Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her pupils dilating until only a thin ring of green remains. "Yes," she breathes. "That's exactly what I'm asking."
I lean in until my lips brush her ear. "If I take you, Delilah, I'm keeping you. Do you understand? This isn't some game. This isn't some fantasy you wrote in your diary. This is real."
She shudders against me. "How did you know about my journal?"
I pull back enough to look into her eyes. "I didn't. But I'm not surprised." My free hand comes up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her stained-red bottom lip. "Tell me now if you want to walk away. Last chance."
Instead of answering, she rises on her tiptoes and presses her mouth to mine. The taste of artificial cherry explodes on my tongue as I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding from her face to her throat, feeling her pulse race under my palm.
I release her wrist to grab her thigh, lifting her against the door. She wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation, her hands fisting in my hair as she grinds against the hardness straining beneath my towel.
"Bedroom," I mutter against her mouth, already carrying her through the house. Her weight is nothing in my arms, her soft curves fitting against me like she was made for this.
I drop her onto my unmade bed, watching as she bounces slightly on the mattress, her red hair spreading across my pillow. I've imagined this too many times to count, but the reality of Delilah Carter in my bed eclipses any fantasy.
"Take this off," I command, tugging at the hem of her tank top.
She sits up, crossing her arms and pulling the top over her head in one fluid motion. No bra underneath, just perfect breasts with rosy nipples already hard and waiting for my mouth.
"Now the shorts."
She smirks, hooks her thumbs in the waistband, and shimmies them down her hips, taking her panties with them. Then she's naked on my sheets, all soft curves and pale skin, looking up at me with challenge in her eyes.
"Your turn," she says, nodding at the towel still clinging to my hips.
I let it drop to the floor, watching her eyes widen as she takes in my size. I'm fully hard, have been since the moment I opened the door to find her on my porch.
"Fuck," she whispers, licking those red-stained lips.
I knee onto the bed, crawling over her until she's caged beneath me. "Last chance to back out, Delilah."
Her legs spread wider in answer, making room for me between her thighs. "I've wanted this since I was sixteen. I'm not backing out now."
The confession sends a surge of possessive heat through my veins. I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, one hand sliding between us to find her already wet and ready.
"So fucking wet for me," I growl against her lips, circling her clit with my thumb.
She arches into the touch, gasping. "Always. Always wet thinking about you."
I slide a finger into her tight heat, then another, working her open slowly. Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving half-moon indentations in my skin.
"Tell me what you thought about," I demand, curling my fingers inside her. "When you touched yourself thinking of me."
Her face flushes pink, but she holds my gaze. "Your hands. Your mouth. How big you'd feel inside me."
I groan, dropping my forehead to her shoulder. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
"Worth it," she gasps as I press against a spot that makes her back bow off the bed.
When she's writhing beneath me, when her inner walls are clenching around my fingers, I withdraw. She whimpers at the loss, but the sound cuts off when I position myself at her entrance.
"Look at me," I command. When those green eyes meet mine, I continue: "After this, you're mine. Do you understand? Not a game, not a fling. Mine."
She nods, reaching up to cup my face in her small hands. "I've always been yours. You're just finally claiming what belongs to you."
The words break something open inside me. I push into her slowly, watching her face as she stretches to accommodate me. Her breath hitches, brows drawing together in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort.
"Okay?" I ask, pausing halfway.