Daisy | Simon Riley

|16| Explicit Content 18+

"You've mentioned," she teased.

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the counter and walking over. He dropped onto the couch, pulling the balaclava off and running a hand through his hair.

"Why do you always wear that thing?" she asked curiously, turning toward him.

"None of your business."

She groaned, leaning her arm on the back of the couch to prop up her head. "Come on, I'm curious."

"No shit."

"Do you like being mysterious?"

He rolled his eyes.

Without an answer, she continued, "Is it a habit from covid?"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking away.

"Do you have a mask kink?"

He turned back to her, brow quirked. "You really wanna go there?"

She shrugged, "I told you, I'm curious."

"Wouldn't I want someone else wearing the mask if I had a mask kink?"

She shrugged again, "Whatever gets you off."

"I don't have a mask kink."

"Okay," she agreed sarcastically with a smirk before looking over to the coffee pot which had finished brewing.

"Daisy," he warned.

"What?" she asked as she stood, going over to the machine.

"Is it your mission to annoy me?" he asked.

There were already two mugs on the counter, so she began filling one. "Is it working?"

"Yes," he agreed, voice coming from directly behind her.

Her heart skipped, but thankfully she didn't falter and spill any of the coffee before she began filling the second one. "Is it your mission to try and scare me any chance you get?"

"Is it working?" he asked lowly, his breath tickling past her ear as his hands found anchor on either side of her.

As she replaced the pot into the maker, her arm brushed his and she noticed that his sleeves were rolled up; something she'd never seen him do before. Her eyes caught the dark tattoos that covered his skin, patterns she didn't have enough time to appreciate.

She abandoned the mugs and turned, their faces nearly touching.

"Not this time," she answered finally. But the words were so quiet, she barely heard them herself.

He stared at her, those coffee-colored eyes mixed with the scent of the coffee behind her and those last hints of cigarette from before they'd boarded the chopper.

Everything about him in that moment was so fucking tempting, but when had those feelings gotten so strong she was ready to pull clothing off? When had their anger transformed into a smolder? When did she start wanting him to run his hands over her skin?

Fuck; all he was doing was watching her and she was becoming completely undone. Did he see that?

He must. He must because that same desire seemed to burn in his eyes. And she wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but his arms seemed to be getting closer, closing the space between his hands and her body.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, to the scars that cut across the top. She wondered what they would feel like.

"Eyes up," he ordered hoarsely.