You Said I Was Your Favorite (A Lancaster Prep Novel)

The sound of her sobs twists my insides into knots, and the moment I spot the darkened building up ahead with the giant parking lot surrounding it, I pull over, stopping in front of the breakfast house. I throw the car into park and undo my seat belt before I reach for hers and do the same thing.

When I haul her into my arms, she doesn’t protest. She goes willingly, somehow curling into my lap, her arms coming around my neck, her face buried against my chest. Her tears soak through the front of my shirt and I don’t even care. All I can do is stroke her hair and murmur reassuring noises, feeling helpless. Useless.

My family? We haven’t suffered much tragedy. We also don’t handle our emotions very well. As in, we don’t really show them at all. There weren’t a lot of ‘I love yous’ spread around my household and while we’re definitely not the coldest Lancaster branch that I know, we’re still pretty cold.

Emotionless.

Doesn’t help that my mother is British. Stiff upper lip and all the shit that comes with it. My father married a cold fish and man was he angry about it—enough to tell me all about his troubles last winter break, when he was drunk and they’d just gotten into a huge argument.

I was seventeen. The last thing I wanted to hear about was my father complaining how he never had sex with my mother anymore. That she felt the act was an obligatory duty and she gave him four children, so why is he protesting?

He’s had a few affairs—confessed to that too. Discreet indiscretions that didn’t amount to much, though he always made sure my mother found out. She never seemed to care, which infuriated him even more.

“All I want is acknowledgement,” said the very man who’s not very good at acknowledging any of his children. The irony.

Pretty sure my mother could’ve birthed him a dozen warrior sons and I don’t think he would’ve been pleased. Not fully. But we’re not the disappointment in his life.

Dear old mother is.

I don’t talk about that conversation, or our family troubles. Just like Daisy doesn’t talk about her mom or her emotions. She keeps them all stuffed deep inside, only letting them pour out this one singular day a year. When she can mourn the death of her mother that just so happened on her twelfth birthday.

That is some fucked-up shit. And so random. A brain aneurysm. One second you’re there, next second you’re gone, though I thought they at least got a warning sign with headaches and stuff. Not that I’m going to ask. If Daze wants to share any more details, I’m willing to listen, but she’s too busy crying currently to speak.

She’s still crying into my shirt and I tangle my fingers in her soft hair, resting my chin on top of her head as I stare out into the dark night. The clock on my dashboard says it’s almost eleven and I hope to hell Ralph doesn’t pitch a fit when he realizes his sweet, virginal daughter isn’t home yet. Though his night with Kathy might still be going on…

Wonder how he’d feel about me being with his daughter. Would he approve?

Probably not.

No one seems to approve of me being with her.

“Oh my God.” She moans as she tries to pull away from me. I keep my hold firm on her but she tilts her head back, her luminous gaze meeting mine. “Your shirt is soaked.”

“It’s okay.” I tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear. Draw my thumb across her bottom lip. “You’re okay. Right?”

She’s still for a beat too long for my comfort before she nods hesitantly. “I’ve never shared that story with anyone before.”

“No one?”

Daisy slowly shakes her head. “Nobody.”

I’m blown away that she would share it with me. “I hate that your mother’s death happened on your birthday.”

Her face begins to crumple. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“I’m not saying it was. I just—I don’t like that your birthday has been tainted forever because of it. She wouldn’t want that for you.”

“I know.” Daisy sniffs, nodding. “I know.”

“I tried to make today good for you.” I really did. I wanted her distracted and happy but in the end I failed.

And I don’t like failing.

“You did a great job, I promise. Dinner was wonderful.” She rises up a little, her lips brushing mine and I cup the back of her head, keeping her in place.

Kissing her because I can’t resist. It’s my favorite thing to do.

She’s tentative at first. Like she doesn’t want to do this. Not here. Not now. I realize it quickly and am about to pull away when she kisses me again, her lips clinging. Again.

And again.

Until my lips coax hers open and my tongue is touching hers. Lightly at first. I don’t want to push.

Fuck that. All I want to do is push when it comes to Daisy. The second she gets close, our bodies brushing, touching, mine is set on fire for her.

No one else. Just her.

I continue to kiss her. Light, sweet kisses with a hint of tongue. Just persuasive enough until our tongues are tangling. Our breaths accelerating. My heart racing.

My dick fucking throbbing.

Daisy’s sweetness is what does me in. Makes me crave more. I use so much restraint when it comes to these private moments with her. My need to possess her grows and grows every time I kiss her.

Every damn time.

I drop my hand so it rests on the outside of her thigh. A purely innocent touch, I tell myself. I’m not going to try anything else.

But the kiss deepens. The moan sounds low in her throat. The groan rumbles in my chest. Without thought, my hand is sliding beneath her skirt, fingers skimming across her soft flesh until they encounter the side of her panties, right at her hip.

I give them a tug and she gasps. I slip my fingers into the front of them and she whimpers. She’s wet. A few kisses and she’s ready for me and Jesus, I shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t take advantage of her when she’s in such a vulnerable state but here I am with her on my lap in my car, my fingers sliding into the wet heat of her pussy. Back and forth, featherlight, making her shiver.

Making her hips push forward, eager for more.

A soft sigh escapes her when I begin to stroke and her hips shift with my hand, seeking more. I keep my mouth on hers, my fingers busy, the sounds of her wet pussy filling the close confines of the car. The scent of her.

God.

I get her off quick, her orgasm hitting her at the exact moment she breaks our kiss. Her hot breath bathes my neck as she pants into my skin, her body shaking. I kiss her forehead and hold her close, trying to give her whatever she needs. Comfort. Caring. A shoulder to cry on.

An orgasm.

She slumps against me, her face still buried against my neck, her body soft and pliant as it melts into mine. I tighten my arms around her and when she starts to move, I try to let her go, but she stops me.

Daisy lifts her head, her golden eyes shining in the dim light from outside. “It’s always about me and never about you.”

I’m frowning, brushing my fingers through her hair because I can’t resist. It’s soft and silky and I love it. “It’s your birthday.”

“I mean—sexually.” She swallows hard, like that was difficult for her to say.

My smile is sly. A little devious. “I’ll come collecting here eventually.”

She doesn’t even crack a smile. More like she looks a little terrified. Nervous. “I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to…this.”

“You don’t have to worry about it tonight.” I lean in to kiss her and she backs away a little, which is fucking disappointing, not going to lie.

“Maybe I want to,” she murmurs.

“Daze,” I start to say, but she readjusts herself on my lap, until she’s straddling me. The skirt of her dress hiked up over her hips, offering me a glimpse of her simple pale pink cotton panties, which are currently pressed firmly against the ridge of my cock poking against my khakis. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she whispers against my lips as she slowly rubs her panty-covered pussy against my crotch. “Show me what to do, Arch. Teach me.”

Oh fuck. How can I resist that?

“Back up a little, baby,” I tell her and she scoots backward, hitting the steering wheel with a wince. I reach down and adjust the seat, giving us more room, and I can tell she’s excited. Looking for a distraction, maybe?

Probably. But I don’t care. I’ll give her what she wants.

Gladly.

With her straddling my thighs and her ass basically resting on my knees, there is room between us. Room for her to stare blatantly at the front of my khakis, which is exactly what she’s doing. Without warning she reaches out, drifting her fingers along my erection and I hiss out a breath.

She jerks her fingers away, her gaze lifting to mine. “Did that hurt?”

“No.” I shake my head, deciding to be truthful with her. “You should unzip my pants.”

“Should I?” Her voice is shaky. I can tell she’s nervous.

“If you want.” I clear my throat. Shift in my seat.

I’m dying to feel her hands on me.

Daisy undoes the button. Slides the zipper down, spreading the material open wide. Somehow, I’m able to lift my ass and shove my pants down while she lifts up, and I push them farther until they’re bunched around my calves. My cock strains against the front of my boxer briefs. I’m throbbing with the need to feel her touch me, and when she settles her hand on top of my dick, I close my eyes and lift my hips a little, seeking more.

Needing more.

“Don’t be shy,” I rasp. “Pull it out if you want.”