She knew that would happen. Even without the words, she agreed to it on Thursday night. Really, she’d consented already, there on the beach, when he’d driven her so wild she’d have let him have her right then.
The specter of it was nearly terrifying.
That fear wasn’t about her experiences with Ben and Lincoln. Those rejections had stung, had hurt her heart. But Linc had been all but a stranger, and Ben just a fond acquaintance.
Austin was part of her soul. He had a place in her life that he’d held for fifteen years, ties to her past that wouldn’t be broken, and a bond that would supersede all else that happened between them.
Loving him, sharing her body with him, wouldn’t just endear, it would devastate.
Once he’d taken her, she knew without a trace of doubt that she wouldn’t be just her own person anymore. She would be his. And any matters of honor, any this-is-just-the-way-it-has-to-be excuses, wouldn’t undo it.
She wasn’t hesitating or wishing to take back her consent. She wanted what would happen between them tonight.
It just was so…big.
Weaving as a distraction just didn’t work. She had to stop and undo mistakes so many times that she finally gave up on it. She walked to the market and hung out at the booth with Melvern and Muriel. Those two worked quietly at their crafts while Delilah tended to the customers. She sold the last of her pack baskets, and her partners appealed to her to raise her prices. They were hot items, Muriel contended. Often during the week customers came asking for more, and she had a waitlist. Delilah’s workmanship was superior. She produced works of art, and Muriel swore she’d easily get three times the price at, say, little shops in SoHo.
Delilah considered Muriel’s comments and wondered, for the first time, whether she couldn’t make a living with her basketry. She knew her work was new at the market and that the novelty would diminish. But with the tourist trade, there would always be new buyers, and yes, she could consider selling on consignment to boutiques and maybe even galleries in other locations.
She liked her career, defended it to Sarah, but she had to admit it didn’t feed her soul.
She idly thought more about it as she wandered the produce booths picking up ingredients for dinner. Ironically, she filled a net shopping bag she’d borrowed from Muriel, because a final customer had bargained away her own personal bamboo pack.
For more than twice her usual price.
When she got home she put on music and prepared a black bean salad to marinate. She was making goat cheese and black olive tapenade bruschetta and got things ready to put that together just before it went into the oven. Then she speared fresh shrimp onto a skewer and brushed them with a citrus-ginger glaze.
Through it all, she was aware of a little sexual buzz even as she avoided thinking of the night ahead. But it grew stronger as she showered and groomed.
She’d pretended she wasn’t thinking ahead, planning what she would wear for Austin. But as she started to dress she knew it was a lie.
Her fingers went unerringly to her best lingerie—in apricot, a lacy demi-bra that just edged along her nipples and a matching, very skimpy thong. Over it, she wore a short pencil skirt and a silk knit top with a cowl neck that gave glimpses of breast when she moved. It felt foolish to wear heels in her own home, so she slipped her feet into a pair of strappy sandals with a sexy band around the ankle.
She still had work to do in the kitchen, so she lifted her hair back in sparkly clips. Though she expected it, she jumped when her bell rang.
She found him at the back door. He’d no doubt helped himself to a share of her carport. He looked through the glass at her much the way she looked at him.
He was smoking hot, as always, in his black leather jacket, boots, and light, well-fitting blue jeans. He hadn’t dressed up, but he didn’t have to in order to look drop-dead gorgeous. And any nod to the significance of the occasion was taken care of by the two dozen red roses and the bottle of wine he held.
All that was of compelling interest, but Delilah didn’t fail to notice the small bag slung over his shoulder.
She’d paused as she’d arrived at the landing and turned to the back door. It took a long moment to get her feet moving again.
When she opened the door his gaze was still taking her in. “You could have waited a while longer,” he said. “I wasn’t all the way done looking.”
She managed a nervous smile. “Hi, Aussie.”
His eyes smoldered at the nickname. “Deej. You’re stunning. Incredibly beautiful.”
They looked at each other some more until he finally stirred enough to hand her the roses. She took them and breathed in their scent. Each one was a perfect specimen, huge and just on the verge of opening.
After a long moment of enjoyment she looked up at him. “Thank you.”
He nodded once. “You going to let me in, pretty girl?”
She held the roses against her breast while she looked at him. He actually seemed a little unsure about it. That bit of cautious watchfulness settled her own nerves and warmed her heart. She stood back to let him pass. “Yes.”
He muttered something she didn’t catch and walked through to the foot of the stairs. He waited there for her to go ahead. She met his gaze as she stepped in front of him. A wicked gleam in his eyes told her they both knew what that was about, and she had to work to stifle the impulse to tug her skirt down in back.
He followed her upstairs, his presence making the space seem small. He dropped his overnight bag at the top of the steps. She took his jacket, aware of the lingering warmth of his body as she hung it in the closet.
In looming silence, he followed her to the open kitchen. She took the bottle of wine—a good white Zin—and offered it. “Do you want this now? Or a beer?”
“I’ll take a glass of the wine, if you’re having some.”
She nodded and handed it back with a corkscrew. “Pour if you will, then have a seat.” She motioned to the high stools at her kitchen island. “I just have a couple things to get ready for the oven.”
The task of putting the bruschetta together helped relax her a bit, and so did his asking her about her day. He told her then of his afternoon spent in a parents’ meeting for his Pee Wee team, and had her laughing as he rolled his eyes about a couple of overbearing fathers.
“I just want my kids to have fun,” he said.
She looked at him, brow raised. She very distinctly remembered his competitive spirit. “And win?”
He grinned. “Well, yeah. It’s not fun if you don’t win.”
“But one team loses every game, right?”
“Uh-huh. The other one. Not mine.”
Her nerves came back as they ate. She’d set the table at the open doors to the deck. She had a second glass of wine but noticed that he didn’t. And though they’d found an easy conversation in the kitchen over dinner, the weight of what would happen next pressed down on her again. Austin ate, but not with the appetite she expected of him, and she gave up trying after a while.
He noticed and set his fork down. “This is delicious, but I think maybe we should save it for later.”
That was almost worse. It made what would happen next start now, rather than sometime later.
“Delilah,” he said. “Stand up and walk over here.”
Just short of shaking, she stood. He pushed back as she moved, turning his chair away from the table. She stopped a little in front of him. He met her gaze and then followed the line of her body down. Spreading his knees, he took hold of her hips with both hands and tugged her closer.
“You’re nervous, pretty girl. I think we should take the edge off a little.”
She huffed out an anxious breath, and he soothed her with soft sounds. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead into her belly. After a couple steadying breaths, he moved his hands down her thighs until he passed her skirt and found bare skin. He slid them up, taking the skirt with him, until he got a look at her thong.
“Jesus, Deli
lah,” he murmured, and she felt his hot breath right there.
He wrapped his left arm hard around her ass, holding her close against him. The fingers of his right hand hooked into the thong and tugged it down just until her pussy was bare.
Then he put his tongue on her, nothing else but that hard-muscled arm holding her and his hot tongue stroking her clit.
Delilah’s breath skittered out, and she teetered. She’d have collapsed if not for the implacable hold he had on her. As it was, she lifted her hands, and after a moment of awkwardness, settled one on his shoulder and the other on his head. Into that hair she’d dreamt about tangling with since she was fourteen.
He worked magic on her clit. He didn’t press into her, didn’t even allow her legs to open, just caressed that swollen bud. In a few minutes she was moaning and arching back to give herself up to him.
She realized he was learning her, trying different touches and strokes, measuring her response. But it didn’t take much—he seemed to know right from the start just how to stimulate her.
How to make her come.
She was there faster than she could believe, rocking against him, and moaning, and coming, coming… She cried out and spasmed hard. He still held her, still used his tongue, so that even when she thought it was over, it wasn’t. Somehow, she peaked again—or still, she couldn’t be sure. It wouldn’t stop, the mastery of his tongue, the surrender of her body.
Even as she thought she couldn’t take more, she was holding him against her, her body bowing of its own accord, seeking, soliciting.
Finally she cried out her last, harsh moans. He took her in his arms then, standing and catching her as she fell, his strength not the least challenged by her weight. He lifted her close with his arm under her back, his own breath harsh not with exertion but with want. Bringing her face to his, his hot gaze searched hers, and then his mouth descended.
She expected a wild, deep taking, but it wasn’t. It was tender and sweet, his lips soft and reassuring against hers, loving. She slid a hand to his face, holding him as he looked at her, and she fell.
Pretty sure he saw it happen, she let out a wistful sigh. She hadn’t been able to hide what she felt for him when she was fifteen. It was no surprise that he’d see what he wanted now.
At least he didn’t gloat. Instead, his eyes darkened, and his breath came out in a satisfied growl. Like a wolf taking his mate, there was victory in it, but she wasn’t alone. He was bound, too.
He put his lips to hers once more, his mouth open now, taking. Sealing, cementing what had just passed.
Then he carried her upstairs, his muscled body moving swiftly and easily. He stopped beside her bed and set her on her feet.
Cupping her face in his hands, he looked into her eyes. “I’m in love with you, Delilah Owens. I’ve waited a long time for what’s going to happen here, between us, tonight. I’m done waiting.”
He kissed her, drawing on her lips, using his mouth to open hers.
Delilah moaned with the incredible pleasure of it, letting him in, letting him take her, own her.
As soon as she was committed to the kiss, as soon as she leaned into him, following his taste, he put his hands on her shoulders. His fingers found her skin under the loose neckline of her top, and then skimmed down to her bare arms.
He continued to work her mouth as he caressed his way to her hands. He squeezed her fingers then grasped her top and drew it up, waiting for her to lift her arms so he could take it over her head.
Slowly, he looked at what he’d revealed, her breasts firm for him, her nipples aroused, pressing at the lacy edge of her bra.
“Jesus, God,” he breathed. “Jesus, God.”
He grasped her waist with both hands and lifted her up on tiptoe. Then he sank down, putting his face in her cleavage, burying his nose against her, breathing her in with harsh gulps of air. “D.J.,” he said. “Deej.”
She wrapped her arms around his head as he snuffled into her. Without thought she arched, offering herself up to him. He nuzzled her, turning from one side to the other, and she felt the chafe of his whisker-roughened jaw against her skin. Then, more provocatively, over her nipple.
He dragged his jaw along her, freeing one nipple from its token confinement behind her bra. The moment it was bare, ripe and needy, he took it in his mouth.
They both moaned then. She in wicked arousal, her throbbing nipple blazing with the hot, taut pull of his mouth, he in satisfied conquest, latched on in hard possession, claiming ownership. He shook his head, still holding her, like a dog tussling with his favorite toy.
She cried out, incredibly turned on. He let go with a hard suck and raised his head briefly to look at her. Then he grabbed her bra strap on the other side and tugged it down, baring her other breast. With another exhalation of bone-deep satisfaction, he took his mouth there.
He had one hand at her back now, steadying her against this latest assault. He used the other on her abandoned breast, covering it with his hand, taking the full weight of her, then rubbing his palm over that sensitized nipple. Soon his fingers were there, rolling and tugging, working it as he did her other side with his mouth.
She keened out a breath, lifting her hands to his hair, his shoulder, offering herself. She moaned over and over, rocking, almost dizzy with erotic pleasure.
When she swayed he stood up. With his hot gaze on her, he found the back fastening to her bra and removed it from her. Then his hands went to the side zipper of her skirt, opened it, and slid the garment down her legs to the floor.
Holding her hard against him once more, murmuring out awed appreciation, he pushed his fingers into her thong, rubbing at her clit with his knuckles. He stirred her there a little bit, watching her reaction, before he tugged it away. Then, still holding her, he leaned over and tore open the bed.
He carried her onto it, laying her in the center. As he deposited her, he held over her, his weight on one extended arm. Looking her over, his gaze went to her bare pussy. He crouched back, hovering just there. With a satisfied gleam in his eyes, he met her gaze briefly before he went back to watch as he hooked her knees, one at a time, and brought them up and open.
Standing back then at the edge of the bed, he stared at her exposed pussy. Delilah saw his nostrils flare, and she imagined he was scenting her.
Appearing reluctant to lose this view of her, he took one of her feet into his hands. He lifted it and used his mouth and fingers to loosen the straps of her sandal. He caressed her toes and ran his tongue along the arch of her foot. She was still shuddering when he put that foot back, positioning her knee open again, and then gave the same treatment to her other side.
She knew she was wet there, no doubt glistening with her desire for him. Gaze locked on her pussy, he lifted his own feet, one at a time, to draw off his boots. He wore a short-sleeved chambray shirt that was open at the neck. He didn’t bother unbuttoning it, just crossed his arms at the hem and stripped it off over his head.
She swallowed hard at what she saw then. His torso was all smooth, bronze skin overlying slabs of muscle. His arms and shoulders were bulky with it, mounds of brawn that rippled as he flexed. His male breasts were cut, firm muscle tipped with the copper pennies of his nipples. His abs were ripped, weaves of hard flesh that arrowed down to his jeans.
He let her look before slowly moving his fingers to the fastening of his jeans.
She knew what to expect. She could see his hard cock pressing out, had felt it as he rutted against her at the beach.
But she couldn’t help the breath of unease when he lowered his jeans and let himself out. His cock was huge, long and thick, nearly as wide around as her wrist. It stood out, seeking her, she knew. Like a homing missile locked onto its target.
Austin didn’t give her so much time to admire him now—and just as well, as it wasn’t just admiration that would have grown, but the fear, too.
His gaze had been lingering at her pussy, and she was sure he’d taken pleasure in the wet desire for him
there. He started to move, one knee up onto the bed, then the other, and his gaze traveled up her body until he found her eyes.
He leaned over her, his weight above her, held on one forearm. His face was just above hers, his breath warm on her cheeks, their eyes locked in a shared gaze.
Holding his cock with his other hand, he began to caress her with it. He rubbed it over her clit. She felt that little bead of moisture from him, easing the glide as he stimulated her. Her breath hitched, and she caught her lower lip with her teeth as he stirred her. That motion stole his gaze for a moment, lingering as she bit down.
Then he brought his eyes back to hers. He watched her carefully as he moved his cock down to circle at her opening. He spread the moisture around—his and hers. He centered himself and pressed in, slowly, giving her body time to stretch.
It was exquisitely erotic, that relentless, improbable breaching. The way he watched as he waited for her to accommodate him, beyond what should be possible. The feral triumph in his eyes, his pleasure in this resolute conquest.
She let out a little breath of release as her body gave way, a sound of surrender, a giving over, yielding that which he wanted. Certainly, her body, but more than that.
Darkly satisfied, he was where he needed to be now. He had himself situated, so he moved his hand from his cock to her face. He gripped into her hair, securing his hold, mastering her.
Then, millimeter by millimeter, he took her.
Just as he clearly intended, she felt every bit of it. Until he had all of her, until she was impaled, pinned to the bed by his massive presence, his occupation, inside her body.
His gaze was strong on hers, knowing, governing.
She was fully aware of his message, of the intent he wanted her to acknowledge.
He filled her. His hard cock had taken her body, and he was bare inside her. He would fuck her, and he would come, and he would soak her with his semen.
He hadn’t asked. Oh, she could trust him to not expose her to risk—of infection. She could trust that, and he would know that she would.
But he hadn’t asked about birth control. Deliberately, conspicuously.
Three Men and a Woman: Delilah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 17