DON’T STOP (Lila and Darrell) novel Chapter 89

It was just getting started.

Back in his Bed 89

Back in his Bed 89

Daisy

My eyes snapped open.

My heart was slamming against my ribs, my breath ragged, and my skin slick with sweat.

For one terrifying second, I thought Norman’s hands were still on me, his cock probably still buried deep, his growl still! vibrating in my ear.

But no.

The room was quiet. There was no rain. No thunder. Just the soft hum of the air conditioner and Steve’s even breathing beside me.

I was in Steve’s bed. In his arms. My legs tangled with his, my nightie twisted around my waist, and thighs pressed together against the throbbing ache between them.

It had all been a dream.

A filthy, vivid, heart–pounding dream.

I sighed loud and sharp, which made Steve stir immediately.

“Hey…” His voice was sleepy and gentle. He rolled toward me, hand sliding to my cheek. “Bad dream?”

I stared at him–his kind eyes, his soft smile, the faint stubble on his jaw. He looked safe and steady. Nothing like the man who’d just fucked me senseless in my head.

Steve tilted his head. “Was your ex–husband trying to kill you or something?” He chuckled lightly, trying to tease.

“It’s not a joke,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. My voice cracked. My whole body was still buzzing–nipples hard against the silk, core clenching around nothing, inner thighs slick and hot.

Steve’s smirk faded. He reached up and rubbed my hair gently, like I was a child who’d had a nightmare.

“Go back to sleep, babe. It’s late.”

But I couldn’t.

I was soaked and arching. Every nerve ending lit up like a live wire. The dream–Norman had left me on the edge, desperate, empty, and needy–and now real–life Steve was right here, warm and close, and I needed something. Anything.

I turned toward him fully, pressing my body against his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice soft, and yawned.

I swallowed. “I need you.”

He smiled sleepily but sweetly and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I mean… I need you inside me. Let’s have sex.”

He sighed softly and tiredly. His arms loosened just a fraction.

“I’m really tired, Daisy. Can we do this tomorrow? I promise.”

“Please,” I begged, squeezing my thighs together. The pressure only made it worse–the ache sharper, the wetness more obvious. “Just… please.”

Steve opened his eyes fully now, studying my face. “You should have told me earlier when you came over. Not when we’re already in bed trying to sleep.”

He sighed again, longer this time.

“Tell me,” he said quietly. “What made you so horny? Did you see me in your dream? Me fucking you?”

I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight, my cheeks burning. The room suddenly felt too small, the sheets too heavy. My pulse hammered in my ears; I could hear my own heartbeat and feel the slick slide of my thighs rubbing together and the way my clit throbbed with every word he spoke. Guilt twisted in my stomach–sharp and cold–because no, it hadn’t been him in the dream. It had been Norman. Always Norman. My fucking ex–husband.

I couldn’t say that.

“Are you doing it or not?” I asked instead, my v

He sighed again and shook his head slowly.

ation.

Successfully unlocked!

“I’m really tired, Daisy. Please… tomorrow. I promise.”

Back in his Bed 89

Then he took his arms away from me, gently, but firmly, and rolled over to face the other side.

The rejection landed like a slap.

I gritted my teeth, glaring at the back of his head. My body was screaming–hot, wet, unsatisfied–and he’d just turned away like it was nothing.

“Whatever,” I muttered, my voice tight.

I threw the covers off and stood up. My legs felt shaky. My nightie clung to my damp skin. I crossed the room to my overnight bag, unzipped it with trembling fingers, and dug inside.

There it was.

The dildo–black, thick, veined, tucked in its little velvet pouch like a guilty secret.

Right. I never brought it when I stayed over at Steve’s. Never needed to.

Not until a few weeks ago, when he rarely satisfied me.

I glanced back at the bed. Steve was already breathing evenly again, asleep.

Good.

I slipped into the ensuite bathroom, closed the door, and locked it. The tile was cold under my feet. I didn’t bother turning on the light. Just the faint moonlight coming through the frosted window was enough.

I hiked my nightie up to my waist, leaned back against the sink, and spread my legs wide. My reflection stared back at me in the dark mirror. My eyes were glassy, lips swollen from biting them in the dream, cheeks flushed with shame and need. looked like a woman cheating on her boyfriend, even though Steve was asleep and had no idea.

I dragged the head of the dildo along my slit slowly and teasingly, gathering the wetness that had leaked down my thighs since I woke up. A low whimper escaped me when it brushed my clit. I was so swollen, so sensitive; every touch felt like fire and accusation at the same time.

“This is wrong,” my mind whispered. Steve’s right there. He loves you. He’s good to you. And you’re in here because of Norman.

The thought made my stomach twist, but it also made me clench harder around nothing. The guilt only fed the ache. It made it sharper and hungrier.

I pushed the tip inside, just the head, and my knees buckled. I moaned a soft “aahh” almost immediately. I gripped the sink edge with my free hand, biting my lip hard to keep quiet. Then deeper–slow, inch by inch–letting my body stretch around the girth. It wasn’t as hot as Norman in the dream, wasn’t as rough, and wasn’t attached to a man who growled my name like a curse and a prayer.

But it was enough.

I started moving, giving myself the slowest thrusts with my hips rolling to meet each one. Then, I went a little faster. The wet, obscene sounds echoed off the tiles. My other hand flew between my legs; two fingers found my clit and rubbed tight, frantic circles. Pleasure coiled low and vicious in my belly, building slowly, torturously.

I pictured Norman’s hands bruising my hips. His mouth on my neck. His cock slamming deep while he called me his. Then I pictured Steve, and the guilt crashed over me again–hot and shameful.

You’re using this because he won’t touch you. Because you’re still hung up on a man who broke you.

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