Daisy
“It’s not sparkling,” I say as Ronan lays the large plaid blanket on the grass.
“As soon as it gets dark, it will.” The sun has set over the city, but its light still warms the sky, and I’m getting anxious to see the infamous twinkle of the tower. Even though we could see it from the apartment, he still insisted that we enjoy it from here.
“Oh,” I reply, taking a seat next to him, trying to maneuver my legs to the side in this knee-length dress, so I don’t flash the other people sitting around us. It’s not too crowded, but there are a lot of people here with the same idea as us. As he unscrews the bottle of wine he brought, I pull the extra blanket over my legs. Then he reclines one arm behind my back, so we’re nestled close to each other.
After he passes me a glass of chilled white wine, we tap our glasses together in a silent toast, then fall into a delicate silence, the sound of people chattering around us like a soothing white noise. The tower looms in the darkening sky, and I suddenly feel a wave of unexpected emotion rolling over me.
My mother would have loved this.
The thought hits me like an assault, mostly because it comes with a sense of grief that I’d rather not be feeling in this otherwise romantic moment. Emotion gathers heavily in my throat, and my eyes start to sting with tears.
Not now, I internally beg myself.
Turning my face away from Ronan, I quickly try to blink the tears away. I’m in Paris for goodness’ sake. I should be elated, but I can’t seem to understand why all the happy things that happen to me suddenly feel like sad ones.
Ronan’s hands lightly slide up my arms. I expect him to ask if I’m okay or hassle me into telling him what’s wrong with me. Instead, he pulls my face toward him.
“You’re thinking about your mother, aren’t you?” he asks, and I feel momentarily gutted by the mention of her. How he just knew the thoughts in my head without even trying.
I nod my head.
His mouth tenses, those full lips of his pressing into a straight line, as if he suddenly understands. “Traveling really brings out the grief. It’s normal. It took me three years to take a trip after my family died. For so long, the guilt I felt for being happy kept me from ever being truly happy. But you don’t need to feel guilty, Daisy. You’re allowed to be happy.”
“I know,” I whisper, another wave of tears trailing across my face. He pulls me between his open legs, so I’m using his body as my own personal blanket, and he squeezes his arms around me.
“But being sad is okay too, baby girl.”
I draw in a lungful of air, and it feels like the first deep breath I’ve taken in a very long time. With my back against his chest, I stare up at the tower and try to be in the moment. With him, like this, I feel safe—physically and emotionally.
How long can this last, though? Is it stupid of me to wish for something longer? We haven’t even defined what we are, but I know it’s something. To me, it feels like everything.
But what am I to him? A fleeting moment? A momentary companion? A week-long fling?
It feels like more. It has to be more.
Suddenly, I notice a woman staring at us from her own blanket about ten feet away. Her eyes dance back and forth from Ronan’s face to mine, and seeing as how she’s closer in age to me than him, I’m guessing the harsh expression on her pretty face is judgment.
But she can judge me all she wants. I’ve stopped seeing his age. I don’t see his years, his wrinkles, his gray hair, none of it. I just see him. The number of years a person has lived seems like such a trivial detail when you find someone who lights a spark in your soul and makes life worth living again.
He has one arm slung over the top of the blanket I’m holding up to my chest, but I casually shift my arm, putting his under the blanket and snugly holding it against my stomach. Instead of pulling it out, he squeezes me tighter.
When I move my head just slightly to the side, I feel his breath against my cheek. We are teetering on the edge of something big. As much as I hate to push him, I think we’re both ready to take the leap.
“Ronan,” I whisper.
“Yes, Daisy,” he replies, his mouth against my ear.
“I’m not sad. Not anymore. Not like this.” My fingers rest over his until our hands are clasped, and I wonder if he can feel how badly I want him, how much I’m aching for his touch.
“Neither am I.” He kisses the side of my head.
I can practically feel his heart beating against my back as I lean into him. The slow, but heavy cadence of our matching breaths, and I squeeze his hand in mine before ever so slightly nudging his hand downward.
His body shudders against me as he lets out a husky exhale. “Baby girl, you make me crazy.”
“Why are you fighting it so much?” I reply in a whisper.
“I don’t know anymore. You make me forget.”
“Then, touch me. Touch me like I know you want to.”
“Fuck,” he mutters darkly against my ear in a tone so low, I know only I can hear it.
His hand trails down from my belly, and I release my hold as he reaches the hem of my dress, dragging it upward until I’m exposed. Thankfully, the blanket laying over our bodies has his movement hidden from view.
As dusk starts to turn into darkness around us, his soft touch eases closer. When his fingers brush the soft fabric of my panties, he murmurs in my ear, “Take them off.”
“Out here?” I whisper, looking around.
“Now, Daisy. Take them off.”
I swallow, easing my arms under the blanket, and as gracefully as possible, I shimmy my panties down my legs, quickly snatching them up in my hands once they’re past my bare feet. I hold them in my fist before he takes them from me, pressing them to his nose with his ravenous eyes on me before shoving them into his pocket. Then he eases me back against his chest.
“Spread your legs for me, baby girl.”
I let out a quiet whimper as I lean against him, his fingers going straight to the aching core between my legs. His touch feels like heaven, soft and gentle, teasing me to the point where I start to writhe.
“Be still, Daisy. We don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing to you under this blanket.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning as his fingers circle my clit for a moment before leisurely sliding inside me. Ever so slowly, he plays with me, his touch unhurriedly exploring me. My eyes close, savoring the delicate intimacy between us. We might be in public, surrounded by people at one of the most famous attractions in the world, but right now, it’s just me and Ronan.
I nearly yelp as his thrusts grow more powerful, my body buzzing with need. He’s playing me like an instrument, and his fingers know all the right notes.
“I miss your moans,” he whispers in my ear. “Tell me how that feels.”
“It feels…so good,” I reply breathlessly between gasps for air.
“I love the way you soak my hand, Daisy. You’re so wet for me.”
I bite back a whimper.
When he adds a second and then a third, I feel so full and stretched around him. He picks up speed, keeping his motions small but intense, so it’s not overly obvious. But soon, I’m strung tight. The inability to move or squirm or cry out is making it ten times hotter, and I’m about to explode.
When my eyes fall closed with my face pressed against his neck, he nudges me to open them.
“Watch the tower, Daisy.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m gonna…”
Just then, the Eiffel Tower illuminates in glowing white light, sparkling in the dark night sky. At that very moment, Ronan moves his fingers to my clit, circling hard and fast, forcing me to come so violently, I let out a muffled scream. Thankfully, the crowd cheers for the lights, drowning out my cries.
I squeeze my eyes closed, leaning hard against his chest as pleasure floods every inch of my body. Wave after wave, I ride out the orgasm until I’m fully spent and trying to catch my breath. The tower sparkles for a few more minutes, and before it stops, I feel Ronan’s hand, still wet with my arousal, as it slides around my throat.
He pulls me backward, turning my face as he kisses me hard. I’m drunk on his touch when he finally pulls away. His lips are still touching mine as he mumbles, “We need to go back to the apartment. Now.”
