Highest Bidder (Salacious Players’ Club)

Daisy

When I peel my eyes open the next morning, everything feels different. I’m curled up under the covers in Ronan’s bed. But when I roll over to lay my hands on him, I find his side cold and empty.

Normally, I’d feel panicked or paranoid, but I don’t with him.

Instead, I sit up and look around the room. The windows are open, bathing the room in warm light, and when I grab my phone off the nightstand, I read the time. Only nine in the morning. Which is impressive, considering we stayed up half the night trading orgasms, wrapped up in each other’s bodies until the exhaustion hit.

My sleep cycle is definitely a mess, but who cares? I had the most amazing night and the most amazing sex of my life, and it feels as if I’ve only scratched the surface of what we could be.

For the first time in months, I feel alive.

After jumping out of bed and cleaning up in the bathroom, I toss on one of my spring dresses I packed and do some poking around the apartment. There’s a desk in the bedroom by the French doors that lead to the balcony.

The thing that catches my eye on the desk is my open lyric journal. There’s a pencil lying in the center to keep it open and I come closer to find someone else’s handwriting scrawled across the page.

You want your life to be poetic, so here you go.

I’m not a poet but I’ve been dying to tell you this.

Your eyes are not as blue as the sky.

The sky is as blue as your eyes.

You write the rest.

A smile stretches across my face as my fingers trace the thin gray lines on the page, rereading them over and over and over. Ronan wrote this.

I can’t stop smiling as I pick up the journal and stare at the blank lines under his note. Grabbing the pencil, I carry the journal out to the balcony, curling up in the wicker chair and placing my feet against the wrought-iron railing. In the distance, I keep the tower in view as I let words spill out of me like water, soaking the pages.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so in tune with my pencil and the lyrics I’m scribbling. It feels like someone else is writing this song. Like I’m possessed.

I write about dusty bookstores and the Eiffel Tower at night. I even write a line about melted cheese over potatoes.

It’s all so fluid and effortless. And nowhere in my mind is there space for grief or pain. I’m not even thinking about the big secret anymore. Night will come eventually, but for now, I want to bask in the sun.

I barely even notice when the front door slams. I’m finishing a stanza, when I feel him standing over me.

“It worked,” he whispers, and I finally look up to smile at him.

“What worked?” I ask. It’s then that I notice he’s in a pair of jogging shorts and a tight, sweaty T-shirt. Did he really go for a jog after the sex marathon we pulled last night? What is this man made of?

“My little note. I told you…I’m not a poet.”

I’m gazing up at him with the morning sun beaming over the city, and for the hundredth time since I met Ronan, I admire just how dashingly handsome he is. Streaks of black in his mostly gray hair, a crisp jawline, strong cheekbones, and eyes so gold they radiate warmth.

“I love it,” I reply, just as he leans down to press his lips to mine.

“Good.”

He walks away, lifting his shirt from the back and pulling it over his head before tossing it into the hamper by the closet. I’m staring at his defined back muscles, replaying the events of the last few days.

Should I be ashamed of this whole…Daddy thing? What started as a joke became something that not only has us both very aroused, but also has given me a sense of security and comfort that I haven’t felt in a very long time, if ever.

Is that worse? That I call Ronan Daddy, because he literally watches over me and treats me like his little girl?

Even if it is, who cares?

Clearly, he and I share a kink for it, and we both enjoy it, so why should I feel weird about calling him that? It has nothing to do with Ronan being my actual father and everything to do with us giving each other something we’re clearly both craving. He feels best when he’s needed, and I feel safest when he’s there to protect me. If people think that’s weird, then fuck them.

When I hear the shower come on in the bathroom, I abandon my journal and pencil on the patio table and follow the sound.

I turn the corner into the bathroom with its glass shower walls currently steamy up from the hot water. Without a word, I peel off my dress and pull open the shower door. He’s watching me with his back to the tile wall as if he was waiting for me.

I freeze, gazing at his face with the water running in rivulets from his thick gray hairline down to his coarse beard. Then, with my bottom lip pinched between my teeth, I let my gaze stray over his tan, muscular chest coated with a thin layer of hair and across his soft abs, all the way down to his hardening cock. I notice the way his chest hair darkens from white to black as it trails downward.

I’ve never found an older man so attractive in my entire life, but Ronan Kade has somehow rewired my brain.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks in a teasing tone.

“Yes,” I reply with a smile. “Do you sleep with a lot of women my age?” The question pops into my head and I don’t even fully understand why.

His brows pinch inward. “Not a lot. I’m not only interested in twenty-one-year-olds, if that’s what you’re wondering. Do you only date men my age?”

I chuckle. “The oldest man I’ve slept with before yesterday was twenty-five.”

He scoffs. Then, he reaches for me, scooping me up by the waist and dragging my body against his. “Well, that is unfortunate, but your standards are much higher now,” he replies, and I giggle again.

Ronan cuts off my laugh with a kiss. I hum against his lips, loving the way his trimmed beard scratches my nose and chin. His body is both hard and soft, with toned muscles that he clearly works hard to maintain, but also a thick layer that proves he indulges in life at the same time. I think I prefer the soft parts anyway, especially as he circles his arms around me and holds me tight.

When he turns us around, so my back is against the tile wall, I open for him. He hooks an arm under the leg I have raised, then with our eyes on each other, he slides in, eliciting a long, breathy moan from my body. At this angle, with the pressure against my clit, I can feel my body warming with pleasure.

“You feel so good, Daisy. Like you were made for me.”

I run my fingers through his wet hair as he moves slowly inside me. I love the idea of him savoring me, deriving pleasure from my body. It’s a slow build toward something explosive. For a long time, I just ride this slow, gentle wave along with him.

“Harder.” My voice is nothing but air and moans, but when Ronan pounds into me, knocking my backside into the wall, I lose the ability to speak altogether.

“Like that, baby girl?” he says with a groan. “I want you to tell me exactly how you want it.”

“Yes.” I force out a sound, resembling an answer, as my body tightens like a spring ready to explode.

“Yes, what?” he replies, and I’m too busy holding my breath against his relentless pounding, waiting for the climax to knock me down, that I miss his response. “Yes, what, Daisy?” His voice is loud and deep, harsh with his own exertion and desire.

When the words finally do find their way to the surface, I’m practically screaming. “Yes, Daddy.”

Fireworks detonate behind my closed lids as I ride out my orgasm, wishing it could last forever. But all too soon, it’s over, and he’s groaning loudly into the crook of my neck, shuddering against me. We’re both breathing raggedly when he finally pulls out of me, his warm cum leaking down my legs.

His fingers find the mess along my inner thighs, sliding it upward, like he’s trying to put it back in. “Seeing my cum leak out of you makes me want to fuck you again, baby girl.”

I gaze up at him, speechless, consumed by the inferno burning inside me from that statement alone. Then, he lifts his cum-coated fingers and trails them across my bottom lip. I quickly swipe my tongue across my lip, tasting him. Leaning in, he kisses me, his own cum mingled between our lips.

It’s so erotic and sexy and makes me want him all over again.

“Do you think I’m depraved, Daisy? For wanting to fill you up every moment I can?”

Wistfully, I shake my head. I want that too.

“If you’re depraved, then I’m depraved,” I reply.

With a smile, he kisses me again, this time deeper, with a hint of desperation. When we finally do pull away, there’s something in his expression that worries me. Something that makes me feel as if he’s not as enthusiastic about this as I am.

“Everything okay?” I ask, as if he’d tell me.

He hesitates.

But a moment later, he just nods and presses his lips to my forehead. “More than okay, Daisy. Much more than okay.”

And with that, I smile and try to force my worries away.