Chapter 22

Delilah

Five seconds is all I give the heat of his body to soak into mine.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I warn.

“Jaxon said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. Well, I’m not sick in the traditional sense.

“I wanted to hold you,” he confesses with a desperation that sends chills over my skin. “Make you feel better.”

“I’m fine,” I repeat. Maybe saying it over and over will convince my own mind.

“So you said,” he mutters with a quick kiss on my shoulder before he pulls at my shoulder until I’m flat on my back.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“You said that, too.”

His lips hover over mine, an endless pause before he presses his mouth to mine. It’s then that I feel the tremble in his body. Anger? Need? I’m not experienced enough to differentiate.

My groan of resistance transforms into a moan of arousal as his lips continue their coaxing and his hard length presses against my hip. My neck flexes, reaching for him when he pulls back.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers before taking my mouth again.

Soft pecks turn into aggressive licks of his tongue. Floating above it all, I somehow feel overwhelmed with sensation and completely separate from it at the same time.

He ignores the tremor in my hands as they find the over-heated skin of his chest. Fingers flexing against his pecs, I dig in to keep my hands from roaming lower, which my brain is telling me is the right thing to do. Never in this position before in my life, and instinct is trying to drive me to the next step.

Will my heart survive taking what we have one step further, only to slam on the brakes the second that it’s done?

I fear that it won’t, but living my life without sharing this with him seems like an even more unmanageable burden.

“Touch me,” I beg.

“Delilah,” he pants pulling his mouth from the delicate skin on my neck. “That’s too much.”

“It’s not,” I promise.

“I can’t,” he hisses and backs off of the bed.

For a long moment, I stare up at him, his chest heaving as if he is running from demons I can’t see.

I slink out of bed. One thing he may never learn about me is that rejection hurts more than a physical blow.

Growing bold even though I know it’s a risk, I reach for him, my hand hovering over the elastic band of his sweats.

With eyes clenched as tight as his hands, he turns his head up to the ceiling, as if he’s warring with his restraint.

With the slightest movement, the palm of my hand brushes against his erection. It increases in size as if it senses me and is seeking out my embrace.

“Law,” I whisper against the column of his neck. “Touch me.”

His eyes find mine, his throat working on a thick swallow.

Resolve and something sinister fills his icy-blue eyes. I don’t even try to fight the heat it causes low in my belly. No matter the will he was trying to keep alive, the resistance he was holding on to, my need, my own form of manipulation has worked.

“You need me, Princess?”

“Touch me,” I repeat for the third time, embarrassment marking my cheeks at my inability to tell him everything I want from him.

“Turn around,” he commands.

The soft fabric of my pajama shorts abrades my skin as I shift on my feet. It’s too heavy, too thick, and restrictive to what my body is demanding.

I reach for the waist of my shorts as his feverish skin presses to my back.

“Stop,” he pants in my ear.

My body obeys before my mind has the chance to catch up.

“Where do you want to be touched?” I hate the calmness in his hands as they both grip my waist.

“Everywhere,” I moan with a quick shift on my feet.

“Here?” he asks as one rough thumb sweeps over the tightened bud on my left breast. “Or here?”

My knees nearly give out when his right hand finds my center with a skilled precision I choose not to consider in fear it would ruin this moment.

“Oh God,” I breathe. “Yes.”

“Filthy slut.”

I stiffen in his arms, but it only lasts a second as both hands toy with areas only I’ve ever touched before.

I’m dizzy from lack of oxygen by the time his right hand runs up my hip and then lowers inside of my shorts and panties this time.

“So wet for me, dirty girl.”

Dirty girl is better than slut, I guess.

Before the unease can settle, his fingers spread me, thumb searching for the spot that has never needed something as much as it does right now.

He presses harder against me, hissing in my ear at the friction against his own body. I squirm, unsure of what to do, but blissfully aware of the contact on my clit.

“I bet it’ll only take one finger to get this perfect little pussy off.”

“Oh God.” I quiver, shake, and become putty in his hands.

The slow, teasing circles of his thumb is the best torture, the thing my body recognizes as essential for survival.

“Jesus,” he mutters against my hand. “Come for me.”

“For you,” I pant as my body shudders in a release that nearly destroys me.

He pulls his hand away long before the tiny quivering comes to a full stop.

“Turn around.” I obey. “Knees.”

With the hand that was on my breast, he pushes his sweats down. His other hand, glistening with my arousal strokes the length of his erection.

“Lick it clean.”

I want to refuse, insist that he not speak to me the way he is, but my mouth waters at the prospect of tasting him, of tasting me.

He takes a step forward, resting the blunt head of his penis against my lips. I swipe at the pre-cum on the tip with my tongue, my senses flaming to life at our combined tastes.

I lick again, hungry for more. My hands find his powerful thighs as his free hand fists my hair. The small bite of pain, the same as the night we first kissed in here, stokes the fire that was already burning from my orgasm.

“Open wide,” he commands, his voice growing unsteady. “Take it all.”

He presses in, and my throat constricts immediately at the foreign intrusion. Gagging, I pull my head back. Surprisingly, he allows me to take a deep breath before he pushes in slower.

I look up, hoping to find pleasure in his eyes, but they stare back at me, empty and shuttered. He’s not even here right now. He’s lost in his thoughts, somewhere other than in this monumental moment with me. The tingle of awareness that I’d pushed down earlier at his horrible words begins to travel to my brain, pushing away the desire to please him.

“I told you you’d have those pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.”

I rip away, the haze of need doused as if I’d been thrown into the Antarctic.

“What is wrong with you?” I sputter wiping the back of my hand over my mouth.

“Don’t stop now, Princess. We were just getting started.”

“Was this your plan all along? Get me to fall for you just so you can get me on my knees.”

Doubt tugs at the corner of his eyes before he shelters it and sneers at me.

“I can fuck your mouth while you lie on the bed if it’s easier.”

I shake my head, the slickness between my legs growing cold and becoming too much to ignore. I feel dirty and wrong and used. None of the things I’d anticipated feeling after getting to know him these last couple of weeks.

“You need to leave.” The resilience I feel in my bones doesn’t translate as strength in my voice.

With arms wrapped around my waist, I step back until my thighs hit the mattress. My body is near convulsing as I watch him swallow. His fingers twitch as if they’re going to reach out for me, but I stiffen, and he backs down. I’m confused and my heart, which I’d planned on breaking myself soon, has now been ripped out by a guy that only paid attention to me to manipulate me into this exact situation.

He turns to leave, and I expect him to open and slam the door behind him. When he turns and the light of the moon catches on a single tear on his cheek, I’ve never felt more confusion before in my life.

“Have a nice life,” he says with a trembling voice. “Hating me has always been what’s best for you.”

My door closes with a soft click, the tiny noise echoing in my skull.

The shaking continues even as I bury myself under the covers on my bed. The house alarm goes off, ringing loudly for all to hear, and then the front door slams.