A Perfect Fit Read online

  Knowing it was driving her crazy helped him stay in control, in focus.

  Or, it did until he got his first deep, full taste of her.

  All of the lessons he’d learned about pleasing a woman were forgotten.

  His tongue didn’t dance over her clit, he didn’t suckle her folds, he didn’t ease one finger inside her. None of the loving, caring, careful, respectful magic he’d always used with women and wanted to use on her.

  No.

  With Daisy Rhys, there was none of that.

  Dunk ate her pussy.

  He’d never liked the phrase before, but there was nothing else to call what he was doing. He was slurping, he was gulping her down, he wedged two fingers into her and reveled in her groans as her body adjusted.

  High-pitched whines of overwhelming, relentless pleasure winching tighter and tighter filled the air while she clutched the Pollock comforter. Sweat rose all over her skin now, making her scent a thousand times stronger.

  There was nothing driving him but instincts. He devoured her until she pulsed and cried out brokenly, and then he kept going until she shuddered and gasped again and reached one hand down to cover herself.

  Daisy shivered and moaned, dragging herself up to catch Dunk’s lips with hers, scrambling against him until she’d gotten him on his back again. She kept kissing him as her hand fumbled her nightstand drawer open and found a condom. She licked into his mouth, over his chin, as she put the condom on him, his muscles quivering like a stallion dying to race, to gallop, to blow past its competition.

  “That was definitely a touchdown,” Daisy told him, her voice raspy from the cries she’d let out and the cries she’d held in her throat too.

  “Two, really,” Dunk couldn’t help but correct.

  But he cursed when the blunt head of his dick notched inside her, then forged into her as she lowered her ass until he was filling her up.

  “Want to go for a field goal?”

  “Daisy, I didn’t think you liked football,” he gasped playfully.

  “It’s not really a good analogy,” she murmured as her palms planted themselves firmly over the cut of his hips and she began this torturously slow rise and fall, with some swivel worked in on the bottom of every downstroke. “Since women can score as many touchdowns and field goals as they can manage, while men can only score once.”

  “Yeah, okay, but when I come, I win the game,” he groaned, the air punched out of his lungs. “Like catching the Snitch in Quidditch.”

  “Don’t I win, since I’m going to be the reason you come?”

  Dunk’s whole body shuddered hearing her say that, then every single muscle in his arms and his thighs and his abdomen and his ass locked up, fighting against coming right that very second.

  “You fill me up so well,” Daisy gasped, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, her curls a crazy cloud over her shoulders and brushing his thighs behind her ass. “Is this as good as you remember?”

  “Better,” he promised mindlessly.

  “Don’t fight it,” she gasped. “I want to win.”

  “God!”

  “That’s it, baby, please,” Daisy pleaded. “I need to feel you come.”

  As if she’d pushed the Launch button, Dunk exploded into pure ecstasy. He came so hard, he swore he could feel the spurts ricochet off the condom and land on the head of his dick. His fingers tingled and his teeth ground together so hard that he felt all the tendons in his neck pop up.

  “Yes, yes,” Daisy chanted as she rippled around him again.

  “Three to one,” Dunk slurred as Daisy slumped down over him, “pretty damn good odds in my favor.”

  Daisy laughed weakly, breathlessly, and smoothed one hand over Dunk’s hair and pec and along his side, then slid it back up over his stomach to rest between her cheek and his heart. “That was so good.”

  “Yeah,” Dunk agreed, and had enough brainpower left to take care of the condom before tucking her to him. His hand traced her shoulder, swept along her spine, cupped her hip, and repeated the pattern until he felt her go completely boneless with sleep. He used his other hand to snag her comforter, which had fallen to the floor in a heap at some point.

  Daisy burrowed against his chest and sighed happily.

  Dunk’s chest rumbled in contentment. “Better than any dream I’ve ever had, Daisy Rhys,” he whispered into her hair.

  Chapter 8

  Daisy

  “So Seth’s playing at Wild Harts Saturday night,” Dunk told Daisy as she slung as many grocery bags as she could carry around her wrists.

  “Okay,” Daisy said.

  She and Dunk had been seeing each other for almost two months. They’d had the we-are-exclusive conversation, but not the boyfriend/girlfriend conversation. She didn’t mind, not yet, but it meant that she didn’t like to make it easy for him when he asked her out.

  He had very little experience asking women out on dates, versus arranging to ‘hang out.’ It seemed, from the relationship war stories they’d shared so far, that mostly women wanted a roll in the sheets with him.

  Although, since he was a great guy to spend time with, they didn’t avoid him after they slept with him. In fact, a lot of them invited him to tons of stuff all the time, even years after their hookups: their kids’ sports games, their charity events, their birthday parties, anything.

  It was amazing to her that he cherished all of them and all of those experiences, that he had never felt used or disrespected. It was amazing that men didn’t threaten him for talking to their wives or girlfriends.

  But it also amazed the hell out of her that none of those women had ever seemed interested in dating Dunk. Maybe it was because while plenty of women in their twenties said that they wanted a sweet, happy, steady man, they wanted to date some bad boys first. Dunk McCoy might be a lot of things—not the least of which was awesome in bed—but even putting the phrase bad boy next to Dunk was laughable.

  “Okay, so, do you want to come with me?” Dunk finally asked.

  “I’d love to,” she reassured him, her smile evident in her voice, she was sure, as she knocked her shoulder into her door to get it open.

  “What was that thud? It sounded like you dropped a five-pound weight on a carpet.”

  She giggled at his very specific theory of what the noise had been. “I just got home. That was some groceries hitting my welcome mat.”

  “You had a good day? Or did that snobby old guy come in?”

  Huffing a laugh, she told him about her day, which luckily had not involved the snobby old guy, one of her dad’s oldest clients.

  By the time her groceries were put away and she was peeling open a can of tuna for Lempicka, they had moved on to talking about his day. It featured four freshman boys getting caught trying to steal the school mascot’s costume as part of some hazing for the debate team, of all things.

  Picturing the kids who had been on the debate team when she was in high school, she laughed at the idea of them doing anything illegal.

  “That’s crazy. They needed a better plan.”

  “Right? You’d think they would have at least come up with two plans and then debated whose was better,” Dunk scoffed. “I’m disappointed in them, to be honest. We got away with some choice pranks in my day.”

  Daisy had been a freshman when Dunk was a senior, an art geek while he was the star of the football team, his clique the most popular.

  Thinking back on all of the pranks, she asked, “Weren’t you part of putting a bunch of classrooms up on the roof?”

  Dunk burst into hearty laughter over the line. “Classic,” he gasped.

  “What are you up to? You want to come over?” Daisy asked, wandering around her studio. She had planned on doing some watercolor painting, but it felt a little lonely, especially compared to hanging out with Dunk.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping a bit. “I’m two minutes away from Jack’s house for poker night. If I’d known you wanted to spend time together, I woul
d’ve asked if I could bring you too, or something.”

  Daisy giggled. “I can’t play poker!”

  “No?” he mused. “I bet you could bluff with the best of them.”

  “I just got home,” she sighed dramatically, whining a tiny bit as she pulled open one of her dresser drawers. “I’m putting on pajamas.”

  Of course, Dunk didn’t miss that. “Putting on?” He groaned. “That means you’re doing it right now. Are you…” His voice dropped, the light-heartedness making her grin even as the deepened timber made her shiver when he went on, “Are you naked right now, Daisy Rhys?”

  She looked down at her bare legs, her hose pooled around her feet and her dress deflated across the back of one of her kitchen table chairs.

  “I’m getting there,” she murmured, reaching behind herself to take off her bra. She sighed in relief and rubbed across her ribs where the band of the bra had been gently squeezing her all day.

  “Which bra did you just take off?”

  “How do you know that’s what I just did?” she giggled.

  “That noise. It’s the same noise I made when I take off my cup.”

  “Because your junk is so big it barely fits in the cup, and taking it off relieves all the pressure?” Daisy guessed, giggling some more as she pulled on flannel shorts and an ancient Rhys & Sons Law Firm tee-shirt.

  Dunk chuckled and bragged, “You know it.”

  “Well, now I’m in pajamas, and you’re probably almost at your destination,” she said. “But you could…” She scrunched up her face, reminding herself that she was a beautiful, sexy woman, and finished suggesting, “But you could call me after poker night? When you’re home?”

  “Oh, damn,” Dunk groaned, dragging out the aaa like he was in pain. Then he blew out a giant breath and said in a more no-nonsense way, “Okay, Daisy Rhys, I am actually sitting in Jack’s driveway. But you can bet your sweet ass that I will call you later. It might be late though.”

  “I won’t mind, if you make it worth my while.”

  “Would it be worth your while if I just knocked on your door at midnight?” he asked, while she could hear his truck door slamming shut.

  Her grin was impish as she replied, feigning uncertainty, “I’m not sure about that. I was having this pretty good fantasy about listening to—”

  “Shit,” Dunk interrupted. “For the love of all that’s holy, don’t finish that when I’m about to walk into a house full of dudes. They don’t need to see my semi and get depressed because it’s bigger than what they’re packing.”

  Daisy exploded into laughter as she flopped onto her futon. “Why don’t you call me after and we’ll see how we’re feeling?”

  “Very level-headed,” he agreed solemnly. “Good plan.”

  With one last hum, Daisy ended the call.

  She rolled over and hugged her pillow to her face, giggling like mad, her whole body flushed with excitement.

  Once she could think about anything but Dunk’s voice murmuring endearments and descriptions in her ear, she got up. She shook out her body and did a workout video, paid some bills online, loaded her dishwasher, and then settled back on the futon to watch Netflix.

  Her life was quiet and, now that she lived alone, pretty solitary.

  It had been very important to her to move into her own place and to become fully financially independent for the first time in her life. She had found great satisfaction in slowly filling her studio with yard sale finds and making ceramic bowls and figurines to scatter on her windowsills and bookshelf. The peace of her own space, filled only with what sounds she chose, brought the contentment and clear-sightedness that she’d been searching for. She was proud of herself and what she was doing.

  But she still felt lonely sometimes.

  So she tried so hard not to count down the minutes until Dunk called. The anticipation turned out to be the sweetest sort of torture, a delayed gratification that she’d read about in romances about bossy men.

  When she was with Tyler, they were so young. They hadn’t been each other’s firsts, but it hadn’t mattered. They had been frantic; Tyler had been single-minded and she had been so enthusiastic that it was kind of embarrassing to think about now. If they had wanted each other, they used every move that would undo the other as quickly as possible. There had only been a handful of men between Tyler and Dunk, and she hadn’t been in love with any them, still healing from the end of her marriage.

  This thing with Dunk wasn’t like anything she’d had before, and it felt like a move in the right direction, just like being financially independent.

  After all, this particular thing, being denied what she wanted while Dunk was busy playing poker, was new and it made her impatient.

  But it was fun and sexy, like lovemaking always was with Dunk, and she was flying high on the newness of it all. It got her through the hours until her cell trilled out the chorus of “Stuck Like Glue” and she practically dove to pick up.

  “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

  “Hello,” Dunk murmured, “is this the sexiest woman in Maybelle?”

  Tongue in cheek, she asked, “What are the requirements?”

  Dunk’s low rumble of laughter was so intimate through the phone, right into her ear, rubbing down every nerve ending to make her shudder.

  “Never mind,” she said quickly, blushing. “I’m the one you want.”

  “Wait, who is this? Is this Daisy Rhys?” Dunk asked loudly, his over-the-top shock making her bite her lip to stop from laughing. “I’ve been calling every woman in Maybelle, but you’re the first to say yes!”

  “Dunk—”

  “No, seriously,” he insisted, even though she could hear him trying not to bust out in guffaws. “Congratulations! You win the prize!”

  She stretched out her legs, pointing her toes so hard that her entire legs quivered from the sustained effort, and sighed dramatically. “I love winning contests and I extra-love prizes. What did I win?”

  “Hmm, well now,” Dunk said, “what do you need right now?”

  Daisy knew he was fishing, hoping she would say you. But she loved their banter so much that she didn’t want to give in so easily, so she paused, then declared, “A million dollars, fresh sushi, and… a pumpkin.”

  “A pumpkin?” he sputtered, breaking character spectacularly. “Okay, the million bucks and the sushi, I can understand. But what the hell would you want with a pumpkin at… a quarter to eleven on a Tuesday night?”

  In a shocked whisper, she gasped, “You don’t know?”

  “No…?”

  She heaved a put-upon sigh. “I need it for my carriage,” she informed him. “Otherwise I’ll never make it to the ball on time.”

  Dunk somehow snorted and groaned at the same time.

  “What’s at this ball you’re so desperate to get to?” he finally managed to ask.

  “This guy. He’s, like, so dreamy. Every girl in the kingdom wants him.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked smugly.

  “Sure,” she teased, “he’s got a crown, lives in a humongous castle…”

  “I bet your mom’s always telling you he’s the only one worth catching,” he contributed solemnly, “that you have to beat all the other girls and catch his attention with your face and… assets.”

  Daisy couldn’t help but grin. “My assets are all I have to offer,” she agreed. “Well. Only if I’m pretending to be a lady for a night. The real Cinderella has some useful skills. I can scrub floors, make dresses, sew.”

  “I have it on good authority that Prince Charming is more than a humongous crown and a castle,” Dunk responded conspiratorially.

  Daisy tried so hard to ignore that, but she just couldn’t. “Your crown is pretty humongous, Prince Charming,” she snickered.

  It took him a second to realize what he’d done and what she meant.

  Instead of teasing more, she heard him swallow hard.

  “Daisy,” he said, his voice going rough and uneven, “you’re not
a trapped Cinderella and I’m definitely not a filthy rich, personality-free Prince Charming. And while I love discussing fairy tale tropes with you, I really want—”

  His breath hitched.

  Daisy’s breath caught. “Dunk,” she whispered, “are you…”

  “Did I start too soon?” he whispered back, his low chuckle rich and dark. “There’s something so damned sexy about how you play with me.”

  “If you were here, I’d already be playing with you,” she couldn’t help but quip, but her voice was shaky on the edges with blooming desperation.

  “You know I love winning, but poker tonight was torture,” Dunk admitted. “I had to fold so many times because I couldn’t think right.”

  She heard sheets rustle on his end and she sucked in a sharp breath and set her cell carefully on the pillow next to her so that she could shove her shorts and panties off. “You could have just come over here.”

  “That offer was very tempting, sugar, but I want to try this.”

  “You’ve never done this?”

  “No. The closest was probably something horrible like, ‘Are you up right now? Because I sure am.’”

  “Dunk, no!” she laughed.

  “Hush and put your hand on my breast,” he ordered, then immediately squawked, “your breast. I want my hand on your breast.”

  If she hadn’t wanted the same thing so much, she would’ve laughed.

  But the thought of it had her putting her cell on speaker and then cupping her heavy breasts, dragging her thumbs over her nipples.

  “Please touch me,” she whimpered, stumbling through mindless desire to speak, “please tell me how you’d touch me, and I’ll do it.”

  “I’d touch every damn inch of you, Daisy,” he promised raggedly. “Just, you know, every damn inch. With my hands and my mouth.”

  “I-I want to do the same to you. I love your body,” she gasped out, her whole body bowing when she finally touched herself between her legs. “You’re so big, it would take me for-forever to do it.”

  As her voice trailed off, her body buzzing and trembling, it was silent on his end, except for a rhythmic susurrus. There was no rhythm like that but when a dick was being stroked under sheets; it sounded like what it was, unapologetically, underscored by Dunk’s raspy, quick breathing.