The Man I Know

The Man I Know A MARRIED COUPLE ROMANCE DAISY JANE Copyright © 2023 by Daisy Jane All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Editing | Laura Davies Cover Design | Daisy Jane Cover Image | Majdansky Created with Vellum Contents Content Warnings: Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Curious about Officer Drake and Nurse Sammy? Resources Bonus Content Graham Acknowledgments Reviews Patreon Also by Daisy Jane Content Warnings: While content warnings and advisories can be located on the Reading Guide on my website, I’d like to warn you that this book contains sensitive material not safe for every reader. Please proceed with caution if you have sensitivities to any of the following (all CONSENSUAL): aggressive rough sex, aggressive physical acts, rope play (light shibari), impact play, breath play, consensual nonconsent, anal, and/or roleplay of forced sex. Please keep your heart and mind safe while reading and take these warnings seriously for the best, most optimal experience. Tropes and other information can be found here: DaisyJane.com/ReadingGuide Foreword “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.” ― Mary Oliver One LAWSON I just stare at her, all eager energy and hard-on, enjoying all that is mine. A dying breeze tumbles through, and my breath catches as I wait. For the life of me, I can’t tear my gaze away. “Ooh!” Her velvety shriek fortifies the arousal building behind my zipper, then— “Thank you, wind,” I mutter, praising the universe like a hungry fool as the hem of her tennis skirt flies over her hips, exposing the underside of her ass. Damn. My throat ticks and my jaw clenches as I salivate at the vision before me. Impossibly flawless skin, a plumpness that makes me groan, and no panties. A growl rumbles through me, and I knead the length of my sternum with a closed fist to quiet the noise. To stifle the urge. I imagine lifting that skirt the rest of the way, her lean fingers splayed out on the window in front of her, desperately clutching for a balance she never finds. Before she’s even ready, I’ve pushed inside of her, sawing in and out as if my next breath depends on how hard I’ve fucked her, how full I’ve left her. How long she’ll feel the burn from my savage thrusts. Electricity jolts through my bones, and a raw fantasy appears behind my eyes. That fiery red hair all knotted up between my fingers. Her cries for help, panted appeals for respite, breathy pleas for freedom from my cruel grasp—sexy as hell. So fucking sexy that I’d— Whack. I bring my palm to my assaulted temple, massaging the pounding ache that takes hold instantly. “Dad! You were supposed to catch it!” Looking up, my two sons, Alex and Desmond, stand across from me in the yard. Both are covered in grass stains and mud smears, bits of torn out lawn poking out of Lex’s hair. Reaching down, I snag the football at my feet, stealing a quick glance at her. My wife. Wearing an intoxicating smirk, she tosses me a wink, her brows pinched with more than interest and curiosity. In fairness, all variations of her smiles and smirks make me a hard, lovesick fool. Her grin says she’s aware that I got hit in the head with a football because of my lascivious staring. Well, staring and drooling. I am a man who can multitask after all. Just not at the same time as I can play catch, apparently. “Sorry, boys,” I say, savoring her wink before returning my focus to our sons. The focus of the football lesson today? Never take your eyes off the ball. Heh. Oops. “A few more passes, okay?” My wife says, sauntering across the lawn, running an old chamois through her hands, leaving smears of earth behind. “Then we need to get cleaned up for dinner.” She sends a pointed look to our boys who, at ages ten and six, have a knack for not hearing. “A few more, then showers before dinner,” she reiterates, her tone adding a wordless warning. I loop my arm around her waist, catching her before she returns to her basket of lavender. She presses a hand to my chest, her diamond ring catching the highlights of the sherbet skyline above. “You okay over here, or do you need me to step in and catch some?” she asks, laughing a little as she teases, her plump lips enticing me. “I got distracted by the best ass in Willowdale. Forgive me,” I say, curling down to lay a kiss on her forehead. The smell of fresh lavender and soft, musky skin overwhelms me, and I pull away, shaking my head. “You smell so good.” She escapes my arm prison, strolling back to where her garden tools are strewn about on the concrete near the lawn’s edge. “It’s the lavender.” I force my focus back to our boys, lining my thumbs along the laces of the pigskin before I chuck it back. Their auburn hair shines beneath the traces of sun as they hustle after the ball that neither will catch. My chest tightens at the sight of them and I can’t help but venture a glance back at her. Her naturally