Page 105 of Deliah
He kept thrusting until I was sobbing. Desperate. Barely coherent.
“Please, Damion—please can I come?”
“No.”
He pulled out. I nearly collapsed. Then he slid back in—deep. Possessive. Final.
“You come when I say and not a second before.”
I nodded, broken.
He growled in my ear, “Say it. Say you’re mine forever.”
“I’m yours—forever—fuck—please—”
“Good girl. Now come.”
His fingers flicked over my clit, and I shattered—violent, loud, raw. My orgasm tore through me like a scream, my body pulsing around his cock.
“Say my name.”
“Damion—fuck—Damion!”
He groaned, thrust twice more, then came deep inside me, holding me there, his body shaking against mine.
When we were done, he carried me inside like I was fragile. Laid me on the bed. Pulled the sheet over me and curled around me like a shield.
I was still catching my breath when he kissed my shoulder. “I love you, Deliah.”
My heart cracked open.
“I love you too.”
“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “You always have been.”
I turned to face him, naked and raw. “Then don’t let me go.”
“I won’t. Not ever.”
And he didn’t.
Chapter 33 –
Mine
Before I knew it, a few more months had slipped by. The heat of summer was starting to soften, the days still golden but cooler at night. Marbella had become something I never expected: a home. Not just a place I’d landed in by accident but somewhere that felt like it had always been waiting for me. Damion and I had talked about staying long-term. The office wasn’t going anywhere, and neither of us liked the idea of trading sunrises on the balcony for grey skies and traffic jams.
“What’s the rush?” he said one night, his arms around me as we watched the sun sink into the water. “We’ve got everything we need right here.” And he was right. We did. But even with all the peace and luxury, there were things I missed—things that tugged at me when the house was quiet.
Cherry had flown home a week after the blow-up with Tommy. We’d FaceTimed every day since she left, our calls full of chaotic gossip and inappropriate jokes, but it wasn’t the same. I missed her energy in the apartment, the late-night giggles over wine, her voice echoing through the hall shouting for a charger or a hairbrush or help picking out an outfit. I missed the mess of it. The comfort of her. Without her, the days felt slower. A little quieter. A little too quiet sometimes.
While Damion was at work, I tried to keep myself busy. I joined a gym—well, I showed up once and mostly stared at the machines. I swam most mornings, wandered around the portin oversized sunglasses pretending to be busier than I was. I shopped like it was a sport—shoes, dresses, lingerie, pointless little things I didn’t need but made me feel like the old me again. Or maybe a newer version of me. One that was softer. Happier. Free.
Evenings and weekends were still magic. We cooked together, danced in the kitchen like no one was looking, fucked like we were trying to burn the house down. Sometimes we’d just lie in bed for hours, limbs tangled, him talking about the business and me half listening, watching the way his mouth moved when he got serious. I was obsessed with all of it. With him. And somewhere along the way, I realised I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want to. Being with him didn’t feel like a phase anymore. It felt like the beginning of everything. But I missed my family, too—my mum’s roast dinners, even my brother. Damion had promised we’d fly home for a visit soon, just for a week or two. I was already planning outfits in my head. I wanted to see them, I wanted them to properly meet Damion, and I wanted them to see me. To see that I wasn’t just surviving—I was finally fucking thriving.
But before that, Damion had to fly back to England for a day. Just one day. Some boring business thing he couldn’t avoid. You’d think he was leaving for a year the way he carried on. He was a nightmare. Pacing around the apartment the night before, double-checking flight times, printing off documents, asking me if I had enough food, like I didn’t live in a fucking mansion five minutes from every restaurant in Marbella.
“Text me when you wake up,” he said, pulling me into a kiss before he left. “Text me after breakfast. After lunch. When you nap. Just—text me, okay?”
