Page 60 of Deliah
“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside.”
He unlocked the door, and we stepped into the cool, shadowed hallway. The soft lighting made everything feel intimate and heavy, as if the walls were closing in around us in the best possible way. My heels echoed on the marble as I followed him in, pulse thudding wildly. I wanted him. Now. I wanted to be pressed against the wall. I wanted his mouth on my neck. I wanted his hands everywhere. But instead, he turned to me—gently. Almost too gently. One hand came up to cup my cheek again, his thumb grazing just below my eye.
“Go get some rest,” he murmured.
I blinked. “Wait—what?”
His thumb lingered, brushing slow circles on my cheekbone. “It’s been a long day.”
I stared at him like he’d just slapped me. “Are you serious?”
He gave a soft chuckle, but there was something behind his eyes now—something darker. Something simmering. “Dead serious.”
My jaw dropped. “You kiss me like that and then tell me to go to bed?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes dragged over my face, down the line of my throat, pausing on the rise and fall of my chest. His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers tightening just slightly—like he was seconds from pulling me in again. Like he was trying to talk himself down.
“I want to,” he said, voice lower now, almost hoarse. “Fuck, Deliah, you have no idea how much I want to. Right here. Right now.”
I swallowed. Hard.
“But I’m not doing it like this,” he continued, jaw clenched, breath unsteady. “Not when you’ve been thrown into my world with no warning. Not when you’re still figuring out whether you trust me.” He stepped back like it physically hurt him, hands flexing at his sides. “I’ve waited this long,” he said quietly. “I can wait a little longer.”
That nearly broke me. Because I could see it—how much he was holding back. How much he wanted me. How much he wanted to be the man who didn’t just take but earned it. Earned me.
“Right,” I muttered, flustered. “Fine. Whatever. Goodnight.”
He smirked faintly, like he knew I was flailing. Like he liked it. “Goodnight, Deliah.”
I turned, pretending I wasn’t seconds from combusting, and stormed upstairs. But behind me, just as I reached the landing, I heard it—his voice. Quiet. Rough. “You looked perfect in that dress.”
And maybe I imagined it, but I could’ve sworn I heard him groan softly—like holding himself back had cost him something. I marched upstairs with whatever dignity I could muster, pretending I wasn’t one step away from dragging him into the nearest room and ruining both our lives. That night, I lay in bed. Horny. I mean, feral. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. The way he kissed me. The sound he made. The weight of his hand in my hair. He knew. He had to know what he was doing. What not fucking me was doing. He was probably in the next room, shirtless, holding all the power, while I was left dripping and furious in a bed I didn’t even deserve. That smug prick. The anticipation was a drug. And he was my dealer. Cool. Collected. Holding the fix just out of reach like he knew exactly when to let me have it—and exactly how much I’d beg for it. Tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow, I was getting what I wanted.
Chapter 22 –
Safe Word
Iwoke up early. Well—early for me. 7 a.m. Eyes wide open. Mind already doing laps.
Pussy? Throbbing. Obviously. I lay there for a second, staring at the ceiling like it had answers, trying to calm my breathing like I hadn’t just woken up drenched in dreams about him. The kiss. His hands. That maddening brush-off. My thighs were clenched so tight I might as well have done a full leg day in my sleep. I kicked the covers off with a groan and dragged myself into the en-suite like I wasn’t still vibrating with sexual frustration. A splash of cold water. A brush through my hair. I slicked it back into a messy bun—the kind that said I didn’t try while looking dangerously like I absolutely did. Then came the robe. Black silk. Short. Barely qualified as clothing, to be honest. But technically still housewear. Just… slutty housewear. I caughtmy reflection in the mirror and smirked.Okay, bitch. Let’s cause some morning havoc. But first—Cherry.
I grabbed my phone and FaceTimed her, already biting back a grin as her blurry face filled the screen.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s like…” she checked her phone, “…early o’clock.”
“Because,” I said dramatically, “I’m on a mission.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me everything. How was your first day with the mysterious money man?”
“Eventful,” I said, flopping back onto the bed.
Her eyes lit up. “No way. Did you spend all night fucking?”
I snorted. “Opposite.”
“What do you mean opposite?”
“I mean,” I said, raising a brow, “we went out for dinner, had the most intense kiss of my life, then he looked me dead in the eye and basically said ‘off you pop, bedtime’ like I was a toddler with too much sugar.”
