Page 54 of The Last Call Home
“I do,” I say, stepping forward.“But I want it to be more than just sex, or entertainment because this town can be fucking boring.”
Malerick’s head tilts slightly.He’s still closed off, still holding himself as if any wrong move might crack him in two.I know that posture too well.
So, I say it, low and careful, like the words might bruise if I’m not gentle.
“I don’t want this to be about filling in blanks or fixing what Mal and I broke.”Then, I focus on him.“I want this to be new.Built from now, not from whatever the hell we were.”
Delilah’s eyes flicker between us.I can tell she’s reading every shift in the air.Every look.She’s always watching, even when she pretends she’s not.
Her voice cuts in.“Then show me.”
Three words.That’s it.
And my breath stutters.
“Show you?”I ask, needing her to say it again.If we’re not all on the same fucking page, I won’t survive taking that step.
She nods once.“You both want this.Prove you’re not going to run the second it gets real.”
The air pulls tight.
Fuck.
I don’t know if I want to kiss her or fall to my knees and thank her for not running.
But what I do know is that I can’t stay still.
I take one slow step forward.Then another.She doesn’t move, but her breath catches just slightly when I drop down in front of her, hands on her knees—not forceful, just there.A way to show her I’m not going anywhere without saying a word.
Her skin’s warm beneath my palms, and somehow, that’s enough to make everything else fade.When I look up, her eyes are wide—searching, exposed, like she’s letting me see something no one else gets to touch.It fucking near wrecks me.
“I’m not asking for tonight to define everything,” I murmur.“But I need to touch you.I need you to feel that this isn’t performative.This is us.Starting.”
She nods.Barely.
My hands trail up the outside of her thighs, slow enough to give her time to stop me.She doesn’t.She shifts forward, the hem of her shirt catching slightly against my wrist.
Behind me, I hear Malerick inhale—sudden, audible, like the breath was dragged out of him.When I glance back, he’s watching us, his eyes dark, mouth parted, every line of his body pulled tight.It’s not jealousy, no.It’s hunger.A slow-burning want he’s not bothering to hide.And for once, it doesn’t look like it terrifies him to feel it.
Delilah leans down—forehead to mine.Her nose brushes against mine, a featherlight graze as if she’s daring me to move first.Daring me to cross that invisible line we’ve been toeing since the moment she walked into my life like a fucking spark.
My breath hitches.
I don’t move—not at first.Just take her in.The way her lips part slightly, like she’s already halfway there.The heat rolling off her skin.The scent of whatever lotion she wears—vanilla and something floral that makes me stupid.
My hand shifts, fingers trailing slightly higher along her thigh.She doesn’t pull back.Doesn’t blink.Her eyes remain on mine, wide and expectant, yet not pleading.
I lean in, slow as hell.Letting the moment stretch, letting the anticipation bleed between us until my pulse is roaring in my ears.I brush my nose against hers again, my lips barely grazing hers—just enough to make us both exhale as if we’ve been holding our breath for years.
And I kiss her—slow, cautious, like I’m afraid I’ll spook whatever magic’s holding us together.Her lips part beneath mine, and the moment I sink into the kiss, it feels like coming home to something I never thought I’d deserve.
She sighs into it, and fuck me, I feel that sound everywhere.
My other hand finds her hip, grounding myself—not to take, but to remain.To feel.
The kiss deepens, slow and certain, our mouths sliding together as if we’ve already decided not to run from this.
I press my lips against hers as if I’m memorizing the shape of her desire, the weight of her longing, and giving mine back in return.
