“I know I said I wasn’t going to fuck you if you stayed the night tonight, but it’s going to be really hard to be a man of my word when you’re standing there, looking like that with those fuck-me lips of yours.”
I loosen my tie and work my buttons at a feverish pace as she unhooks her bra and steps out of her lace panties. I’m hard as a rock already. I guess I underestimated the big guy. He’s still got plenty of life in him tonight.
“Where do you want me?” Her smile is coy, her tits buoyant and peaked.
I study my little sex kitten, trying to decipher the correct arrangement of words to keep that smile planted on her lips and that slick heat between her thighs.
“On your knees,” I say.
She lowers herself, and I get it.
I understand why Delilah Rosewood likes to be treated like anyone but Delilah Rosewood in the bedroom. It’s freeing to be someone else.
Life is hard.
Sometimes we need a break.
Sometimes we need to be anyone else but ourselves because it’s the only time we’re free from our self-imposed shackles.
“Come closer. Let me fuck that pretty little mouth of yours,” I growl, and she smiles wider, reaching for my cock and circling the base with her thumb and forefinger.
She brings her tongue to the tip, circling it before she slides the length of it down her throat, pumping the base in tandem, fluid movements.
“God, you give good head,” I groan. My mouth waters just thinking about how good she’s going to taste in a minute. “Get on the bed.”
Delilah pulls me out from between her lips, rises, and perches on the edge of the bed. I lie down in the middle, pulling her over me, her head positioned at my swollen cock and her slick pussy hovering over my mouth.
If this isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is.
Chapter 25
Delilah
“You’re the first fuck buddy I’ve ever had,” I blurt out as I’m washing breakfast dishes in the sink Wednesday morning. I’m standing in nothing but an apron wrapped around my naked body, arms elbow deep in bubbles and dishwater. “And you’ll probably be the last.”
Zane’s right brow inches up. “Why’s that?”
“I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else,” I say. “The no-strings thing. It’s hard. That’s what I was thinking about last night in the driveway – when you asked me.”
“All right. What’s hard about it?” He smirks, glancing down at his package. “Besides the obvious.”
“I don’t know. I guess . . . after last night. I just saw this other side of you. And then we made that pact.” I sigh. “I’m leaving in six weeks, give or take. I mean, is that it? I just say goodbye, hop on a plane, and never see you again? Like is this entire experience disposable to you?”
He circles the island, stepping into my space. His hand lands on the small of my back and he leans down to kiss the top of my head. His heat warms me; his touch sends shivers down my spine.
“You could never be disposable,” he says. “Anytime you’re feeling a little randy, give me a call. I’ll get you on the next flight down here.”
“So the plane only flies in one direction?”
He turns, his back against the island, elbows resting on the marble. “That’s where it gets tricky, you see, because if we’re flying back and forth to see each other, then we’re dipping our toes into long-distance-relationship territory and those things never end well for anybody.”
“I guess I just want to know what I mean to you. And I’m sorry if ‘fuck buddies’ aren’t supposed to sound like needy girlfriends. I promise I’m not that. It’s in my nature to need an explanation for everything.” I rinse the last plate and hand it to him to dry.
He pauses, his expression growing serious as he looks me in the eye. “Jesus, Delilah. Yes. You do mean something to me – in a way no one else ever has.”
My lower lip trembles and I close my eyes. I take a deep breath. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
I didn’t want to get attached.
I didn’t want to fall for him.
I didn’t want to crave those sweet declarations of affection from the one man who had no business doling them out.
“It’s just . . . the flowers, the wine, the romantic evening, and all the nice things you’ve been saying lately . . . it’s like you’re in a constant state of pursuing me.” I drain the sink, eyes locked on his. “And then you tack on that fuck buddy disclaimer every chance you get.”
His face scrunches. “I thought that’s what you wanted? I thought that was what we were doing? Sex and fun? No more fighting?”
My shoulders fall.
“It was. I mean, it is.” I glance away, out the kitchen window that frames his sparkling sapphire pool perfectly. This is what Daphne meant when she said to embrace the complicated, and here I am, running scared in the opposite direction. “Forget I said anything, all right? Sometimes I get too wrapped up in my own thoughts.”
He stands there, quietly staring at me, and my cheeks burn. “You still want to do this?”
I look up into those trademark honey-brown eyes of his and slowly nod, although my true answer might be best described as a mix between “yes” and “no.”
“Are you sure, Delilah? Are you really sure? Because I don’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt another person I care about.” There he goes, sending mixed signals again.
“See.” I release an uneasy titter. “There you go, talking like that again.”
“Like what?”
“Saying you care about me and you don’t want to hurt me,” I say. “It makes me think your feelings for me are beyond . . .”
My voice fades and I untie the apron from behind my back. I feel ridiculous, standing here naked, my breasts spilling out of a chef’s apron that has the name “Javier’s Concierge Services” embroidered across the front.
It was cute for a hot minute, but I can’t stand here having this serious talk looking like I’m two seconds from getting nailed for the second time this morning. I need him to hear me, to take me seriously. I need real answers that don’t involve his eyes drifting into dangerous territory every chance they get.
“Delilah.” Zane takes my hands, wrapping them in his and pulling me to face him. “Stop overanalyzing everything to death. Because that’s what you’re doing. You’re killing this beautiful arrangement we have here. And goddamn, is it beautiful. Our chemistry . . . the attraction. The fire and ice. It’s perfection.”
“I just want to know if you’re going to miss it when it’s over. When I’m long gone, just some old, faded memory.”
“How could I not?” His hand sweeps across my jaw, and my gaze lands on his deep dimples. “Just. Have. Fun. We don’t have a lot of time left. Let’s not spend it worrying about the future. This is all we have. Right here. Right now. Have fun, Delilah. With me.”
“I’m trying,” I say. “But when you look at me like that and you say nice things, it’s kind of hard to separate and compartmentalize what my mind knows we are and what my body wants us to be, and then I have to factor in how my heart feels.”
“How does your heart feel?”
“Confused as hell.” My face winces.
His hands circle my waist, and he spins me around before lifting me up onto the counter. We’re almost eye to eye now.
For the first time since I’ve met this reformed asshole, I know one thing to be true . . .
I want to be Zane de la Cruz’s girlfriend.
I want to be the only girl he looks at the way he looks at me.
I want to be the only girl he’d even think about fucking.
I want to be the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up and the last thing on his mind before he falls asleep.
And maybe I never should have agreed to this whole fuck buddy thing, but in my defense, I sort of stumbled into it, and I’m pretty sure it would take some kind of superhero strength to resist his charms anyway.
All these feelings eat me alive as I stand here in his presence with him, feeling like a million bucks and a hot mess all at the same time. Looking at him and knowing that six weeks from now, I’ll have to walk away with nothing but a pocketful of memories makes my chest ache and stifles my breath.
Never in my life did I think it was possible to go from hating someone to kind of liking them, to falling for them literally overnight, but all I know is something changed last night and I’m incapable of looking at him through the same lens as before.
“I should get going.” I break the tension with an excuse on the tip of my tongue. “Rue’s going to be home any minute, and I should get cleaned up. She wants to take me out later.”
I fold the apron haphazardly and leave it on the island, walking off to gather my clothes and get the hell out of there before things get any more awkward.
Every part of me is cringing. I said what I said. There’s no going back now. It won’t matter how much I try and convince him that I’m fine with our arrangement, he’s going to remember the things I declared today. In his kitchen. Naked in an apron and smelling like Dawn.
Several minutes later, I’m dressed, my bag hanging from my shoulder as I amble down the hall toward the front door. I’m not sure where he went or why he’s leaving me alone, but in the pit of my stomach, something feels off.
“Zane?” I call out, my hand on the doorknob.
I’m met with silence.
Gulping in a lungful of air, I pull the door open and leave without so much as a goodbye.
Walking away, not knowing where we stand, makes my stomach knot. If it’s this hard now, I can’t imagine it’ll be any easier six weeks from now.
“Delilah.” His voice stops me in my tracks by the time I’m halfway across his driveway.
Turning, my hopes are immediately dashed when I see him holding up my cell phone. I offer a timid smile and stride across the pavement to his outstretched arm.
“Thanks.” I take it and slip it in my purse, turning away.
“Delilah.” He says my name again, and my chest hurts.
“Yes?” I face him, my hand tight around my purse strap.
“You’ll come back again, right?” He squints into the morning sun, shielding his honey eyes with his hand. “This isn’t the end.”
I don’t know if he’s asking or stating some kind of truth. Either way, I nod.
“Sure,” I say, leaving the ball in his court.
“I know you’re busy tonight,” he says, “but what are you doing Friday night?”
I shrug, brows furrowed. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“Clear your weekend for me and pack a bag,” he says, mouth pulled up and dimple showing on one side. I’m not sure how I can say no to that. I couldn’t if I tried.
Zane de la Cruz is asking me to go away with him.
“Not sure what you’re trying to pull, de la Cruz,” I say.
“Not pulling anything. Just feel like getting away for a while,” he says. “Don’t you?”
I bite my lip to hide my excitement as I turn and walk away.
Something tells me we’re going to be taking complicated to a whole new level this weekend.
Chapter 26
Zane
“I’ve never flown on a plane this small before.” Delilah’s face is pale and her shoulders shake as she sucks in small breaths.
“Relax, gorgeous.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “We’re in good hands here.”
I nod toward my buddy, Rodrigo, a retired Air Force fighter pilot who happens to run a chartered plane service out of Gainesville.
“We’ll be there in a few hours,” I assure her. “It’ll fly by. Literally.”
She doesn’t laugh, she only studies the plane, her gaze flittering nervously.
“You can hold my hand the whole way if you want.” I lift my brows, half-teasing. I slip my hand in hers as Rodrigo loads our luggage and a small crew prepares us for takeoff.
Leading her closer to the plane, I help her up the steps and get her buckled in. She hasn’t said more than a few words in the last ten minutes.
“Where are we going?” She watches Rodrigo’s every move as he climbs into the cockpit, plugs the coordinates into his navigator, and fires it up.
“You guys ready to see the Windy City?” Rodrigo yells over the loud drone of the twin engines.
Delilah’s face lights up as her gaze snaps into mine. “You’re taking me to Chicago?”
I smile. “Yeah. That cool with you?”
She nods, grinning ear to ear. “What are we doing there?”
“Anything you want to do,” I say. “We just have to lay low. Can’t be going to any Cubs games or anywhere we might catch media attention.”
The plane taxies to the runway, and I spot Delilah running her palms along her jeans. Reaching over, I take her hand into mine as we’re propelled forward.
We check into our hotel on Michigan Avenue separately. I reserved one ‘dummy’ room that’ll be sitting empty for the weekend, but that’s the price I have to pay to get away with Delilah, and I’m completely fine with that.
“You ready yet?” I call out from the edge of the king-sized bed that centers our suite.
“One more minute,” she calls back.
“You said that a minute ago.”
I flip through the stations until I find ESPN, and lo and behold, there’s a feature running on some up-and-coming running back out of Texas. Several clubs are up in arms over which team he’s going to sign with, and according to the commentary, rumor has it it’s down to Gainesville or Atlanta.
“Well, fuck me.” I throw the remote. For once, Carissa wasn’t lying through her teeth. My jaw hinges tight, my fist clenching. I refuse to believe he’s going to knock me out of my spot in the staring lineup, but this . . . this is definitely a game changer.
Exhaling slowly to keep myself from grabbing my phone and making some calls I might regret later, I find distraction in the form of an incredibly beautiful woman standing on the other side of the room.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Delilah stands in the doorway between the bedroom and en suite bath, her hands pressed against the interior frame and her body hugged by a tight little black dress that hits mid-thigh.
Grinning, I rise and move toward her, my boxer briefs suddenly growing too tight.
“Damn, you’re gorgeous. I say we skip dinner and stay in tonight.” I pull her against my hardness and her mouth curls. “Fuck lobster. I’m eating you tonight.”
“World’s cheesiest pick up line.”
“I’m not trying to pick you up, baby. I’ve already got you.” My lips crush hers, her tongue all mint and velvet. But I know we can’t stay. I’ve made special arrangements for a private rooftop dinner overlooking Lake Michigan at the pier. “Come on, gorgeous. Car’s waiting downstairs.”
I can’t stop looking at her tonight.
And damn have I tried.
My gaze is pulled to her.
Never mind the Ferris wheel or the giant body of water or the throngs of people below. There are a million things to look at, but all I see is Delilah.
She dabs the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin and sits it aside. “That was amazing. Best lobster I’ve ever had, and believe me, living out east, I’ve had my share. How do you know all these people? Pilots? Chefs?”
“You travel a lot; you meet a lot of people.” I shrug.
Our server checks on us one last time before informing us that our car is waiting below.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Where to next?” A gush of warm summer wind kicks up the hem of her skirt and she smooths it down.
“I thought we could drive around for a bit,” I say. “Maybe you can take me by your college? Show me your stomping grounds? And maybe I’ll show you mine.”
“Sure.”
I slip her hand into mine, and we head down the secret elevator that leads to the alley behind my friend’s restaurant where our dr
iver waits, limo idling.
She takes me to a charming section in the northeast part of town where a small, private college is nestled in a grove of mature trees and gentrified homes and turn-of-the-century mansions converted into student apartments.
“This is where you study the art of psychoanalyzation?” I ask as the limo crawls to a stop outside a brick building with large white columns. Out our other window is an enormous Victorian house strategically painted in shades of purples, greens, and oranges.
“It is,” she says breathlessly. Turning, she points out my window. “And that is where I live during the school year. That big purple house with the three-story turret. My bedroom is actually the third set of windows there.”
“So you’re like a princess in a tower.”
“Hardly,” she chuffs.
I rest my hand across her thigh, and she slips her hand into mine.
“Why’d you want to see where I went to school?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Figured we were in the area, may as well?” I wait for her to question me, but she doesn’t, so I tell the driver to take us to Chaucer Street. I want to show her my abuela’s old house. The house I grew up in. “And I wanted to prove to you that you’re more than just a fuck buddy. We’re pretty much friends now.”
Her mouth curls, and she elbows me softly.
“You’re the only person who’ll have ever seen my childhood home,” I say. And it’s true. Mirabelle never had the chance, and I’m not sure I’d have wanted her to see it back then. I was in a different frame of mind, and I wanted nothing to do with my past. Nothing to remind me of how badly I missed Magda.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow, de la Cruz. That means a lot.”
Thirty minutes later, our driver pulls up to a leaning two-story with a crooked front door and broken steps. Fifteen or twenty years ago, this place had seen better days. Now it’s all chipped paint and missing shingles. It’s easily the ugliest house on the block now, but glancing up and down the street, I see the real estate investors are already gentrifying this neighborhood. Won’t be long before Magdalena’s house gets the makeover it deserves.
FILTHY - a Football Romance Page 16