Ronan
“I don’t want to go home.” She whines from the seat next to me as our plane flies over the Atlantic.
“I’ll bring you back,” I whisper, kissing the side of her head. Her hair smells so good, like lavender and mint. It’s a scent I’ve come to love in just under a week. Everything about her is familiar to me now, like she’s imprinted herself on my skin, already a staple in my everyday life.
Something is off with Daisy today, though. I noticed it yesterday, and I’m afraid that when she says she doesn’t want to go back home, what she really means is that she doesn’t want to return to reality.
For me, I’m nervous that this dream ends in Paris, and the moment we return to our regular lives, she’ll lose interest. The novelty of a much older man will wear off and the electric connection we share will fizzle.
It’s hard to trust your emotions when luxury is involved. Is she truly that interested in me? If I couldn’t fly her in private jets or put her up in a penthouse suite, would she still see a spark between us?
On top of all of that, I’m afraid that Daisy is still dealing with so much residual trauma from losing her mother, and if that’s the case, she’s probably so desperate for an escape, she’ll do anything to get it.
Either way, I’m nervous. This week has been like a fantasy, but there’s a hard road ahead for both of us, if we’re going to turn this dream into a reality.
When the flight attendant comes by with our drinks, Daisy perks up, clutching affectionately to my arm. She clearly loves the idea of making this woman jealous, and I’m not going to stop her.
“Did you have a nice stay in Paris, Mr. Kade?” the woman asks.
“Yes, we did. Thank you.”
“Just make up one bed please,” Daisy interjects.
The attendant forces a smile as she nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
Then Daisy links her fingers with mine and grins sweetly in return. A moment later, the woman is gone, and I’m laughing to myself. It’s cute that she’s so possessive. Is she going to be like this back home? If I come into Salacious, will she still cling to my arm or will she be embarrassed to be seen with me? Being around strangers is one thing, but showing her interest in a much older man around people she knows is a different story.
“Is that how you’re going to be at Salacious?” I ask, my brow furrowed, and my voice laced with a hint of humor.
She takes a sip of her champagne and before setting it down, she scrunches up her face in contemplation. “I guess the real question is why you’re coming to the club in the first place.”
“Well, sometimes I go because I like being there. I don’t always go for the sex.”
Her brows are arched expectantly, as if she’s waiting for me to continue, so I do—because I know what it is she’s really asking. “The only person I’ll be sleeping with at the club is you, baby girl.”
Her lips tighten in a pleased smile, and I find her fingers, lacing them with my own. “Are you okay with everyone knowing that we’re together?” I ask.
“Of course,” she replies on an exhale. “Are you?”
“Fuck yes.” Leaning forward, I pull her face to mine for a kiss. There’s a heaviness to her expression now, as if it’s suddenly sinking in that she’s entering into an actual relationship with a man in his fifties. I just hope it’s excitement I’m seeing and not regret.
“So,” she whispers, “what exactly do you have in mind at Salacious?”
Oh, so we’re having this conversation now?
My cock twitches in my pants from the thought alone, so I take a long drink before replying.
With my hand on her knee, I give it a gentle squeeze. “If we start talking about this, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”
“Who said I wanted you to?” she says with a wicked grin. We’re sitting next to each other at the dining table, her hand on mine as her legs start to part ever so slightly.
“The flight attendant could walk in at any moment, baby girl. You’ve got a little exhibitionist in you, don’t you?” I reply, letting my hand skate up her thigh.
“Well, you did make me come in front of half of Paris the other night, so I’d say that’s a yes.” She lets out a little gasp as my fingers graze the fabric of her panties.
“Does that mean you’d let me take you in the VIP room?”
“Maybe…” She hums.
“Or the voyeur hall?” I add, rubbing her with a little more pressure.
“Yes.” She’s struggling to keep her composure now as I tease her, stroking her over her panties for a while, before slipping them to the side to feel how wet she is. “What about…” A tiny mewling sound escapes her lips as I slide my finger in an inch, just enough to drive her wild. It takes her a moment to regain her composure. “What about the punishment rooms?”
I pause, gazing at her in surprise. “Would you like that, Daisy?”
Biting her lip, she nods. “I mean…I’d like to try it.”
My cock throbs in my pants at the mere thought of it. Punishment isn’t my style. It’s not usually what I like…but if it’s what she wants, I’ll do anything for her.
With her featherlight touch hovering over the top of my hand, she writhes in her seat, and I see the way she’s fighting between asking me another question and urging me on.
“What is it, baby? What else do you want?” I ask, picking up my slow movements again.
With a hooded, lust-filled gaze, she says, “Everything. I want you to teach me everything.”
I have to force myself to swallow. Pulling my hand from the warmth of her pussy, I lift Daisy from her seat and set her on the table in front of me, her legs hanging on either side of mine. She’s staring down at me with a wrinkle between her brows.
“Daisy, I’ll teach you anything you want to learn. You know you can trust me, right?”
With warmth in her eyes and those wild blonde waves hanging around her face, she nods. “I want to learn about everything you do. I want to be what you need.”
“Baby,” I reply, keeping my tone soft, “you are everything I need.”
Her shoulders sag. “Ronan, you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” I reply, running my hands up her thighs. “And like I said, I’ll teach you everything you want to know. Whatever you want to try, I’ll do.”
“You’re a…Dom, right? So, make me your sub.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask with intrigue.
“Do you think I’m submissive enough?” she replies with a shrug.
Leaning forward, I pull her face to mine. “Being submissive is not a personality type, Daisy. It’s a role, and one you have to want to fulfill. It’s not something I need, if that’s what you’re afraid of. What I like, baby girl, is making you feel good. Giving you as much pleasure as I can.”
I squeeze her thighs with my fingers, tugging her closer to me on the table. There’s a hitch in her breath as I do.
“Nothing turns me on more than the thought of having complete control over your body—to play with, to test, to…fuck.” I add that last part in a low mutter, watching her reaction.
She lets out a little moan, her round eyes growing hooded with desire.
“With some boundaries, safe words, and clear communication, I think we can do that. Does that sort of submission turn you on, baby girl?”
“Yes, Daddy,” she replies in a whisper, and I start to lose my cool. I watch her throat move as she swallows, letting out a delicate breath with her eyes on me.
“Good.” Then I pull her face toward mine and kiss her so hard, she turns to melting wax right here on the table. As I pull away, I whisper against her lips, “Now be quiet so no one hears you.”
Then, I drape her legs over my shoulders and drag her to the edge of the table, pulling her panties aside and taking a long, slow lick of my favorite pussy.
As she bites back her moans, I find a rhythm, thinking about how beautiful she’s going to look strapped to my bed, completely at my mercy. Even the overwhelming trust she puts in me turns me on. For a moment, the fear of what lies ahead is gone. It’s just us, my face in her lap and her muffled cries.
When it’s like this, I let myself believe that Daisy and I could be more than a fling. Maybe this one doesn’t have to end in pain and regret. The pure, honest soul of hers that longs for poetry, freedom, and color in her life matches mine enough to mean she cares more about me than the money or the pleasure.
What we have could be so much more.
I’m a fool to hope.
But I’ve been a fool before. And I’d be even more of a fool to pass up the opportunity, to not play the hand I have in hopes of winning the whole pot. I’d risk it all for her.
Her legs tremble around my head, her breathing growing labored and desperate, and I know that when she lets out a squealing, “Yes, Daddy,” it’s not an accident. It’s her way of claiming me. Marking what’s hers. Making it clearly known who I belong to, a message to the single person within earshot. And although it’s a little excessive, it makes me pretty fucking proud. I would have done nothing less for her.
And that gives me more hope than anything else.
