Page 87 of I Saw Her First

I grasp her thighs and drive myself deeper, her tight heat gripping me with every thrust. I want to fuck her so hard she feels it tomorrow, fuck her so good she’ll never dream of being with another man. I want her to know she was built for my cock, that she’s the only woman I can imagine being with now. I want to show her all the things I can’t bring myself to say.

“Tell me who you belong to,” I choke out, unable to stop myself. I need to hear her say it, need to know she understands. “Tell me, Daisy.”

“I’m yours, Wes. I’ll always be yours.”

Damn right, baby.

Under the bright moonlight, we cling to each other in the pool, our bodies moving in a frenzied, primal rhythm, the only sounds our grunts and the sloshing pool water. And as we both reach our limit and fall apart in each other’s arms, I make a vow to myself.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I keep Daisy.

35

Daisy

Iwake early on Sunday morning. The room is silent, apart from the distant roar of the waves and Weston’s soft snores beside me. I’m not used to waking up to so much quiet; usually I’m woken by the sound of Denise crashing about in the kitchen at 5 a.m. as she gets ready for her early morning spin class. It’s especially annoying on my days off.

I roll onto my side and let my gaze travel over the sleeping man beside me, knowing I will never tire of waking up next to Weston, seeing his eyelashes flutter as he chases the last remnants of a dream, listening to his rhythmic breath, feeling his warmth in the sheets.

I don’t want to go home today. This has easily been the most blissful weekend of my entire life, and I don’t know what awaits us in the city. I know Wes can’t keep lying to Jess, and I don’t want him to. How can he truly heal things between them if he’s keeping our relationship a secret? How can he be close with his son like he wants to, if there’s a huge lie standing between them?

I don’t have the answers. All I have is this man beside me, and the silent wish that I won’t have to let him go.

We spendthe day in bed, only climbing into the car to come home in the late afternoon when we can’t put it off any longer. Then we ride most of the way back to the city in silence. Well, not complete silence. Steely Dan keeps us company, along with a little Fleetwood Mac and Creedence Clearwater Revival. More of the music the Walkers loved, the music I haven’t let myself listen to in so long, but with Wes, it feels safe to listen, to let myself hurt a little as I remember the time I spent with the people who loved me, the people I lost. It’s the same with my photography. Somehow Wes anchors me, makes me feel like the pain won’t hurt too much. Maybe it’s because he’s felt it too. Or maybe it’s because I just feel so good when I’m around him, that letting in a little sadness every now and then is okay. Good, even.

We pull onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and Weston slides a glance my way. “You okay?” he asks.

I nod, chewing on the inside of my lip. I might be unsure about what will happen for me and Wes back in New York, but I can’t deny the anticipation I feel about shooting Violet and Kyle’s wedding in a few weeks. My plan is to spend some time studying wedding photography, to get a few books from the library and find some good websites and pour over the images—the lighting, composition, the details they capture. I’m not a professional, but both Violet and Wes have told me I have a natural talent, a good eye. Willow used to tell me that all the time. Hopefully, with a little research, I’ll be able to capture the magic of Violet and Kyle’s special day. In the past I would never have considered taking on a project like this. I wouldn’t havebelieved I could do it, but again, it comes back to Wes, to the self-belief he’s instilled in me, the strength I find inside myself when he’s by my side.

I think of my old life, the one where I’d work all day at Joe’s so I could catch a glimpse of Weston, where I wouldn’t date because I was scared of guys judging me for being so inexperienced, where I couldn’t even admit to myself that I wanted to do photography again. The life where I’d go home to Netflix every night and numb myself to my feelings. That life was easier, less risky. My heart wasn’t on the line like it is now, and there was no threat of Weston losing his son for good because of me.

But it sure as hell didn’t feel like this.

It didn’t feel like living at all.

“You’re quiet,” Wes murmurs beside me.

I send him a secret little smile. “Just thinking about you.”

Tiny creases form beside his eyes. His hand finds mine over the gearshift and holds it tight. “I’m always thinking about you, Daisy. I can’t seem to stop.”

A quiet laugh slips from me. A year ago I would have given anything to hear him say that, but as we speed toward his house—to the life where he has to hide me away from the world, from his son—it’s harder to enjoy those words.

I stroke my hand over Weston’s upturned palm, letting it rest on the inside of his wrist. His pulse thuds reassuringly under my fingertips, and I close my eyes, feeling the life force move through his body. It feels so precious, and a jagged shard of fear slices through me as I hold my hand there. My pulse spikes, but I force myself to breathe deeply and try to figure out what, exactly, it is I’m afraid of.

It’s the fear of losing him, I realize.

And just like that, everything becomes clear. I haven’t been stuck because of my job, or my apartment, or my lack ofexperience with men. I’ve been stuck because I closed myself off from the world, from life. It’s been eight years since I really cared about anyone, and that person—those people—were taken from me. I never realized, but I’ve been too afraid to care about anything or anyone since.

Until Weston. He cracked my heart open and made me fall in love with life again. He saw something in me that I’d forgotten was there, and he brought it into the light.

I open my eyes, letting my gaze rest on him as he drives, focused on the road. I’ve never met a man who made me feel like this—like who I am, what I want, how I feel matters. But that’s Wes in a nutshell, isn’t it? He cares so much. He took Jess in when he needed somewhere to stay, he put that camera into my hand when I was too scared to pick it up myself, and then he built me a freaking darkroom in his house, so I’d have no excuse not to develop my photos. When he loves someone, there are no limits to what he’ll do for them. That’s just who he is.

A good, kind, generous man.

I swallow, glancing away. Does Wes love me? I can’t be sure, but I know without a shred of doubt that I love him. And if I truly loved him, I wouldn’t let him lose his son.

If we can’t find a way to work this out, if us being together jeopardizes his relationship with Jess…

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