night stand?

It’s only been two days since I committed to my Yes Year on my twenty-sixth birthday—an entire year dedicated to stepping out of my comfort zone. I wished for adventure, and now it’s being served to me on a giant, hunky man platter, complete with an ear piercing.

Happy freaking birthday, Daphne!

I pinch my inner arm. Ouch.

Okay, not a dream.

Behind me, workout clothes hang off the door. I grab a tissue from the sink, wipe away remnants of mascara from under my eyes, and run my fingers through my hip-length lilac hair. The hotel lighting is harsh, making me look ghostly pale. Maybe dying my hair yesterday was a mistake.

Screw this! No more negative thoughts. I want this. I want him, and I can do this.

“You are a hot, charming, and delightful woman,” I whisper into the mirror and throw up my arms. Make yourself big for a boost of confidence! My therapist’s voice echoes in my head as I stretch onto my tiptoes. “You are going to go out there and have the best sex of your life!”

Or, at the very least, nice sex.

I slip out of my Mary Janes and miniskirt. Goose was right; I do look like a sweater with legs. But he didn’t seem to mind. He spent the whole night staring at my lips, finding any excuse to touch me. I adjust the collar of my sweater off my shoulder, hoping to give it more of a boudoir-shoot vibe than a casual-frock look.

When I return to the room, he’s staring out the window at the Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco sprawling beautifully below from the fortieth floor of this one-bedroom suite. I hadn’t realized how high we were, having spent the entire elevator ride up with our lips locked together. His tuxedo jacket is draped over a chair in the corner of the room. There are no personal belongings in sight besides the workout clothes in the bathroom and a small rollaway carry-on by the closet.

“Hi,” I say, and he turns.

Even in the darkness, his stark features steal the breath from my lungs. A well-defined, square jawline hidden beneath unkempt scruff that hasn’t fully filled in on his face. A sun-touched glow on his olive-toned skin. It seems he spends a lot of time outdoors. Thick and slightly arched brows sit above his deep-set eyes, which are an intense golden brown.

“Fuck.” He splits the word in half before tugging off his bow tie and tossing it onto the bed.

“Did you mean Duck?” I giggle, attempting to cover up the blush stinging my cheeks with a smile.

“Look at you.” The low light from the nightstand lamp covers his face in shadows as he strolls over to me. He props one arm against the wall behind me, and his muscles ripple beneath the white fabric of his shirt. Those arms could probably crush my skull in half, and I’d thank him for it.

I nervously wrap my finger into the hem of my sweater. “I have to be honest; I actually haven’t done something like this before.”

“Are you…is this your first—”

“Oh no,” I clarify. “I’ve had sex plenty of times before. Many times. Lots of sex!” My voice roller coasters up. “Okay, maybe ‘plenty’ isn’t so accurate, but I know what I’m doing. I just…”

He caresses my cheek and uses his thumb to lift my chin. My neck has to tilt all the way back to meet his gaze. He’s tall and commanding. There’s a skew in his strong nose that I hadn’t noticed earlier, as though it’s been broken before. I wonder how that came to be. Everything about his gruff appearance is endearing, albeit frightening.

“Are you nervous? We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I am nervous,” I admit. “But I want to do this very much. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to be, um, disappointed? I mean, it would be great if we could both feel satisfied.”

The escalating heat between my legs makes me certain that finishing isn’t far off on the horizon, but my fluoxetine and self-sabotaging thoughts have been known to make intimate moments a struggle.

My college boyfriend, the first and only, always felt frustrated with how long it took to get me there. Which turned into a terrible cycle of faking it to cushion his ego.

Not tonight.

If I’m knocking on heaven’s gate, I want the god in front of me to carry me there and thrust me over the threshold.

He throws on a nefarious smirk and leans closer, his breath on my lips. “Don’t worry, all your feathers will be ruffled appropriately.”

“Thank you,” I whisper and rest my hand against his pecs. Pure muscle beneath his button-down. “You’re very…” I swallow. “Firm.”

He cocks a brow at me. “And you smell delicious.”

We kiss again, but my kneecaps still turn to Silly Putty when he breaks the seam of my lips with his tongue and groans. He actually groans into my mouth.

My fingers rush through his slicked-back brown hair. I tug at his nape as our kiss deepens. The coarse scruff on his jaw scrapes against my skin as he travels down my neck. His lips clasp around the edge of my collarbone, and he sucks until releasing with a loud pop.

All right, if I was turned on before, this brought out a whole new level of euphoria.

“I really like that,” I moan as he pulls my sweater aside and kisses along my sternum. “And that…oh, and that, very, very much.”

He looks up at me, still crouched down. “Keep telling me what you’re thinking,” he says. “It’s turning me on.”

Yeah, I’m officially being hurled out of my comfort zone. Screw it.

He plucks me up as if I weigh nothing and sets me on the bed. I fall on my backside, keeping my upper half propped up on my forearms. He climbs above me like an animal playing with its food.

I arch my back and press my breasts toward him. “Kiss me more, but here.” I nudge my nose to my chest. He helps me out of my sweater, minding it with gentleness as he drapes it over the nightstand. The act is small and likely meaningless, but each of my vertebrae melts.

“The seams of your sweater were definitely worth seeing,” he says, smirking. I’m left in my underwear, while he remains fully dressed.

“It’s called a mattress stitch.”

“ Mattress , huh? Who knew knitting could be so sexual.” Flames dance in his eyes as he clasps his mouth over the lace bralette covering my nipple. My skin pebbles.

“Oh gosh, you’re exceptional at that.”

He chuckles and continues to cup, tug, and massage every inch of my body until my nerves dissipate. Teeth against my jaw. Tongue tracing my pulse. Unmatched to anything I’ve ever felt before.

When he’s had his fill, he navigates to the foot of the bed, moving with the litheness of a panther. He hovers above me. His golden-brown gaze consumes me. “Fucking look at you,” he groans desperately.

I do as he says, running my own eyes over my long legs, which I always felt were too dimpled and plump, my soft belly, and my C-cup breasts, which are far fuller at the bottom than they are at the top unless I squeeze them into a push-up bra. But every part of me shines a little differently under his attention.

He bites his knuckle.

“Are you going to keep staring?” I attempt a seductive voice.

“All night.” He winks again and gestures to my knees. “Open up.”

I break into a laugh, and he does too, but it doesn’t last long before his hands wrap around my ankles, tugging me down to the edge of the mattress.

“All right, Goose. Feathers are really starting to ruffle now.”

“Oh, are they?” He lowers to his knees.

“Certainly.” I shuffle closer and dig my heels into the mattress. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, but I clasp my hand over his. “Can you leave that on?” He kisses the back of my hand. The affectionate gesture makes me melt. “And roll up your sleeves?”

Another heavy laugh. “Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

All right, this Yes Year is complete. There’s no topping this.

He obliges me and extends his arm. Slowly, he unbuttons his cuffs, keeping his eyes on me as he deftly folds the fabric of each sleeve. My mouth waters at each deliberate motion. His corded forearms are robust and sinewy, hardened from what must be years of intense labor. His skin is taut, bearing marks—scratches and bruises that surely have their own stories.

“Close your mouth, sweet girl. You’re drooling,” he teases. He holsters his palms under my knees, tossing them over his shoulders. I whoop with surprise and fall flat onto my back. “Or don’t. I do enjoy listening to you talk.”

“You’re bossy. I like it.”

His scruff tickles my inner thighs. One of his hands slides beneath my ass. The other teases the waistband of my panties.

“These are cute,” he says against my skin. “Can I rip them off of you and have a taste?”

Oh, fuck, that was so hot . “Rip them off?”

“It’s a yes-or-no question.”

“Yes, please.” I seal my fate. He spins his finger through the lace. A quick sting and the sound of fabric tearing ripples through the room. “Okay, you didn’t actually just do that. You ripped off my panties?! I could’ve sworn that was something people just did in the movies.”

His smirk is cocky and irresistible. “You wanted an unforgettable experience.”

“My god,” I say, bemused. A drop-dead gorgeous man with an ear piercing is about to go down on me. I inhale deeply and nod at him, indicating for him to continue.

He doesn’t hesitate; his tongue laps at the heat collecting at my center. It’s like lightning strikes my chest, stealing my breath in a gasp.

“Fuck,” he grunts against me. “You could drown a man between these thighs.”

Between my shock and a crescendo of moans, he guides my hand into his hair. I grip the strands, drawing him nearer. My hips match his rhythm. Until the room shakes, or I do. Orange and red hues speckle the edges of my vision, and instead of resisting them, I follow them through a rainbow of spinning pleasure. My mind bursts like fireworks as an orgasm—an actual, man-made orgasm—releases from the base of my spine and corrupts me. I’m alive, so very alive.

He crawls toward me and collapses heavily by my side. He tips his nose to mine and plants a small kiss there. “How was that?”

“Mind-blowing.” I half laugh, half sigh. I slither my hand between our bodies and begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, revealing his six-pack. When the last button slips off, he helps me push the shirt off his body before I undo his belt buckle and he stands, shucking off his trousers.

Adonis stands before me. Well-defined abs. Thighs the size of both of my legs combined. My gaze slides down his body, landing on his boxer briefs. My mouth drops open at the outline of his length.

“You ready?”

“Oh, no, I may have to tap out for the rest of the evening,” I blurt. “Your penis is going to impale me.”

He rubs his palm into the back of his head, looking down at the third leg taking up space between us, and says with a boyish grin, “I think we can make it fit.”

“The word you were trying to use was ‘hope,’ mister . Hope we can make it fit.”

“I’m going to grab a condom, and we can put all of that hope to good use.”

He comes back sans boxers, and I rapidly blink, taking him in. It’s huge. I mean, it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. “The penis has grown!”

“The flattery is appreciated, but maybe you can give my cock a nickname or something instead of calling it by the medical term?”

Heat flares beneath my skin at that term. “Is it killing the mood?”

“Surprisingly not.” He drags the foil in his fingers to his teeth and rips open the condom wrapper. “Nothing could make me want you less right now.”

“Wait,” I say, reaching to brush his hand away. “I’m feeling lucky. I want to try and put your cock in my mouth.” The words are foreign in my mouth, but I revel that his length seems to grow. “You know, if that’s okay with you.”

“Come again?”

“Your cock.”

The corner of his lip lifts, and he steps closer. “Such a filthy word from such a pretty mouth.”

“Cock.” I say it again as if I’m learning a new language.

“So fucking sexy.”

I’ll take that as an invitation. I kneel on the mattress and brace one hand on his toned thigh, the other carefully holding on to him. Despite the fact that this sex god has obviously been in this position before, I go for it, no longer faking it till I make it, because he clearly likes everything I’ve done so far. I grasp him and lick from base to tip, savoring his warmth, the path of his veins against my tongue before I open my mouth as wide as it can go and lower myself onto him.

Tears pinch my eyes, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t grab at me or push himself further in. He brushes my hair out of my face and places the possessive weight of his hand on the back of my neck as I adjust to him.

“Fuck, sweet girl,” he whispers. The praise ignites my will to keep going. “You can make it hurt too.” I oblige, scraping my teeth against the length of him. His hand clasps around his cock, falling into a steady pattern that I match. “That’s right. So right. You’re doing so good.”

We work into a rhythm together, with his cock hitting the back of my throat, until time whispers past us. I feel powerful and beautiful and sexy having this bit of control over him. Caring for him the way he cared for me. His eyes are rolled back as he doles out encouragement through labored breaths. My mind hums with pleasure when he finally releases his hold on me, withdrawing and kneeling in front of me to seal my lips with a kiss.

“I can’t wait for you any longer.”

“Me either,” I gasp as he stands and lifts me up with him. The faint glow of stars glimmers across the window, casting a low light upon the bed.

He rolls down the condom with one hand before removing my bralette and positioning himself at the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” he says.

“On you?”

“Now.” His shadowy gaze begs beneath his thick lashes. I hold on to his shoulders and settle both of my knees on the bed, feet dangling off the mattress. He supports me by the waist as I lower myself onto him with an agonizing slowness. The piercing sting of pleasure burns through me as we both adjust to each other. My lungs forget to work with every inch of him. “Fuck,” he groans into my jaw and then presses his brow to mine. “Breathe, sweet girl.”

“I’m trying,” I groan.

“Follow me.” He locks our hands and inhales deeply. I mimic him, falling into sync. The fullness of him inside me is bliss. My hips work slowly over his length. My lips at his forehead, his head in between my breasts, our arms bound around each other. It’s so intimate. We find a rhythm that flows perfectly between us. I’ve only experienced such deep absorption when I’m hours into an audiobook that’s tearing my heart apart, my hands immersed in an unbreakable project. It’s consuming and overwhelming, yet what’s happening to my body is entirely new. My senses sizzle as another wave of need builds. We’re either fucking or making love, I have no idea. All I know is that it’s perfect.

“Just like that, yeah? Just like that,” he says against my lips and tugs me in closer. Our bodies are crushed together by his grip.

Sparks flicker behind my eyelids.

“You’re making me see stars,” I choke out.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes, yes,” I moan. “Yes.”

“Then hold on.” The gold of his eyes is swallowed whole by inky blackness.

Instinctually, I hold on to him. Gravity seems to fail, and I’m floating.

“Oh my,” I gasp as he moves us to the other side of the room, still inside me. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing you to the stars,” he says, as if it were obvious.

My back collides with the cold window as his hands grasp my ass and thighs. I stare at him, bewildered and even more turned on. He rocks himself into me. This time, he’s not kind about it. This time, I’m certain we’re fucking. And I’m certain that I love it.

“God, you’re so good at this.” At my words, he kisses up my neck, opens his teeth against my jaw, and captures each of my throaty breaths.

“Together, okay?” he demands. As if he knows I’m on the brink and about to lose my every last shred of sanity. “Show me how good I make this pussy feel.”

“Yeah.” I bob my head. “Together.”

And as if on his willing command, a few deep thrusts into my core, our release is simultaneous. His knees almost buckle beneath him as he roars with me, but he doesn’t let me go until the pounding in my ears and the racing of my heart subside. As if he knows when I’m ready because he’s there with me in a different realm.

He carries me to the bed, setting me down gently before his heavy body indents the mattress beside me. “Thank you for this,” he whispers in my ear before placing his lips on the corner of my jaw. “I know it may be hard to believe, but I haven’t let go and had this much fun in a while. My work—I don’t get that many opportunities to relax with someone.”

Our noses brush. The man who spent all night teasing me and laughing at my bad jokes reappears. His features soften.

I study the map of lines and wrinkles on his face. The crook in his handsome nose. A scar above his brow.

Who takes care of him in his real life? He mentioned his handlers, who could be friends or family, but if he’s leaving, are they around that often?

“I’m the one who should be thanking you for making this the most special first one-night stand I’ve ever had.”

With that, he dashes off to the bathroom and closes the door. The sound of a shower turning on seeps into the room. A tingling sparks up in my chest. Suddenly, the sober reality of being alone in a room after such a mind-blowing experience sets in. I yawn, checking the clock. Four o’clock in the morning.

When was his flight again? The details blur in my brain like a smudged chalkboard. Am I supposed to leave? I have no idea. I drag the duvet over myself, looking around the space. A twinge of longing pools in my heart, shattering the fantasy world I’ve lived in for the past few hours.

Go away. We were both clear about what we wanted. I orchestrated this whole escapade. It was a one-night stand, nothing more . Yet a sinking weight persists in my chest.

The bathroom door swings open, sending a flood of light into the room that hits me like a cold splash of water. He strides in, already dressed in black sweats and a matching tee, a towel extended in my direction. “Here,” he says. “The shower is heating up for you, if you want it. I’ll give you some space. But thanks again for tonight. It was…a pleasant surprise.” His eyes are kind, but embarrassment creeps up my cheeks as I take the towel from him.

“Right.” Buck up. Two earth-shattering orgasms, and now you’re considering getting “Goose” tattooed on your heart. It wasn’t fireworks and shooting stars for him like it was for me. And that’s okay. I’m okay.

Stop being such a lover girl.

“The water should be warm by now.” He smiles.

“Good,” I reply, mentally face-palming at my lack of eloquence. “I mean, thank you. I had a nice time with you.”

“Me too.” He hesitates, as if considering how we should close out the night, but I collect my dignity and wrap myself in the towel before strutting off to the bathroom. A quick rinse, and I’ll call myself a car home. One-night stand accomplished.

The bathroom door clicks closed, and I climb under the hot stream. An odd sense of emptiness creeps in—a lonely feeling of something unfulfilled.