Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  She’s with her friends, is all I can come up with; so setting my bottle of beer aside, I resolve to steal her away for about 20 minutes. That’s a standard quickie, I think…at least for me it is.

  “This is a very nice place you have here, Ben,” Mr. Keyes says, interrupting my plans.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Ben, we’ve been around each other for more than a month now.” He smiles kindly at me. “Call me Marshall,” he insists.

  I nod in resignation to his request and mirror his kind smile.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for my little girl, Ben,” he goes on.

  “It has been my privilege, sir…Marshall.”

  “She’s precious, isn’t she?” he says, gazing lovingly at her. “Precocious. A handful. But sweet, vulnerable, precious and kind-hearted.”

  He is talking about Delilah as if she literally is a little girl. Yes, she is all those things, but more than any of that, she’s strong. Strong-willed at times, but strong nevertheless. She is resilient and I love that about her.

  “Did she tell you that she was adopted?”

  I’d figured that much both after her revelation in the hospital and just physical comparisons to the rest of the Keyes’. For one, she is voluptuous, much unlike the tall and wispy Mrs. Keyes. Her hair is too thick, almost ethnic, and her soft honey skin shows the evidence of mixed race, possibly Armenian. I incline my body closer to hear what he has to say.

  “She was ten-years old. She had a bad attitude and was coming from a…let’s say neglectful, home. But, underneath all that angst, was a little girl who just needed to be loved.”

  “Sir, I love her.”

  “Hmm,” he mumbles not acknowledging my confession.

  I turn to him, moved with the need to make him understand just how far my feelings go.

  “Mr. Keyes, I’d like Delilah to move in with me and I would like to have your blessing.” This is a big deal, almost like I’m asking for her hand in marriage.

  He looks at me, then laughs. The man…laughs!

  “Son, with all due respect, I know you love her, but I think her mother and I will take it from here, take her back to New York,” he informs me.

  “With all due respect, sir,” I begin, trying not to be angry about his ridiculous notion of taking Delilah away from me. “I would think that would be her decision, seeing as she’s a grown woman.”

  “She needs us, she needs her family right now,” Marshall persists.

  “She needs me,” I contend.

  He’s already shaking his head. “Listen to me, son. You don’t know her–”

  “And I’ll never know her if you take her away.”

  “I’m trying to be patient with you, son.” His voice takes on an edge to it, sounding more urgent and rigid.

  “And I’m trying to be patient with you, sir. She’s safe with me. Delilah’s not going anywhere,” I say coolly, taking a swig of beer and keeping my eyes locked on my laughing beauty.

  It’s taking everything out of me not to floor this old man, but I’m not about to do anything that will risk Delilah being upset with me. I know what she wants and I know it’s not New York.

  From what I gather, New York carries a lot of her mistakes and a possible dreadful past. How am I to be certain that he isn’t a part of that dread? I shake off that notion completely. I know he loves his daughter, that much is obvious; but, adoration or not, I’m what she wants.

  “Now, you listen to me, you goddamn privileged son-of-a-bitch,” Marshall growls and I whip my focus to his angered face. “She was kidnapped and almost killed because of your so-called safety.”

  He is red with rage, his voice menacing. His shoulders lift as though he wants a fight and I would have been more than willing to oblige, had Delilah not intervened to save the old man.

  “Stop it!” she admonishes.

  “Delilah,” he begins to say. “Honey, I’m just concerned and I think you need to be with family right now.”

  “Daddy,” she says softly. “I love and I miss you guys immensely. I know I’ve put you guys through the roughest of years and it was pretty selfish of me. I’m sorry.”

  “Lily,” Mr. Keyes sighs and I’m guessing Lily is his sweet name for her.

  “Daddy, I know you’re worried, but…” She looks over at me and what I see takes my breath away.

  There’s no hint of worry. Just complete and utter trust and, I pray that that other thing I see is love. Delilah smiles at me and her eyes light up, making my heart skip a beat. She is all mine.

  “I’m good, Dad. I’m happy here.” She takes my hand in hers and I feel her shaking slightly.

  Squeezing her hand in support, I smile down at the woman who has captured my heart so completely. She wants to stay with me.

  “All I want is for you to be safe and happy, Lily,” he reasons softly.

  “And I’ll make sure of that, sir. Just give me your blessing,” I persist.

  Delilah looks between me and her father, confused.

  “Well, that’s her decision to make now, isn’t it?” he says, giving me a small, reluctant smile. I’ll take it.

  “What’s my decision to make?” Delilah asks.

  Pulling Delilah closer to me, I gently brush her cheek. A smile breaks across her lips and in her eyes I see so much love that I am momentarily lost in them. Why she doesn’t just come out with it already is beyond me.

  “Move in with me,” I ask, though it sounds more like a demand.

  Delilah snorts then brushes the backs of her fingers across my cheek before kissing me. When we pull apart, she’s smiling, while my wits have been a little tossed.

  “Oh, silly,” she says. “If you were paying attention, you’d have seen that I’ve already moved in,” she reveals with a smile.

  “What?”

  “I’ve already moved in. You didn’t have to ask.”

  With a laugh, I scoop her into my arms and spin her as she giggles. “Oh, you maddening, maddening woman. I love you.”

  I watch from the doorway as Delilah waves goodbye to Simone. I’d asked Simon to take her home. After a rather entertaining and revealing dinner, Simone had to go home due to work the next morning and it had gotten late.

  With Mrs. Keyes regaling us with some of Delilah’s rather embarrassing drunken moments – moments my sweet girl seemed to be proud of – we had laughed. However, when it touched on the subject of her leaving them, things took a somber turn.

  I remember the glare Delilah shot her mother when she mentioned, with a forlorn look, that Delilah had left them long before she shot Rick. It was a puzzling revelation, one that Delilah dismissed with her usual comedic flare; something about not being able to stand being in the same house with shrinks and feeling like even taking a shit was subject to a psychosexual analysis.

  While the rest of the table had laughed, I watched Mrs. Keyes tear up and a stray tear spill down her cheek as she tried to plaster on a fake smile. There was real hurt there, and as usual, my mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what she meant by her little revelation. It wasn’t just that Delilah had moved out, and I made a mental note to ask Delilah – or someone from her family if she were to deny me an explanation – about it.

  The lights to the Rolls Royce disappear from our view and I hear Delilah sigh.

  “I missed Simone,” Delilah says, tucking herself into the nook of my arm.

  “She missed you too.” I kiss the top of her head and lead her inside.

  As we close the door behind us, I ask, “You wanna go to bed?”

  “Hmm,” she mumbles. “Naa, I don’t feel sleepy. I wanna do something normal, simple even. Can we watch a movie?”

  “Okay, we’ll go to the mini theatre.” We walk through the leisure room and head for the door under the stairs that leads to the mini theatre.

  “No,” she refuses, coming to a stop. “Normal, baby. I want to watch it in our room.”

  Our room. I love to hear the words pour from her lips.


  “I like to hear them too,” she agrees with my unspoken thoughts, which I seem to have spoken aloud.

  She smiles adoringly at me and tips up to kiss my cheek. Not satisfied with the gentle brush of her lips, I cradle the back of her head and with my hand on the small of her back, I pull her to me, crushing my lips to hers. The moan that I swallow from her seeps into my senses, knocking me momentarily off balance. The strong desire to devour her on the staircase is insatiable, but I have to rein in what little control I have.

  “Go,” I breathe, an internal battle waging as I tear myself away from her. “Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll go get the popcorn and some wine.”

  “Beer,” she requests.

  I sigh, not wanting to give her anything too strong to drink, but nod. “Ok, two chilled bottles and some popcorn. Go.” I slap her ass to send her on the way.

  The sensation tingles through my palm and an involuntary message shoots straight to my denim-covered cock. Delilah’s eyes gleam wickedly as a blush of desire creeps across her beautiful face. God, I love it when she looks like she wants to eat me alive.

  “Hurry up, Mr. Hayes. The way things are looking, we might not get through the movie.” She winks at me before bouncing up the steps, her breasts and ass jiggling as she goes.

  I adjust my pajama bottoms as my cock hardens at the thought of binding her, Shibari knots flitting through my mind, spanking her until her pert ass is rosy, and fucking her until she screams her safe word…my name.

  “Fuck, get a grip, Hayes,” I murmur, sifting a hand through my hair.

  Making my way to the kitchen, I am greeted by an unwelcome sight: Mr. Keyes.

  “Hello, Ben,” he acknowledges, raising his glass possessing amber liquid. No doubt the Johnny Walker I had opened at the dinner table earlier.

  “Mr. Keyes,” I regard him coolly as I head over to the pantry door and retrieve the popcorn I need. He’s not my favorite person since that shit from earlier.

  Mr. Keyes watches me as I pop the items into the microwave and lean against the counter after starting it. I want to be anywhere but here right now, but I am the alpha. He’s in my house so he’d better show me some fucking respect in it.

  “Listen, Ben, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I was way out of line earlier.”

  Well, fuck me.

  “I understand that you’re very protective of your daughter, Mr. Keyes.” I press my lips into a hard line, but I soften as, in that moment, I understand his apprehension and hostility. “I would be too, considering all you have gone through.”

  Marshall nods and smiles. “You seem to make her happy and that’s all that matters right now,” he remarks. “Well, that and her safety. And from what I can see, you’ll definitely keep her safe.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  He downs the rest of his whisky and eases from his perched position on the bar stool. He taps the table then walks off, but turns back.

  “If you hurt her, Ben, I won’t hold back the way you did with Rick,” he threatens, his voice low and cold.

  The threat registers deep within my psyche and for the first time in all my years of dating and meeting girls’ fathers, I’m scared of what he just might do to me if I should hurt her – not that I have any intention of doing so, but still.

  I swallow hard, my throat dry and face ashen. He smiles wolfishly, taps the wall then leaves me alone with my heart in my abdomen.

  I need a drink.

  “I think I just got the Meet the Parents shakedown from your father,” I say to Delilah when I get to the room with the popcorn and beer.

  “What?” she laughs. “Oh, poor baby. Did my big, bad daddy scare you?”

  “Yes, he did actually, but that stays between us, okay?” I set the popcorn and beers down on the bedside table then climb into bed next her.

  “My lips are sealed,” she mumbles before I do just that with a warm kiss.

  “Mm,” I groan as I pull away from her. “Okay, what are we watching?”

  Delilah has the TV set on On-Demand.

  “Wedding Singer,” she replies, sitting up in bed.

  “Really?” I couldn’t get the dullness out of my tone.

  “Yeah. I’m a huge Adam Sandler fan; even wanted to marry him when I was younger. Heck, I still do!” she confesses, smiling and swooning. The fuck?

  “So, what you’re saying is, I have to beat up Adam Sandler?”

  “You’re such a Neanderthal,” she snorts, smacking my bicep.

  “Me, man; you, woman,” I grunt, pounding my chest.

  Delilah laughs an unattractive to most, but cute to me, laugh. “You’ve got me baby,” she declares when her laughter dies down. “No need to be jealous.”

  She kisses me on the lips then starts the movie. “This is my favorite Adam Sandler movie.”

  I pass her the popcorn and she settles into my arms as we watch the movie, and…be normal.

  My eyes are dragged to Delilah as I hear her sniffling. The movie is at the part where Robbie (Adam son-to-be-dead Sandler) sings to Drew Barrymore’s character, Julia. I watch as Delilah’s lips move to every word of the song, trying to keep her ever-building tears at bay.

  When the movie finally ends, I lean down and kiss her tears.

  “Why are you crying, baby?” I ask softly as I thread my fingers through her hair.

  “This is probably my favorite song in the whole world. I want that,” she says, referring to all the promises in the song.

  “I want to give you all of that, baby,” I admit, pressing my lips lightly to her temple.

  “I want to give you that too, Ben.” She looks up at me with watery brown eyes and I swear I whimper like a wounded dog.

  I kiss her because I don’t know what else to do; sure that if I say anything, it will come out sappy and girly.

  “Tell me about your birth mother,” I ask when we pull away from each other, needing to change the subject and get some stuff out of her while her walls are down and she’s soft and emotional.

  Delilah visibly stiffens; her eyes becoming cold and unfeeling. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she responds coldly, wiping her face with her hands.

  “Please,” I plead, desperate for any scrap of information from her. I could force her to tell me. I could get Drake to do some digging, but I won’t. I want her to tell me.

  “Just drop it, Ben,” she snaps. “She’s not worth the lies I would end up telling you about her.” She softens. “Just…please, leave it alone.”

  I kiss the top of her head and acquiesce, sensing that her mother is a sore subject for her, “I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”

  Delilah sighs heavily and lays her head on my chest. I feel she’s going to speak before she does, “I didn’t know my father.”

  This seems to be an easier subject for her to broach, seeing as she brought it up all on her own. I stay quiet, giving her the choice to continue, hoping like hell that she does.

  “He died when I was a baby,” she goes on. “The only thing my mother ever told me was that he was Jamaican.” She smiles then, seemingly proud of her heritage.

  My eyes widen at her disclosure. Jamaican. That explains her body, her hair, her fiery spirit, her feisty and strong-willed personality, and her taste in music. I’m intrigued…very intrigued.

  “That’s why I listen to Reggae music. It’s a way to get closer to my roots,” she tells me, her smile growing more and more.

  “Do you know anything in Jamaican?”

  “Curse words,” she answers, sniggering, like she’s remembered a particular memory.

  “Tell me,” I insist, tickling her sides.

  She squirms and laughs, scuttling away from me in the massive bed. I drag her by the ankle back over to me and she surrenders.

  “Fine, fine,” she concedes. “Bloodclaat[1],” she says.

  “What the fuck now?” I start laughing, but seriously, the word sounds hot as fuck coming from her lips.

  To the point where, damn it, my cock
is stirring.

  “Blood,” she sounds out slowly. “Claat…” She trails off when she sees the heat in my eyes.

  “Should I be turned on that you’re part Jamaican?” I ask inching closer to her.

  “Hmm, are you?” Delilah mutters, slinking further into the bed.

  “Yes, Miss Keyes, very,” I answer, now hovering over her.

  “Kiss me, Mr. Hayes,” she commands.

  “With pleasure, my sweet girl.”

  I take her lips gently and it slowly evolves into something deep, heated and lustful. Man, she turns me inside out.

  As we come down from our post-orgasmic high, I run my hands through Delilah’s hair while she lays silent and sated in the nook of my arm.

  “Delilah?” I mutter softly.

  “Mmhmm?” she answers sleepily.

  “When’s your birthday?”

  Delilah stiffens the slightest measure then recovers with a heavy sigh.

  “The day after you rescued me,” she says to me, causing my heart to skip a beat.

  “No,” I whisper, clutching her to me. That just won’t do.

  “I would say that was a great birthday present, babe. Who knows where I’d be if you didn’t find me?” She snuggles closer to me and inhales deeply. “I can’t thank you enough, Ben.”

  “Baby, I’m just glad you’re here with me now. I love you,” I tell her, watching as her eyes droop. “Sleep, my beautiful girl.”

  She mumbles sleepily and, with a deep sigh, falls asleep. I close my eyes and the cogs in my brain start to turn with ideas. Delilah deserves a great birthday. She’s been through so much. She deserves a silver lining and I’ll give it to her. Yes, I know what I’ll do tomorrow. She’s in for a wonderful surprise.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Delilah groans above me. She’s asleep and I have her spread open like a Thanksgiving feast. I can’t help myself. Last night’s exertions hadn’t seemed nearly enough. My appetite for her has grown exponentially to the point where her body, her eyes, her lips haunt me in my dreams. My dreams are so overtly vivid that I literally feel her in them. Every touch, taste and stroke is palpable.