Page 11 of Deliah
“Besides,” he said, smirking, “I’m not scared of a girl who dances on a pole. I’m scared of boring birds who want to talk about mortgages and have missionary sex with the lights off.”
“Sounds like you’ve been through some trauma.”
He laughed. “Sounds like you need some trauma, someone who can fuck you right.”
I tilted my head. “What makes you think you can?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me. And it was that look. The one that went straight through my dress and under my skin. The kind of look that made you feel bare, even in heels and lashes and all your armour. My stomach twisted. My pussy clenched.
And in that moment, I knew—I was in trouble. He wasn’t going to fall for me. And I wasn’t going to fall for him. But we were going to do something dangerous to each other.
Something unforgettable. And I was ready for it. That was how it started. Not with flowers. Not with sweet texts or warm promises. With one lifted dress, one look too long, one smart mouth matched with another. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t play nice. He didn’t treat me like I needed fixing or saving or shielding from the world. He didn’t lean in. He didn’t need to.That look said it all. He treated me like I was fire. And he came with gasoline and a match.
Chapter 6 –
Whatever This Is
We didn’t leave the bar straight away. We lingered, winding each other up like we had nothing better to do than flirt until someone snapped. Every glance, every smirk, every insult—it was all foreplay. He leaned across the bar, pretending to whisper something to the bartender, but instead, he said right into my ear, “You’ve got the filthiest laugh I’ve ever heard.”
I sipped my drink, completely unbothered. “You’ve got the smuggest face I’ve ever seen. Want to compare notes?”
He smirked. “You’ve been staring at this smug face all night.”
“Only to remind myself what kind of red flags to avoid.”
“Ouch.” He grinned, amused. “You’re gonna be screaming into this red flag later.”
“Keep dreaming, Jay.”
“Oh, I am. But in my dreams, you’re nicer to me.”
“Boring dream,” I said, finishing my drink and licking the straw just to watch him twitch.
“You always this mouthy?” he asked, eyes tracking every move I made.
“Only when I’m not busy gagging on something better,” I shot back with a wink.
He threw his head back and howled, gripping the bar for dramatic effect. Then he looked at me like he was already fucking me in his head. “Let’s get out of here before I bend you over this stool and cause a scene.”
I grinned. “Lead the way, darling.”
We stumbled out of the bar, hands already everywhere, laughing like a pair of drunk teenagers who didn’t know better. The island buzzed around us—music, lights, people—but it all blurred into the background. I was laser-focused on him. The way his hand never left my lower back. The way he’d pull me close just to whisper something filthy in my ear and then pretend like he hadn’t just melted my insides. Every few seconds, he’d say something that made me roll my eyes, but deep down? It turned me on more. I shoved him once when he tried to spank me in the street. He chased me, grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, and said, “You’re trouble, Deliah.”
“I breathe trouble,” I said, laughing breathlessly. “Still time to run.”
“Never been a runner,” he replied, eyes locked on mine.
I don’t remember walking into the apartment block. I just remember the heat. The tension. The way his hand slid down theback of my thigh when we got into the lift. The way his other hand hit the wall next to my head when the doors slid shut.
And then? Boom.
He turned, eyes dark, jaw clenched, and shoved me back against the mirrored wall like he couldn’t wait another second. His lips slammed into mine—rough, deep, possessive. Like he’d been holding himself back all night and just lost the grip. It wasn’t romantic. It was raw. It was war. I kissed him back just as hard, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and yanking him closer. Our teeth clashed. I bit his bottom lip. He groaned and pressed his hips into mine.
“Oi,” I gasped, shoving him back with two palms to the chest. “You think you’re gonna throw me around like that?”
He licked his lip where I’d bitten him and laughed. “You started it, darling.”
I slapped his arse. “You fucking love it.”
