Page 18 of Plucking His Daisy

She milks me, begging, pleading as whimpers and moans spill from her lips. I release her slowly and then lay her down, pulling her against my chest as I lay down at her back. My heart is beating wildly, and I slide my hand from her abdomen up her body to rest above where hers is doing the same.

“I,” she gasps, and I can’t help but grin against the top of her head, landing a kiss there.

“I know,” I rasp. “I know,principessa. It’s only going to get better. So much life to live.”

She lets out a breathy giggle. “I think better might kill me.”

I scoff, “You’re young, you’ll survive.”

She shakes her head and turns to look up at me. “I love you, Lorenzo. I need you to know. You told Elio that your loyalty is with me first and I want you to know the same is true for me.”

I kiss her lips softly. “I love you, my Daisy.” I smooth her blonde hair back from her face, taking her in. “My princess.”

EPILOGUE

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

DAISY

I’m taking one more look at myself in the mirror after I asked the girls to give me a moment. I’m not nervous. I’m not scared. I just want to take a moment and appreciate right where I am.

I never thought I’d be here.

Today I’m marrying the man I love, the man who was untouchable for so long that the fear of the ache being a constant companion pushed me to break out of my cage.

Am I free now? That is debatable.

Lorenzo is possessive and jealous, he’s obsessive and dominating. But I knew all of that. I saw him. I’ve known him. I’ve loved him.

He also brings me immense pleasure and joy. He has my back, won’t let me fall, and is there if I stumble. Having a man who is not afraid to go farther, to use any means necessary, is a comfort I took for granted growing up, but am grateful for now.

Could you imagine if I had gone off to college and met some preppy guy or jock who doesn’t have a set of balls and tried to integrate them into the family? It would have been a bloodbath, and no one wants to clean up one of those.

Lorenzo is no prince, I realize that, but he’s mine and he doesn’t let me forget I’m his.

When I look up into the mirror to see myself again, all done-up and ready to walk down the aisle, I gasp and spin so fast on the vanity seat that I almost fall off it. “Lorenzo,” I shriek, my heart pounding in my chest in surprise. I hiss, “You aren’t supposed to be here right now. You aren’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”

He scoffs, “I didn’t let you sleep anywhere other than our bed last night and if you think I’m not going to see you when I want to then you must have forgotten who I am.”

“It’s tradition,” I huff and roll my eyes, knowing he’s right.

I had more than a sinking suspicion this would happen. I can’t even get indignant about it. He doesn’t hide who he is or how he feels about me; not anymore.

Usually, I find it refreshing.

“Fuck tradition,” he spits out. His eyes take me in, but he can’t see it all while I’m sitting down. When he reaches out a hand, I slip mine in and he’s pulling me to my feet. He sucks in a sharp breath and then lets it out slowly. “I’m going to defile you in that dress.”

I gasp and try and pull my hand away. “No fucking way,” my voice is filled with defiance as I shake my head.

His eyes snap up to mine and glint as if I’ve just given him a challenge. Fuck. I probably have.

“Who do you belong to? Who owns your pussy? Who can use you whenever he wants because it gives you so much fucking pleasure to be bent to my will, my way? It makes you so wet, doesn’t it,principessa?” His voice is a low, smokey tone which always turns me on. He could be telling me to order some toilet paper and I’d be soaking wet.

I shudder, my body and mind fighting me. My body is all the way on board theyes, please fuck me right here and nowtrain. My body is a floozy.

I take a step back from him, but the little growl of warning he lets out has me freezing. His eyes are dark and intense as he stares at me, and I know what he wants. I know what he needs.

“You,” I whimper. “I’m yours.”

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