Page 38 of Bartholomew
“Explain it to me,” he urged. “I’m all ears.”
“Yes, I’m hungry. But that’s how I should be,” I began.
“What do you mean, it’s how you should be?” My eyes opened and found his searching my face for understanding. His concern was endearing.
“I mean that being hungry is how I’m supposed to feel. It’s how my parents taught me to be. If you keep yourself hungry, the pounds and fat would fall away and make me a healthier person,” I explained, though it pained me to speak of such things.
“I’m going to say it again. Delilah, you deserve decadence.” He spoke slowly, his eyes searching mine. I watched as his eyes lowered to my lips and I bit my lower lip as shyness overcame me. “When you bite your lip like that, it makes me want to show you just how decadent you are.”
“I can’t think straight when you say things like that, Ollie,” I admitted, lowering my eyes. His intense gaze overwhelmed me.
“I like when you can’t think straight. But I will leave you be. For now,” he teased, turning back to the stove where he was combining sweets into a pan to melt.
“So, we just dip fruits into the chocolate?” I asked, grateful for the change in the subject. I needed a moment to remember how to breathe correctly after his words.
“Yup! I’m going to combine them while you cut up the fruit and sweets. Then we let it simmer. So slowly. And wait,” he explained. I busied myself with cutting the items up and thought about him. His words were unlike any I had heard. There was that small part of me that didn’t know if I should believe him; didn’t know if I could believe him. My entire life, people told me I was too large, too wide, too ugly. Maybe not in so many words, but the message had been blatantly clear.
“So, now we wait?” I asked as he set the pot to a low heat and turned to me.
“Now is the fun part,” he said with bright eyes and a smile that spread across his face.
“The fun part?” I stammered. There was something about the look in his eyes that had me cautious. He opened a drawer there in the kitchen and pulled out a thin remote. Clicking it a few times, a speaker system turned on and started playing music. Sultry music.
“Dance with me, Delilah,” he whispered, setting the remote down and taking the final few steps between us, stopping right before me.
“Dance? I don’t dance, Ollie,” I protested, but he pressed his finger against my lips, halting my words.
“Everyone can dance,” he insisted with a smile.
“No, seriously. I have no idea how to dance. I was so thankful we skipped that part of our reception,” I admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t like dancing was a favorite pastime in Zion, though it was at most wedding receptions. Luckily, Ollie and I had skipped over the dancing portion ourselves. “Where would I have learned?” I scoffed.
“Then I shall teach you.” His hands rested on top of my shoulders and slowly slid down until he grasped each of my hands in his. He raised one of my hands to his lips, kissing the back of it and sending a shiver down my spine.
“May I have this dance, Delilah?” His voice was low and rich, the timbre holding a promise of something which I knew not of.
“Be gentle with me,” I agreed finally, letting him pull me close. He brought one of my hands to the back of his neck and the other to his chest.
“Always gentle, lovely,” he promised with a kiss to my temple as we swayed to the music. “Until you ask me for something different.”
The words hung in the air; the whisper of his breath still present against the fine hairs just above my ear. Until you ask me for something different. What did that even mean? Did I dare ask? I wanted to. I wanted to ask a million questions that flooded my mind, and I wanted to learn every answer he gave, but I had already used up every bit of false bravado I had dredged up.
“Move your body with me, Delilah,” he murmured, one of his hands moving down my spine and pressing our hips closer together. So close I could feel him. I could feel the way he moved against me, and my head felt dizzy.
“I don’t know the steps,” I whispered back to him, feeling each of my nerve endings come alive under our movements.
“Follow my lead.” His words lured me deeper into the moment. “Relax. Close your eyes and just feel.”
His hands moved over me slowly, almost reverently. I shuddered in a gasp as my breasts brushed against his chest, my nipples pebbling at the touch. I had never felt so alive; like an electric current ran through my body.
“Touch me, Delilah,” he whispered into my ear. My core clenched deep within me as I took a breath, steeling myself with what little courage I could muster.
I moved my hands over him. The hand on his chest tracing the muscle up to his shoulder and then up his neck.
“Mmm, yes, like that,” he whispered. I could feel his groan vibrating through his throat as my hand moved. My fingers trailed over the skin at the back of his neck and up into his hair.
“Christ, that feels good,” he groaned, his own hands moving over my own body. His hands moved down over my waist, to my hips, and pulled me in tightly to him.
“Ollie,” I gasped as I felt his hardness, just as I had on the couch.
