Married, Daisy. You’re married.
I shake my head to, I don’t know, hopefully cause some minor brain trauma so the little cerebral workers shut things down for the night, but every time I try to close my eyes, they just pop back open like they’re spring-loaded.
I do an alligator death roll, spinning and spinning until the sheets are so tangled around me, I don’t know that I’ll ever get free.
“Well, this is good,” I murmur softly to myself, wrestling my limbs until I finally get my arms free and flop them on top of the covers.
God. Now I’m hot. Like, fucking swampy, to be honest. Why, why, why didn’t I bring my glass of water to bed with me? Whyyy did I leave it in the bathroom?
“Ugh,” I huff, pulling the covers down and off me completely while my internal oven cranks up the temperature to 500. For the love of everything, my organs will never survive this roasting.
I sigh. Sit up. Stare at the door.
Surely Flynn’s gone to bed now, right? I could just sneak back into the bathroom, grab my glass, fill it up one or five times, and that’ll be that. A gulp of some H2O and back to bed.
The fact that you’re trying to avoid your husband on your wedding night is quite the turn of events…
On a sigh, I shove the covers down to the end of the bed and turn my body so that my feet dangle off the edge. I crane my neck and strain my ears to hear anything outside of the bedroom—any signs of life—but as hard as I try, I can’t hear anything at all.
Just go, you lunatic. The night can’t get any weirder than it already is.
Moving boldly, I jump down from the bed and take off on another Jim Carrey in a green suit style run for the door. I unlock it, open it, peek outside, and then creep my way to the bathroom swiftly. I shut the door, lock it behind me, and then flick on the lights only to find my glass of water is…gone.
Nooo. Jesus, where did it go? Don’t tell me this place is like the Beast’s castle, and candlesticks are doing some light housekeeping in the dark of night.
Shit. I’m going to have to go back to the kitchen. Whipping out my virtual UNO reverse card, I exit the bathroom with the same stealth and speed with which I entered and head down the hallway toward the land of concrete and black cupboards.
The lights are all out, and the motion sensors must have a timer or something, because I’m left to the safety of the darkness as I make it into the kitchen, grab a glass from the cabinet I watched him get it out of before, and fill up my glass at the sink.
I put it to my lips, take a hard swig, and then settle my frantic hips against the counter with a deep sigh.
“Can’t sleep?” a rough, thick voice says from the darkened breakfast nook at the side of the kitchen. The jump it produces from me rivals that of Earvin Johnson, the Magic man himself.
“Holy shit,” I snap, a hand to my chest as I gasp for breath. Frankly, it’s nothing short of a miracle that there’s not shattered drinking glass fucking everywhere. “You’re still up.”
Flynn doesn’t respond, only shifting slightly in his seat and changing the shape of his shadow on the wall.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your…quiet time or whatever. I just had to have another drink. P-a-r-c-h-e-d, that’s me.”
This has to be the weirdest, most awkward wedding night that has ever occurred.
My eyes close of their own accord, embarrassed for all sorts of reasons. Though, mostly due to the fact that I’m stuck inside the body of a lunatic.
“My mind…it keeps running and running like it’s Usain Bolt or something,” I ramble, because, well, why not? It’s not like Flynn hasn’t caught on to the reality of my manic mental state. I mean, I was like this before he married me. You know, when I hopped onto his bike without even knowing his first name. “Big night, huh?” I question, even though I know the odds of him answering are slim to none. “Lots of shifting life parts or whatever.” I stick a fist in the air and do some kind of weird cheer thing, and that’s when he moves. Up and out of his chair, he comes toward me, stalking almost, his walk is such a prowl.
My back hits the counter as I try to work my way through the concrete, but it’s no use. Between one breath and the next, his front is six inches from mine, and I can’t seem to keep any air in my lungs.
“You’re worked up,” he says, his big hands tenderly running a path up my arms and knocking my equilibrium right off planet Earth and catapulting it straight to flipping Mars.
All I can do is nod.
“Too worked up.”
I nod again.
“You know what I think you need?”
“A tranquilizer dart to the neck?”
He smirks, shakes his head, and his hands go to my hips. My mouth gapes, and before I know it, I’m two feet to the left and my bare ass is on the cold stone of his counter and a rush of pent-up frustration floods between my legs.
Hell’s bells, why am I so turned on right now?
“You can’t seem to calm down, and in order to sleep—which I haven’t been able to do in two fucking nights thanks to babysitting my drunken brigade of brothers—I need you to.” His voice rumbles and rasps in the most delicious way, like it’s my own personal ASMR soundtrack, only suited to what triggers my desires. “So, I’m thinking the only way to make that happen is to fuck the anxiety right out of you.”
Time halts and my ears bleed—and my soul? Well, I’m pretty sure it just up and leaves my body.
Holy shiiit. Is this happening right now?
Please, please, please say this is happening right now.
Flynn
“Do you think I’m right, Daisy?” I ask her. “Do you think you need me to fuck the anxiety right out of you?”
She nods, and the way her green eyes blaze makes my cock grow hard beneath my zipper.
Fuck me.
Daisy gasps as I cover the flesh of her bare ass with my hands and pull her closer to the edge of the counter. With pressure on the insides of her knees, I spread her legs apart to the point at which I know she’s on the brink of pain and grab a handful of those sexy goddamn curls to pull her head back and expose her throat.
“Do you want this? Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
A long, purring moan rolls out of her mouth, and her eyes flash with both surprise and arousal.
I seal my lips to the skin of her neck and suck, the sweet perfume of her body making the tip of my nose tingle. It’s been several months since I’ve had sex, but it’s not been from lack of opportunity.
Truthfully, I’ve been bored—unexcited—and if there’s one thing about me that’s absolute, it’s that I don’t ever do anything with the intention of going through the motions. Sex without pleasure, words without meaning, friendship without life enrichment—it’s all frivolous. I don’t need pointless fucking, and I don’t need pointless people. Period.