Page 40 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

My eyes travel from the delicate rhinestone buckle, up her toned, trim legs, past the triangle of temptation, her flat abdomen, to firm breasts I consider a perfect mouthful encased in matching black lace and stop at where her hand is nervously fingering the four-leaf clover pendant I gave her.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods emphatically. “Aye.” The lilt sneaking into her one little word makes me smile. That’s my Daisy girl. “But you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Well, I guess we have to fix that, don’t we?”

I reach to unbuckle her shoes and hold her hips to keep her steady as she steps out of them. Without the extra inches, I’m now level with her belly button and press a kiss there, too. The way her skin breaks out in goosebumps gives me a thrill of satisfaction knowing I am affecting her as much as she’s affecting me. I untie my shoes and take them off, along with my socks. She’s so delicate, standing in front of me in her bra and panties. She’s not short, not like Kendall or my sister, but I’m tall enough that the top of her head doesn’t pass my shoulder. For a moment, a flash of panic flows through me that I’m too big and I’m somehow going to hurt her or crush her.

Thankfully, sanity asserts itself and reminds me of the couples I know with significant size differences—my parents, Bedard and Kendall, dozens of basketball and football players. It will be okay.

I straighten and remove the emerald cufflinks from my wrists and add them to the pile on the dresser, along with my watch. Miranda slides her hands up my chest to my shoulders to push my shirt off. I help by shaking my arms and she grabs one sleeve. As she pulls it off my left arm, the moonlight hits my wrist.

“Hey, what’s this?” Miranda grabs my arm and angles it toward the window. “You have a tattoo?”

“Um…yeah.” I don’t know if she’ll be able to tell what it is. Maybe she will think it’s a random blob.

Leaning in to study it, she turns her head one way and then the other.

“Is it a daisy?” she asks.

“Aye.”

She shoots me a grin, but her eyes glisten as she rubs her thumb gently over the tattoo. “I love it when you talk Irish to me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I murmur some phrases like, “I love you, I think you’re beautiful, and I can’t wait to make love to you,” in Gaelic as I kiss a spot under her ear, making her whimper. I continue with kisses on her shoulder and drag her bra strap with my teeth. Bra. Yeah. We gotta get rid of that. I reach behind her for the clasp to set her lovely breasts free. I may not have experience, but I know the basic mechanics of how a bra works. There’s supposed to be a clasp there.

“Wait. Hold on,” Miranda says, stepping out of my arms.

My stomach sinks. I’m screwing this all up and pushing her too far, too fast.

“It’s a front clasp.” She reaches up and flicks open the clasp. The two sides part, and I swear I hear angels sing as her creamy mounds are exposed for my gaze. They are perfect, firm and high. Not big but proportionate to her figure.

“Wow.” I shut my eyes with a groan. Way to be articulate, you idiot.

Her giggle has my eyes popping back open. She’s rocking from foot to foot and about to cross her arms and hide this beautiful sight from my view. We can’t have that.

“Hey, no hiding.” I reach out and gently grasp her hands, pulling her against me. Her nipples are hard as she nestles against my chest. I love being skin to skin with her.

She’s trembling.

“Miranda, my love, are you okay? We can slow down or stop. I don’t want you to feel rushed or do anything you want to do. We go at your pace.”

“If that’s the case, Declan, then why are we standing here and why do you still have pants on?”

I chuckle and undo my belt with trembling hands. She puts her hands over mine.

“Dec, we’re in this together. If you want to slow down or stop, we can. This has to be right for both of us.”

Somehow, I fall more in love with this woman. How could I not?

“Miranda, I want you so much I can barely see straight. But I’m nervous. I’m afraid I am going to hurt you. What if I’m terrible at this? What if you don’t enjoy it? What if you regret being with me? I want it to be perfect.”

She brushes my hands off my belt buckle and finishes the job for me. Her deft fingers unbutton and unzip my pants and push them over my hips until they fall to the floor. I step out of them and kick them to the side.

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