Page 26 of Bartholomew
“One kiss, Delilah. Nothing more. But nothing less. What say you? Will you answer the question, or give in to the kiss?” His voice sounded like rich coffee on a chilly morning. Rich and decadent. The kind that warmed you from within. It did things to me I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. My thighs clenched together of their own accord. I weighed out my options. I could tell him the truth, but I really didn’t want to. And it wasn’t like we had not kissed before.
“I’ll take the kiss, I suppose,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Excellent choice, my dear,” he all but purred. “Come here and plant one on me and then we will move to the next question. Deal?”
“Deal,” I agreed, using every ounce of willpower I had to not roll my eyes. I stood, walking towards where he sat just a few steps away on the other end of the sofa. He lifted his face with an expectant smile.
I leaned down, feeling every awkward butterfly flood my stomach as I leaned in to kiss his lips. Our lips touched, a spark of static electricity igniting at our touch and causing us both to pull back as abruptly as the kiss had begun.
“Quite shocking, isn’t it, Miss Delilah?” he said with a drawl. “Now try that again. Slower this time.”
His instruction gave me that extra ounce of courage I needed to lean forward and kiss him again. Our lips touched once more, and while there was no static shock, there was just as much electricity as he purred against my touch. His lips moved beneath mine and I did not know what to do with myself. I didn’t know how to move like that. I pulled back, feeling my face flush with embarrassment as I scurried back to my side of the sofa and sat down.
“Delightful, Delilah. Absolutely delightful. I believe it’s your turn as you passed.” He lounged back against the corner of the sofa like a lion sprawled on a rock in the sun. Pure prowess, pure confidence. What I would give for that kind of confidence.
“Right,” I sighed. “What is your favorite color?” It wasn’t an interesting question, but I couldn’t think straight. All from a silly kiss. He befuddled me, and that made me nervous.
“You can do better than that, my dear. Come on. Try a little harder and come up with fun questions!” His smirk was infectious. Regardless of how befuddled he made me, when he grinned, I couldn’t help but smile back. I allowed myself the moment and smiled as brightly as he did. Once again, he clutched at his heart, that overly dramatic response repeated.
“That smile! It absolutely slays me, dear. Never stop smiling like that. I shall make it my life’s mission to make you smile like that constantly. Complete slayer!” he chuckled. “Okay, my favorite color is rose.”
“Rose? That’s not at all what I had expected you to say!” I said, completely surprised at his answer.
“Why is that? It’s a valid color,” he argued with a smile.
“Well, of course it is. I didn’t mean that. I meant —” I sputtered.
“You meant it’s a girly color?” he asked with an eyebrow quirked in question.
“No, but… well…” I trailed off, words failing me.
“Rose is the color of your blush, Delilah,” he spoke, leaning forward towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your blush is my absolute favorite. So why wouldn’t it be my favorite color?”
“It’s your favorite?” I muttered dumbly. His eyes stayed on mine as he nodded.
“Indeed.” One of his hands reached out, finding mine and stroking the back in small, soft swirls. That same electricity lit his movements and tingled wherever he touched. “The way it blooms over your cheeks like a flower in spring. The way it starts off light and is barely there. A peachy glow, if you will. And as it grows and spreads over your cheeks and down your neck, it darkens; it deepens. That peachy glow turns to a rosy pink. It’s beautiful and enticing.”
I couldn’t breathe. I could feel heat in the depths of my abdomen, my thighs clenching together as his words took effect over me.
“Enticing?” My voice cracked embarrassingly and that same blush he spoke of appeared on my cheeks. I could feel it. I looked down at my hands in embarrassment, but all I found there was his fingertips still swirling over my skin. He took my hand in his, flipping it over, and repeated that same tracing over the palm of my hand.
My breathing came quicker in stuttered, staccato pants. The sensation was night and day. That electric tingle flared into something deeper, something more sensual. What was he doing to me?
“Yes, enticing,” he spoke lower, softer. My ears tuned into his voice, captivated by his words. “See, when you blush like that, like you are doing just now, it makes me think of all the ways I could make that blush appear. With my words. With my touch. With my tongue.”
Whatever had been smoldering between us in that moment — that tingling touch, those little smirks — became an inferno. My core clenched, and there was no mistaking what was happening. I was aroused; more than aroused. I felt a desire for my husband. Not the kind I had experienced before. Not the kind where you see someone from across the room and feel your heartbeat a little faster. Not even the kind that made your low belly ache and your thighs clench together. I felt myself grow wet with a desire to kiss him. To be kissed by him.
I realized I hadn’t spoken in a short while.
“I… um… I don’t know what to say,” I muttered aloud.
“Say anything, Delilah. All I ask for is your honesty.” His voice was like a rumble I could feel in my own chest. Dark and enticing. It pulled me in. It made me want to lean in, just to taste his lips again. But I did not have that kind of courage.
“You get that it’s not that easy, right?” I looked away, unsure of myself and my words.
“Why isn’t it?” he asked with genuine curiosity. He sat back a touch, but his fingers did not stop their delicious little patterns over my palm and over the length of my fingers.
“Because. They taught me… well… and I mean…” I trailed off, using the hand that was not held in his to gesture at myself. His fingertips stopped their little dance on my palm as he sat back, his brows furrowed in confusion.
