21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
Cedric
N ot that I didn’t believe Delilah when she said she didn’t have a boyfriend, but I can’t deny it’s a relief to know Grayson is someone else entirely. That explains the clothes, too. There must be more to the story, especially since she seemed eager to get rid of them, but she promised to talk to me when she feels like it, and I’ll be patient. I think about what losing Marcus would do to me, and I can’t even fathom it.
We’re done with dinner, and though I offer to clean the dishes, given there is no dishwasher, she insists there’ll be time for that later. I don’t linger on the possibilities of what could be done in the meantime.
“You looked like a cherub,” I say, picking up a framed photo of a tiny Delilah holding a plant pot twice the size of her head in her arms, all white-blonde curls, several gaps in her teeth proudly facing the camera.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Delilah says with a chuckle, coming to stand next to me. “I was not an easy child. Legend has it I claimed to be a princess with magical powers and would get upset when flowers wouldn’t grow at my command.”
I click my tongue, setting the photo back on the small table next to the pink sofa. “There is something distinctly princess-like about your wardrobe, and you do work at a flower shop, so perhaps it was a ‘fake it until you make it’ situation.”
“I like that,” she says, triumphant. “May I interest you in homemade gelato?” A polka dotted cup filled with the silky dessert held up in offering.
“Home made by whom?” I ask, eyes going from her to the cup.
Delilah laughs, tilting her head. “Yours truly.”
I’m perfectly aware it’s a figure of speech, but something prickles in my chest at the word yours , and I take the small bowl in my hands, hoping the cold will provide a distraction.
I taste a spoonful, the sweetness not overpowering the vanilla taste, and my tastebuds quickly start holding a concert in my mouth.
“It’s delicious.”
She nods in satisfaction before wrapping her lips around her own spoon. My thoughts immediately drift to unnameable places, and I mentally slap myself. You’re not eighteen anymore, Cedric , I think, willing my blood to flow to my brain rather than my lower regions.
I don’t know how we got so physically close, but I can see every speck of gold in her brown-green eyes, the sparse freckles across the bridge of her nose.
I wonder if she feels it too, this pull . Like she’s a magnet, and I’m nothing more than helpless steel. Like no matter how hard I try to be still, eventually I will always yield. Surrender. That I know exactly what it feels like to kiss her doesn’t help in the slightest.
“Cedric,” she says, eyes gleaming.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need permission.”
She shouldn’t have said that.
Without taking my eyes off her, I gently pry the bowl from her hands, stack it neatly on top of mine, and put it back on the low table.
Then the tether finally snaps.
I crash our mouths together, one hand slipping through the waves of her hair, the other coming around her waist to pull us flush. Even through the clothes, I’m aware of every inch of her, every point of contact. Delilah makes a low sound in her throat, not unlike a growl, and though unexpected, it does wonders for me.
Her hands travel across my chest to the back of my neck, nails scraping my skin to the point of near pain.
She gasps shallowly when I bite her lip, eyes a little unfocused.
“Is that alright?” I ask on shortening breath, my hands trailing toward her bottom. My heart is running a marathon in my ribcage.
I never want to stop feeling this way .
She nods, our noses touching. “I can’t do that for you, though,” she says, a little sadly.
I wonder what she might mean by that, but kiss her again, deeply, my tongue exploring her mouth, a faint taste of vanilla and the smell of her flowery perfume heightening every sensation. Making this moment exclusively hers, and mine.
“I’ll take anything,” I say when we part for air. “Anything you want to give me. I want it.”
She looks taken aback, and if I had enough strength to leave her, I would go out there and find every single person who has ever belittled her or made her feel like she wasn’t worth wanting. Craving, like I do.
“Sometimes I think you’re not real,” she says, cheeks flushed.
Then I’m going to have to prove to her just how real I am. I haul her up, hands cradling the back of her legs, kneading her thighs through the fabric. Delilah kisses me as I walk us back toward the sofa and place her down, lowering myself to cage her sides with my arms.
She laughs softly, something like wonder alighting her eyes, and she leans up to kiss my jaw, then my neck, a guttural sound escaping my lips. Her hands come up and travel to my back, pushing me down toward her.
“On second thought, we might have to relocate,” I whisper into the shell of her ear.
“Why?”
“Because,” I say, tracing one breast over her gauzy dress, my lips finding hers again, “I wouldn’t want to break your pretty little sofa.”
Something catches fire in her eyes, making them a little wild, yet still unmistakably Delilah .
“The bedroom is down the hall,” she says breathily, and I’m all too happy to oblige. I rise swiftly, hooking one arm under her knees and the other around her back to support her as I walk us to the bedroom, nearly stumbling into Blaine.
“Bed time!” Delilah tells her dog over my shoulder as she holds onto me, his retreating steps across the floor the last sound I hear before I cross the threshold to her room and slam the door closed behind us with one foot.
Delilah
Cedric wastes no time as we essentially collapse onto my bed and warm, capable hands start roaming from my legs to my thighs, the fabric of my dress providing a soft friction on my skin.
“You don’t know,” he says, “how many times I’ve already managed to think about this.”
“Tell me,” I say, emboldened by his want in a way I’m not familiar with, but that I’m afraid I could get used to very easily.
Cedric huffs a laugh at the corner of my mouth, his breath sending sparks down my spine.
“I thought about it the first time you laughed, at the pub,” he starts, his mouth working a spot between my neck and shoulder that makes me see stars. “When you asked me out,” he continues, teeth nipping at my skin gently, and I don’t even try holding back the soft whine that escapes me. “Before falling asleep, and in the shower.”
His lips are back on mine now, soft and unhurried. “And this afternoon.”
“I-I’ve been thinking about you too,” I say honestly, my fingers tracing the corners of his mouth. “ A lot.”
His eyes darken with barely restrained hunger that I know is mirrored in my own.
Nimble fingers dip into the elasticated fabric of my dress, slowly peeling it down. Cedric’s breath catches when my breasts are revealed, given the off-shoulder style required I didn’t wear a bra. In hindsight, I hope I don’t seem too eager, but that worry is gone, too, when Cedric says reverently, “Perfect.”
I smile, because I love the sound of his voice, and I love how little he needs to say for me to feel cherished. I wiggle a bit to help him pull down the top of the dress until the fabric gathers on my stomach.
Cedric dips down, pressing a string of kisses down my sternum.
“I want to live here,” he says, lips trailing across my sensitive skin to give attention to each of my breasts, eliciting a gasped laugh out of me when he nibs at my nipple. “Going to take my things and move on top of you indefinitely.”
“Are you now?” I say absently as I rake my fingers through his hair, struggling to get a full breath down.
He draws back to look me in the eyes.
“Yeah.”
I should know this is not our most lucid moment, but his dark eyes and kiss-red lips confuse my every last working neuron, and there’s a finality to that word that makes me shiver. Like he means he wants to stay, and stay for good.
I can neither let myself hope for that much, nor expect him to drop everything for someone he’s known for such a short time. I haven’t even begun to figure out what it would mean for him to stay. I can’t dwell on it. Certainly not now. I rise to meet his mouth again, willing myself to forget about everything that wants to hold me back .
Something passes in his eyes but he kisses me back, hard and all-consuming.
“Delilah,” he says when he part. “Perhaps I’ve been too eager.”
“I think we’re both pretty eager,” I say on a nervous laugh. Has he realized it’s a giant mistake? “But if you’ve changed your mind, it’s–”
“I want you.”
I shrug lightly, guiding his hand to cup my breast. “So have me,” I say quietly.
He swallows hard, his brows furrowed.
“I want you, but–I don’t want you to think this is some hook up to me.”
Oh.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I smile, lightly caressing his jaw. “Do you want to know what I was thinking?”
He nods, still weary, though still undeniably eager. “I was thinking about what you said earlier,” I say, letting my hands travel downwards, down the expanse of his back. I pull at the fabric of his linen shirt to free it of his pants. Cedric’s lips part as I let my fingers drift past the waist band, squeezing his cheeks lightly. He half jolts, closing his eyes to steady himself, and I can’t help but relish the effect I have on him.
“About how you were going to take your time kissing me.”
“I don’t know if that’s on the table anymore,” he says. Before the disappointment on my face can even form fully, he licks his lips and adds, “That implies a modicum of gentleness I’m not entirely sure I can guarantee right now.”
My heartbeat kicks up as Cedric swiftly moves to pull my dress completely out of the way, my legs and stomach now bare. I’m buzzing with anticipation, my hands scrambling to remove any distance between us, to claw his clothes off his body. My enthusiasm is clearly appreciated, but when Cedric gives me a grin–
I realize something’s wrong.
My throat dries, arousal overcome by dread that is suddenly curling in my stomach. I hear Cedric’s voice calling my name as if from beneath glass, and I move out of his way, grabbing my dress to cover myself up.
This isn’t possible.
Not now, please, please, please.
“You need to go,” I whisper, tears starting to prickle at the corners of my eyes. “You have to go.”
“Hey,” he says, leaving the bed and crouching in front of me. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a low growl simmering somewhere within me, and I barely trust myself to speak. What would I even say?
This is all wrong.
“Did I hurt you? Delilah–”
“Please,” I whisper, curling in on myself. “Go.”
“I can’t leave you like this, I need to call a doctor if you’re hurt,” he says steadily.
I shake my head vehemently, forcing myself to look him in the eyes and take his face in my palms before he has time to grab his phone.
“Can you trust me when I tell you that I need you to leave? I’m not hurt,” I say on too-short breath. “I’ll-I’ll explain tomorrow. Please, go .”
He looks far from convinced, but I can tell he’s not going to deny me.
“Fine,” he says, jaw working, clearly unhappy. When I let go of him, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “Call me if you need me, alright? Anytime of the night. ”
I don’t promise I will, and I don’t look as I hear him gathering his discarded shirt. I can feel him linger by the door before he quietly walks out. I fall to the carpet, breathing deeply, though I can tell it’s no use.
I’m barely lucid enough to grope for my phone from the nightstand, and type a short message to Myrta with shaky fingers. I think about how it’s the second time this is happening today, and it’s terrifying to realize, even after all this time, how little control I have over this thing within me–
A scant minute after I hear the door to the cottage close, a snarl escapes my throat, my fingers slowly sharpening into flesh-tearing claws.