Daisy - Sex Stories

Daisy

... They weren’t that different. They were still Daisy and Pete.

Then reality landed like an anvil with the curtain call. For the rest of the night he couldn’t escape it. And time ticked on, just like the dripping faucet. Daisy wanted to make love. He did too. He really wanted it. But when he touched her, when his hand went across the smoothness of her skin, that magic didn’t strike him as it had before. And she didn’t question him. She just laid silently in his arms. It scared the shit out of him. Could he lose her still?

Dip.

Dap.

Dip.

He would remain in silence if it weren’t for the faucet dripping and his fears whispering. Unable to stand it a minute more, he snatched back the covers and rose in an angry huff, marching through the suite to the bathroom.

Daisy’s eyes opened when the mattress shifted. She heard him mutter a curse, then felt the chill of separation. He couldn’t sleep and neither could she. Her stomach had been churning since dinner. She wanted to make love to him, but he wasn’t into it. She could tell. So she laid there next to him, forcing her eyes to close. Forcing herself not to dream, to keep thoughts of Aiden Keane at bay, and trying to forget his vow to take her over in the morning.

The mattress dipped again. Daisy felt Pete ease back in. Maybe she should reach for him and say something? She loved him. She could say that. She was sorry for hurting him, she could say that. Maybe she should tell him that nothing would change. Maybe? ...

... Daisy lifted on her pillow. Her eyes focused in the dark, peering at him from over her shoulder. A second before speaking, her voice faltered. He turned and rolled on his side, giving her his back. Her eyes drooped sadly. She turned back over. Maybe she shouldn’t. What could she say at this point anyway?

***

Aiden Keane sat on his balcony, savoring the drag of his favorite cigar. Night wind blew flakes of ash. Below, the city that never slept sparkled with nightlife. Held several inches from his lips, the blunt burned amber flickered orange, then simmered. He reclined his head, letting his eyes go to the fading stars. A thick, milky wave of smoke curled up out of his mouth into his nose. Then he exhaled. He lifted his whiskey glass to his lips, and his dark silk shirt fell open, pushed aside by the action.

“Aiden?”

Her voice came from behind. He’d forgotten she was there. Waiting. Then came her touch. Her hand went to his shoulder, soft and firm at the same time. She kneaded her fingers into the tension knotting the muscles that pained him, before walking acrylic cotton-candy-pink nails down the front of his chest. When she leaned in, she brought in the scent of apricot and the vodka she loved to drink. Her lips, coated with that sticky gloss he hated, brushed his ear.

“Come inside, baby. I’ve been waiting.”

He knocked away her hand, stirred his whiskey, and took another sip. Andy walked around him to the deck railing. She leaned back against it, her eyes ...