Page 58 of Vandal Unbound

Daisy breaks the kiss, then watches her fingers as they trace the edges of the scar on my head. “I’m so very grateful to the people who put you back together, Vandal. Because I’m very glad you’re here.”

And, yeah, there goes my heart, cracking wide open and splatting all over her bedroom floor. “Feeling the same thing.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Daisy’s fingers remain against my face, tracing the edge of the scar like she’s willing it better. Most people look away from it and try not to stare. But she accepts the broken pieces of me.

It’s a strange thing to be so open and vulnerable instead of hiding away.

My hand trails down her ribs and settles at her waist, spanning the curve of it. And I let myself appreciate her fully. Not as a distraction or a means to an end, but as something precious worth admiring.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, unable to find the exact words to express what I’m feeling.

But she blushes anyway.

I brush my thumb along her jaw. “Seriously, Daze. Words don’t really describe how I see you.”

I lean forward and kiss her again.

The smile that appears is small and uncertain, as if she doesn’t quite believe it.

Our world narrows to soft breaths and tangled limbs and the gentle touch of her tongue against mine. It’s a sliver of perfection in the chaos. Grounding in a way I struggle to fathom.

I stroke my knuckle down her cheek. “I should probably go.”

Her brows draw together. “What?”

“I mean it.” I offer a faint smile. “Tonight was meant to be me checking on you. I don’t want to take advantage of the fact you were kind enough to listen to me.”

“Vandal—”

“I want this, Daze. Don’t get me wrong. God knows I want this. But I also want to be a man worth having.”

The admission hangs between us until her face softens. “And you think staying here would make you less of one?”

I shrug. “I think I’ve spent five weeks making bad decisions.”

Daisy reaches out and cups my neck. “That doesn’t mean this is one of them. Let me ease you, Vandal.”

I don’t know what the definition of weakness is, but if you look it up in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of me lying here with Daisy.

I reach for her hand, kissing the back of it before I place it over her head. “Hold onto the headboard.” She does as I say, and I reach for the other hand and repeat the action.

Her tits look incredible, and I drag my fingertips over the curve of them. Daisy wriggles as if ticklish.

“Can you lock the door?” she asks. “Just in case.”

Never has a door been locked faster. I’m gone from the bed for all of two seconds before I return to the bed to crawl down her body, kissing her through her tank top. Sucking her nipple into my mouth through the fabric. Nibbling on her hip.

I slide my fingers beneath the hem of her sleep shorts, and she lifts her hips to help me shimmy them over her thighs. Her pussy is covered in neatly trimmed hair. All the club girls keep it waxed, so there’s something deliciously natural about Daisy’s bush.

“It gets too much, tell me, yeah?” I say.

Daisy nods. “I will.”

“Open your legs for me, let me see you.”

She does as I say, and I shift, nudging her legs to open even wider so I can settle between her thighs. For a moment, I simply sit on my knees and study her. Her eyes shine with anticipation, a marked improvement on the tears she had for me earlier. She bites down on her lower lip, then runs her tongue over it to soothe it.