Daisy
Oh, he’s taking me to that club. Whether he likes it or not. He can’t possibly keep treating me like some naive little girl. It’s not like we’ll be the ones having sex, but I still want to see it. I mean, who wouldn’t?
After we eat at this adorable cafe on the street with little brown wicker chairs under the canopy, he has the driver come pick us up to bring us back to his apartment.
It’s even more beautiful than his apartment back home, with its tall ceilings and intricate white crown molding. I poke around the apartment, looking at old artwork and trying to figure out how the hell I wound up in Paris with Ronan Kade. This feels like a dream. All day I tried to memorize every little detail. Every moment felt like a line in a song. The warm flakey croissant. The sound of children playing in the park. The way his strong arm felt with mine wrapped around it. The comfort of his protective touch on my back.
Ronan’s bedroom door is open, so I wander my way in and find him opening the door of his room that leads to a wrought-iron balcony with a near-perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. Two steps into the room, I gasp.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mutters when he sees me. “This room has the best view.”
My mouth is hanging open as I approach him. “It’s breathtaking.”
Pointing to the two chairs and small table, he adds, “You can have your coffee here. It would be a great place to journal or write your songs.”
I bite my bottom lip as I let my fingers dance over the iron railing. “That sounds perfect.”
“Will you take me to the tower tonight? To see it sparkle?” I ask as I feel him step closer. I’ve noticed the way he eats up the space between us lately, and I love it. It’s like his will to stay away from me is wearing thin. It’s the little things that tell me this. Tiny touches and lingering glances.
Like the way he is right now, stepping up behind me until he’s so close, I could lean on him. But he doesn’t give in. It’s like this is all he wants—nearness, contact, connection.
“Of course,” he replies as I feel his fingers gently stroking the strands of my hair.
Suddenly, his phone rings, shattering this tender moment. He reaches into his pocket and glances down at the screen for a moment before turning away from me and hitting the answer button.
“Hello,” he says in a curt greeting. I hear a man’s voice on the other end of the call, and I crawl onto the bed, although it’s clearly Ronan’s, watching him with a weird sense of anxiety in my belly. It’s ridiculous for me to be jealous of whoever is on the other end of that call or to be concerned that they will take Ronan’s attention away from me, but I can’t help it.
What if the man on the line wants to meet with him? What if he leaves me? What if he goes to that club and finds a woman who knows how to be his sub? What if he gets tired of me?
Have I become so dependent already? This is ridiculous.
Still, I wait in discomfort while they talk business, and when he says, “Tonight?” I stop breathing.
He glances back at me for a moment, and I hope my face conveys just how pathetic I feel.
“Yes, we can meet tonight. Eleven works.”
“But you said—”
He clenches his jaw and furrows his brow as he stares at me with pity. “See you then. Bye.”
“Who was that?” I ask, as if I have any right to know.
“It was an old friend and business partner,” he says gently, as if he’s afraid of disappointing me. Too late.
“You’re meeting him tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Where at?” I reply, afraid of the answer.
“A club.” The word sounds heavy as it escapes his lips. He might as well have slapped me with it.
“A sex club?” I reply, my voice sounding weak.
“Yes.”
The blood drains from my face as I swallow down my rage. I’m such an idiot. My fears were valid. He doesn’t care about me. He wants to find a better woman. What on earth am I even doing here?
I climb off the bed in a fury. “It’s fine. I’ll go see the tower by myself.”
When I try to storm out of the room, he snatches me by the wrist and yanks me back, and I want to hit him. I’m so angry at him, and for what? For not giving me the attention I want? For not wanting me? This has all gone too far. The sooner I’m out of here, the better.
“No, you won’t,” he bites back.
“You can’t tell me what to do, Ronan. I’m an adult. You’re not really my daddy.”
A high-pitched yelp flies out of my mouth as I’m suddenly thrown onto the bed, landing with a bounce before he’s on top of me. The weight of his body is a welcome sensation, but in this moment, I’m too worked up and angry to enjoy it.
My wrists are pressed against the mattress by his hands as he hovers above me. “I told you not to call me that. Didn’t I?” he grits out before clenching his teeth.
This power I have over him is intoxicating. And I realize at this moment just how much control I have. I can have his attention and his time, even if I have to push his buttons to get it.
With a devious grin, I reply, “Or what? What are you going to do, Ronan?”
He leans closer until his mouth is just an inch from mine. “I’m going to put you over my knee and spank your ass until you learn.”
A wicked laugh bursts out of me as I smile up at him. “Sounds like something a daddy would do,” I tease in return.
With a tight expression, he lets out a growl, grinding himself against me. My body lights up with desire, my legs falling open as I welcome him between them, so close I know he can’t back out now.
I let out a whimper, tilting my hips to feel the rock-hard proof of his arousal against my core.
“What are you doing to me, Daisy?” he whispers as he lowers himself over me, his mouth going to my neck, instead of my lips, where I truly want it. When I feel his warm breath hovering over my skin, I’m afraid I might go crazy with need. He keeps my wrists in his hands, pressed into the mattress above my head. I’m squirming wildly beneath him and still, his lips won’t make contact with my skin.
“Please…Daddy,” I cry out in a high-pitched plea. I know it’s a form of manipulation, to use the one thing he can’t resist against him, but I’m growing desperate.
And it works. That’s what does him in. His eyes find mine and they are wild and hungry, rich brown irises gazing down at me, and I realize I’ve never wanted someone so much in my entire life.
His mouth crashes against mine like thunder. He tastes like bourbon and him, warm and heady. I’m devouring his kiss like I need it to survive. Hips grinding, fingers grabbing, teeth biting—we are a mess of desire and lust.
I’m practically dying of pleasure already, just from the pure satisfaction of his touch and how good it feels to experience him finally letting go. This is happening, and I’m not going to let him stop.
But just as I reach for his belt, he rips his body out of my grasp. It’s like being doused in ice cold water.
“Fuck, Daisy,” he barks, standing away from the bed and glaring at me with anger.
“Ronan, don’t stop,” I beg as I sit up and reach for him.
“I told you not to call me that. Why won’t you just listen to me?”
He’s pacing the room, looking frustrated and disoriented, not at all like the confident, level-headed Dom he usually is.
Suddenly, I’m flooded with guilt. Ronan looks as if he’s mentally punishing himself for every move with me, and it’s my fault for playing on his weakness. Maybe he really does want to protect my innocence. Or maybe he’s really been hurt so many times, he’d rather have sex without emotions.
Either way, it kills me to see him hurting—knowing I’m the cause.
I quickly climb from the bed and close the distance between us.
Pressing myself against him, I rest my hands on his chest and gaze up at him with my eyes soft and pleading. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” I whisper. I’m not making a move to kiss him or touch him like we just were.
With a big exhale, he relaxes. I keep my hands there on his chest as I draw myself closer, resting my cheek where I can feel the erratic pounding of his heart.
His arms draw around me and he squeezes me tightly. And just like that, we feel like friends again. Or whatever we are—not quite friends, but not quite lovers either. After a few moments, he speaks.
“It’s not that I don’t want you, Daisy. You have to understand just how much I want you.”
Placing his fingers under my chin, he lifts my face until I’m staring up at him. His next words turn me from solid flesh and bones to a melted puddle of nothingness on the floor.
“But the things I want to do to you, baby girl, are dirty, filthy things. And you’re too fucking sweet for me.”
I move my lips to argue, but not a single word comes out. Because it doesn’t matter what those filthy, dirty things are or how much I want him to do them to me.
All that matters is that he knows what’s best for him—and I trust him. It’s strange that it happened in just a few days, but I do trust him. I trust him to take care of me. To protect me.
Even if that means from him.
