by Megyn Ward
He’s gentle, paying careful attention to my scraped knees. The bruises and newly formed scabs on their caps. His large, callused hands scrubbing away the dirt and grime and I reach down to push my fingers through his dark, wet hair.
I feel it again.
The same feeling I had the night I kissed him and he kissed me back. Let himself touch me.
I feel worshipped.
Not because I’m rich and beautiful.
Not because I’m Delilah Fiorella.
I feel worshipped because I’m me.
I feel seen.
I realize that Gray is the only person who’s ever made me feel that way and I realize something else too.
I’m nothing like my mother.
I am capable of loving someone more than I love myself.
I know I am because I’m in love with him.
TWENTY-THREE
Grayson
I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.
Following her through the lobby to her hotel suite, I knew.
I knew we’d find our way here again.
I knew it and I followed her anyway. Barely even put up a fight.
Because I want to be here.
I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
I want to be with her, even though I know I don’t belong.
Even though I know I can’t stay.
Instead of thinking about that I focus on where I am right now.
I’m with her.
I’m with Delilah.
Not Delilah Fiorella.
Not the rich, spoiled heiress.
The vapid, reality-show celebutante.
I’m with her.
I’m with who she really is.
And no matter how wrong it is or what I know is going to happen later, I can’t walk away from that and I can’t let her walk away either. If she’d listened to me, if she’d tried to walk away when I told her to go, she wouldn’t have made it through the door.
I know that now.
I would’ve gone after her. Dragged her back. Down to the floor to push myself between her legs. Myself inside her and she would’ve let me. She would’ve begged me to do it—hard and fast. Her nails biting into my back, clawing at me while I relentlessly pounded her into the cold, hard tile with my thick, rigid cock. Over and over. Again and again. Until my name was tearing itself up the length of her throat on a breathless scream and her slick, swollen pussy tightened around me like a fist. As good that sounds, as good as it would have felt, it would’ve been over too soon.
It wouldn’t have been enough.
I could’ve done it a thousand times and it still wouldn’t have been enough.
Not for me.
So, instead of fucking her, I worship her.
Keeling at her feet, I wash away the dirt and blood and ugliness of what happened last night, her fingers curled slightly in my hair.
I stand slowly, running my soapy hands up the line of her inner thighs. Over the swell of her hips. The curve of her waist. The swell of her breasts, the soft intake of her breath jerking at my cock when I brush my callused palms against their hard, swollen tips.
“Gray…” I can hear it. The need in her. How ready she is. I could fuck her right now. Lift her. Pull her thighs apart. Open her wide. Pin her against the shower wall with my cock. Stroke myself into her, hard and fast. She’d be wet. Slick. She’d moan my name, her nails raking across my shoulders while I fucked her hard and deep…
“Shhh…” I shake my head at her, telling her to be quiet because I’m hanging on by a fucking thread. Because if she says my name again, it’s going to snap and I can’t let that happen. If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right. I want to do it better. I want it to be something worth remembering. Not a quick, angry hook-up in a stairwell. I want it to be real.
I want it to matter.
I want to matter to her.
Because this is it.
This is all I get.
What I take now is all I’m ever going to have and I want it all.
I want every part of Delilah that she’ll give me.
Every part of her I can reach.
Because the realization is a little too real, I push it aside. Focus on washing her hair. Conditioning it. Combing the tangles from it with my fingers as gently as I can. If I’m too rough, she doesn’t say so. She doesn’t complain. Push my hands away and say, let me do it. She just stands there, her hands settled on my hips and watches my face while I take care of her like it’s something new. Like it’s something she’s never experienced before.
Finally done, I turn off the shower and reach for the towel I set out before I got in. Wrapping her in it, I rub her dry before I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.
Setting her on the bed, I kneel in front of her again. I expect her to say my name. Ask me what I’m doing. Tell me to stop being careful and gentle. Beg me to fuck her the way we both want. Instead, she sits patiently and waits. Watches quietly while I press soft kisses to her injured knees before slipping my hands between them to slowly push them apart.
Her pussy is wet like I knew it would be. The seam of it slick and swollen. Ready for me, practically begging for my cock.
Reaching up, I press my palm against her chest, urging her back and she complies, reclining slowly on the bed, while her slim fingers skim softly along the insides of her thighs, showing me where she wants my tongue. My mouth, and I follow along behind her, my cock giving another hard, almost painful jerk when she shudders, her thighs beginning to shake against the feel of my beard brushing against her soft, sensitive skin. I lick and nip my way to the center of her, the insistent press of my shoulders splitting the seam of her wet, glistening pussy open for my mouth.
“Delilah…” I whisper it against the heat of her and she shudders, those long, elegant fingers of hers pushing themselves through my hair, trembling with need, urging me forward, her hips shifting restlessly on the bed, eagerly brushing her swollen pussy against my beard and she shudders again, this one accompanied by a single word.
“Yes.”
The sound of it. The grip of her fingers in my hair. The heat of her core so close to my mouth—I don’t know what does it. Which of it snaps my last thread of self-control.
All I know is I need to taste her.
Might actually die if I don’t get my mouth on her. The taste of her in my throat. Dipping my head, I spear my tongue between her slick pussy lips, pushing myself deep, the sweet, salty taste of her slamming into me with the force of a speeding train, nearly pulling me apart.
Fuck.
Me.
Hands wrapped around the tops of her thighs, I push her back on the bed, crawling onto it with her, following her. Trying to get closer. More of her, devouring every inch I can find while I lick my way to her clit, giving the throbbing nub of it a hard, punishing nip with my teeth that tightens the fingers wrapped in my hair before I lock my mouth around the top of her, mercilessly sucking and licking her tender flush while I shift the angle of my shoulders so I can slip two fingers inside her, fucking her with their rough, callused length while my cock jerks and pulsates in time with every stroke I give her.
“Ohmygod…” She screams it while she comes, her quivering thighs struggling against the press of my shoulders. Her fingers yanking and pulling at my damp hair as my mouth is filled with the taste of her, a rush of salted honey that wraps a tight, hot fist around the base of my spine and sends me into another frenzy. Locks my jaw around her. Curls my fingers inside her so I can lick and fuck her into another orgasm, this one strong and deep enough to lift her hips off the mattress they’re pressed into so she can fuck my tongue, the wild, desperate roll of them against my mouth unleashing something dark and savage inside me.
Something primal.
Possessive.
Something that tells me that Delilah is mine.
That she belongs to me.
Only me.
That I’m the only one who gets to have this. I’m the
only one gets to have her and I’ll kill anyone else who even tries to take her away from me.
Delilah.
“Please…” Like I said her name out loud, her fingers tighten in my hair again, trying to drag my mouth away from her pussy, her hips twisting under me, even as her other hand claws at my shoulder, trying to pull me up to her. “Please.”
Pulling my head from between her thighs with a vicious growl, I give her what she wants. Stretching myself over her, I notch my hips into the juncture of her thighs, the engorged head of my cock pressed against her slick, swollen entrance before I stop. Eyes screwed shut against the sight of her, I try to breathe. Try like hell to get myself together. To scrape together some semblance of self-control but she tilts her hips against me, moaning softly when the blunt head of my shaft splits the seam of her hot, slick pussy and slips between them, barely breaching her entrance but it’s enough set me on fire. Enough to burn me to the ground if I let it because she moves against me again. Under me, her heels digging into the mattress to lift herself in an effort to get me inside her. To do what I won’t.
Dropping a hand, I wrap it around her hip to push her back down into the bed with a groan, holding her there while my cock jerks between her thighs, trying to find its way inside her like it has a mind of its own. “Wait.” I growl it, am barely able to get the rough, guttural sound of it past the clench of my teeth, my resolve slipping through my fingers faster than I can catch it because I don’t know who I’m talking to. I don’t know which one of us is more desperate. More out of control. “Wait—”
“I can’t.” She pushes a hand between us, wrapping it around my shaft to stroke me. Trying to break me. “Please…” she moans, her head kicked back, the crown of if dug into the mattress, eyes shut, lashes fluttering against cheeks that are still flushed with heat from coming in my mouth only moments ago. “Please fuck me…” Tightening her grip, she squeezes the head of my cock, catching the steady stream of pre-cum leaking from its tip so she can pump me from head to base and back again, her other hand clawing desperately against the small of my back, trying to pull me closer. “Please... I can’t…”
I groan in response. Almost come in her hand, right then and there, like a goddamned teenager and I have to grit my teeth and push against the sudden, heavy spiral of heat that races up the length of my cock.
Jaw tight, I reach down and pull her hand off my shaft. Grab the other one dug into my back and pin them both against the mattress above her head, locking her wrists between the rough grip of my fingers.
Leaning heavily on my elbows, I fuck myself into her, so hard and deep I feel her entire body seize and tighten in response a moment before she wraps her legs around my waist and lets her knees fall wide, away from the sidewalls of my chest, opening herself up to me. Urging me to fuck her harder.
Deeper.
Any way I want to.
Hips pumping against hers, I look down at her. Watch the swell of her breasts sway against my chest, her hard, swollen nipples brushing against my pecs with every hard, deep stroke I give her with my cock. Her angled jaw clenched tight. Her soft mouth, slightly parted, her lower lip caught between her teeth while another moan flutters in her throat. Dipping my head, I run my tongue, up the length of it, setting the sound of it free on my way to her ear.
“Say it…” I growl against her neck, my hips picking up the pace in anticipation, that tight, burning spiral wrapped around the pump of my cock suddenly too hot, too heavy to fight anymore. Instead of fighting it, I chase it. Pursue it. Run it down like a wild savage with every deep, hard thrust inside her. “Say it. Say my name…”
“Gray.”
As soon as my name leaves her mouth, her knees slam against me and her thighs tighten around my hips, heels digging into my ass to hold me inside her while she comes again, the grip of her pussy so tight a bright burst of stars fills my field of vision, my balls clenching painful for only a moment before they release, that speeding train slamming into me so fast and hard I have no hope of catching it. No way of stopping it as I come, right along with her.
TWENTY-FOUR
Delilah
I WAKE UP IN A BED I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN FOR YEARS, feeling better than I have in as long as I can remember.
Again, given the circumstances—ridiculous—but as unlikely as it sounds, it’s true and there’s no denying that it has everything to do with Gray and what finally happened between us after years of mutual denial.
After what turned out to be the most spectacular sex of my life, Gray put me to bed, shifting me and maneuvering me across the mattress until I was under the covers, my head resting on one the fat, goose down pillows the Hawthorne is famous for. I thought he was going to leave. Mutter something about finding Went before he bolted for the door and I was full prepared to chase after him if I had to.
But I didn’t.
Instead of bolting, Gray climbed into bed beside me. Pulling me into his arms, he gave me a soft, lingering kiss and wrapped his massive body around mine like a human shield. The weight and warmth of him was enough to render me comatose. I was asleep within minutes.
“… He’s involved, Jase. I don’t know how I know—I just know, okay? Yeah I know who he is. Why do people keep asking me that?” The low rumble of Gray’s voice rolls me over and turns me toward the sound of it. They’re talking about me. What happened last night. I don’t know who he is or why Gray thinks he’s involved in what happened to me last night and I’m suddenly sure I don’t want to know.
“You’re right—I don’t give a shit about your interests. Not right now—and you shouldn’t either.” He’s at the window, back turned to me, wearing the pair of dark wash jeans I pilfered from my brother’s closet. “He tried to take her from your club. Dragged her down the street like a fucking bag of trash—” His tone darkens when he says it. His shoulders stiffen. “Then find Mike and take a run at him—Ketamine. She said it felt like Ketamine.” He reaches out and twitches the curtains further away from the window to give himself a better view. I’m not sure what he expects to see—we’re twenty-five stories up. Unless the guy who tried to snatch me is Spider Man, he isn’t going to get in through my bedroom window.
And he isn’t Spider Man.
I know he isn’t.
“…Well, that’s none of your fucking business, now is it.” He lets go of the curtain and rubs an impatient hand over his bearded face. “I seriously doubt that—yeah, fuck you too.” He ends the call without preamble, jamming the phone into the back pocket of his borrowed jeans with an irritated sigh before scrubbing the same hand over the back of his head like he has a headache coming on.
“I know your secret.”
I don’t know why I say it but when I do, the hand on his head stops mid-rub and his shoulders tighten like a vice. Dropping his hand, he turns to look at me, a carefully guarded look on his face. “What did you say?”
Suddenly having second thoughts about repeating myself, I do it anyway because the look on his face says he heard me just fine the first time. “I said, I know your secret.”
“I have a lot of secrets, Ms. Fiorella,” he says, a tight scowl dug into his face. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”
Ah.
Ms. Fiorella.
We’re back to that.
“About Jase,” I tell him, pushing myself into a sitting position because this suddenly feel like a conversation I shouldn't be laying down for. “And Tobias. They aren’t your bosses—at least not just your bosses. They’re your friends. You’ve known each other since you were kids.” When all he does is stare at me, I lift a hand and point a finger at the dresser where he left his wallet and its contents out to dry. “I saw your pictures. Of you and Jase and Tobias and the other one—I’m assuming it’s of your family. I know they grew up together in an orphanage. Did your family foster them?” As soon as I say it, I realize it was wrong of me to look. That I basically snooped through his wallet while he was in the shower—never mind the
fact that we’re in my childhood bedroom and everything in it is spread out on my dresser. “I’m sorry.” I drop my hand and shake my head. “I shouldn’t have looked. I was just—”
“No.” Gray shakes his head at me as the tension slowly leaks out of his body. “It’s okay. They’re just pictures. They don’t mean anything.” He looks away from me in an attempt to hide the fact that he just lied to me. Those pictures mean everything—he just doesn’t trust me enough to say so.
The realization hurts much more than I expected. Some much that all I can manage is a weird-sounding noise in the back of my throat in response.
When he hears it, Gray frowns. “Do we need to talk about this?”
Even though I know exactly what he’s asking me, I give him a blank look. “About what?”
The scowl makes another appearance. “About—” He lifts a hand to toggle it between the two of us for a second before he drops it, his palm slapping heavily against his thigh. “We didn’t use protection. I tried to but—”
I remember.
He’d tried to be responsible.
Keep me safe like he always does and as usual I fought him. Pushed him until he snapped. I wish I could say I regret it. That I’m sorry but I’m not. “Oh—that. Don‘t worry.” I reach up to push my hair out of my face with an affected sigh while I wave a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s fine.”
“It’s fine.” He parrots my words back at me like he might not understand what they mean. “Don’t worry.”
“Yeah—don’t worry.” I drop my hand and give him a shrug. “I didn’t give you anything and I’m on the pill so you didn’t give me anything either.”
Gray stares at me, stunned, like I just slapped him in the face. Finally he looks away, a low, humorless chuckle pushing past the tight clench of his jaw. “You know what—never mind.” He shoots me one of his mega-watt smiles but the shine of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “If you’re cool with it then so am I.” Reaching out again, he snaps one of Went’s T-shirts off the bed and shrugs into it while looking anywhere than where I’m sitting up in bed. Dressed, he skirts the end of the bed, making his way to the dresser, he retrieves his wallet, everything tucked safely inside and away from my prying eyes, and shoves it into his back pocket. Picking up the clean pair of socks I pilfered for him, he retraces his steps to sit on the side of the bed where he starts to shove his feet into them. “I need you to check and see if your brother is here, so I can—”