“Daniel… how?”
“I told you I’d been working on a treatment. Well. I found one. It has a few side effects. As in, it makes me need to wear your pussy and ass out.”
His words make me flush hot. These aren’t the sort of things Daniel says. Daniel is a gentleman. Daniel would never hold me down and fuck me. Daniel would never talk to me so crudely. Daniel is a nice boy…
Except, it occurs to me, Daniel isn’t a boy anymore. He’s a man with an advanced degree in biochemistry and more determination in his little finger than anyone I’ve ever met.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“Tell me something only Daniel would know.”
“You like The Bachelor more than The Bachelorette.”
I cock my head and shake it. “Good guess, but not exactly convincing. Tell me something you’re sure only you could know.”
He looks deep into my eyes. Takes a breath.
“You held my hand after we crashed. We were both trapped in the car, but I was hurt worse than you. You cried. You told me that you were so sorry. I told you I thought I was dying.” He reaches out, takes me by the hand, and those eyes lock with mine. “You squeezed my hand so tight. You told me I wasn’t allowed to die. That you wouldn’t let me. You made me promise I wouldn’t. And I didn’t.”
Tears start to fill my eyes, as his words take me back to a moment buried in history and trauma and pain. Two teenagers, covered in blood, at the very door of death, demanding life.
It’s him. It’s really him.
And now I don’t know whether to hug him, or punch him so damn hard he feels it forever.
“You should have told me,” I say, my voice cracking as I try to reconcile all the emotions running through me.
“I didn’t know until last night. There was a side effect I had to address, a disassociation. I didn’t know what I was doing when the dose was at its height.”
“Oh, so then you realized you’d been fucking my brains out every night this week?”
We both realize at the same time that my tone has changed. Before I knew who he was, I stammered and I was shy and I let him do things to me without question. But right now, I’m talking to him like I would have talked to Daniel. There’s a sneer on my face. There’s a sneer in my tone. Both freeze as he glowers at me.
“That’s right.” He crosses the room, takes me by the arms and draws me up, first to my tiptoes, and then off my feet entirely. “You’ve been spreading your legs for me all week—and your ass. You’ve been giving me that sweet little cunt, and you’ve loved every minute of it. And if you take that tone with me again, I’m going to take this belt off and whip you with it before I fuck you.”
“Daniel, you can’t…”
“I can,” he growls. “I have. And I will again.”
Something inside me melts with relief. When he told me his name, when I saw the truth in his eyes, my heart sank. I felt betrayed, but worse than that, I thought it was over. I can let a stranger fuck me like a whore, but can I let Daniel?
He captures my mouth in a kiss, drives the question from my head. Whoever Daniel was, it’s not who he is anymore. He is an entirely different man. One who makes my legs spread out of desire. Even now they are winding around his waist as he holds me aloft without effort, kisses me with all that passion and desire and now, intimacy that was absent before. There is a knowing we now share, and that makes this all the more intense.
“I’m going to fuck you,” he growls, cupping my ass, pulling my pussy against his crotch. That thick cock of his seems to be perpetually erect. I feel it throbbing through the layers of our clothing, wanting me.
No man has ever wanted me like Daniel. I resisted him for so long for so many reasons, but he has taken every single one of those reasons and shredded them.
Now I see it, I don’t know how I didn’t see it in the first place. Of course this is Daniel. Daniel’s eyes burn in this behemoth’s face.
“Give me your pussy.”
I do.
I give him my pussy. I give him everything.
He pulls my panties to the side, pushes his fly down, and his cock finds my cunt in a single rough stroke. Daniel holds me in his arms and takes me the way he’s always wanted to take me. I saw desire all those years. I knew what hid behind those wistful looks and nervous requests for dates. But I couldn’t be with him. I was afraid of what I’d see. I was afraid of how broken I’d left him. Those first few days after the accident, seeing him in the hospital—he wasn’t himself. I could hardly stand to look at him. And I’ve been avoiding looking at him ever since. Truly looking at him. I’ve looked past him. I’ve looked around him. I’ve looked at an illusion of him, a pretend make believe where he sits across a table from me and we act as though everything is fine and normal, knowing that nothing has been fine or normal for years.