Chapter 17 Delilah
SEVENTEEN
DELILAH
Leaning into him, I tuck my head under his chin and try like hell to clock out for a few minutes but can’t seem to relax enough for it to happen.
Instead, I idly brush my fingers over the soft, worn fabric of his shirt.
It’s probably been washed a thousand times.
Come to think of it, I bet it’s a hand-me-down, originally owned by one of the Collective.
I ease myself from his chest, peering up at him only to find he’s watching me warily.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Can’t.” I shrug, trying to gear myself up for what I need to do. “Thank you for being kind to me.”
“I’m not a kind person, Delilah. Trust me.”
My lips twitch at his growled words. “Liar.” I suck in a breath, trying to think of what I can ask him to keep him talking to me. “How’s your head?”
He shrugs, then his lips twist. “Like you said more than once earlier. I’ll survive.”
I can’t help the tug of a smile that reaches my cheeks. “So … do you really not know how it happened?”
“No,” he murmurs quietly before continuing on. “And no, I don’t believe for a second you did it either, like was suggested this morning.”
“I definitely didn’t. But thank you for telling them it couldn’t have been me”—I purse my lips—“even though I’m not a fucking weakling like you suggested.” I tilt my head to the side, studying him again. “I don’t think you actually meant that.”
He turns his gaze from mine for a few seconds like he’s trying to hide something. Then, side-eyeing me, he grimaces before mumbling, “Think what you want.”
I nod. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry.” We’re quiet for quite some time before I give in and ask another question, unable to stop myself from digging just a little deeper.
“Well, if it wasn’t me … who did it? And why?
” Because the culprit kinda had to be one of them.
And that just doesn’t make sense. Then again, neither have a few other things that’ve happened around here.
His jaw grinds. “I … I don’t know. Who—?” His mouth slams shut. There’s some sort of internal debate being waged, I can see it in his eyes. He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Who else did you run into out there?”
“One of Hayze’s brothers and then—” I look away. His father. I shudder as I recall the way he’d forced Twenty-One’s face into the dirt.
“You can tell me.”
Can I? I draw in an unsteady breath as I think back to last night. Jesus. Did all that happen just last night? I swallow, my throat thick. “Finneas, of course. That nasty piece of work, Dragan. And … and your father.”
He blinks, and it looks like he’s trying to sort out what to do with that information, though he doesn’t seem particularly surprised, but he does groan like it bothers him. When my brows furrow, he adds, “The other was probably Rafe. The one whose bed had the snake in it.”
“Ugh.” A second shudder runs through me.
A moment later, his hand covers mine where it still obsessively toys with the fabric under my fingertips. “I’ll ask you again—where did you come from, Delilah?”
I’m not talking about my past. My chest jerks with a shaky inhale of breath. “Where did you come from, Malakai?”
He gives a swift jerk of his head, and his mouth clamps shut.
We sit silently for a good thirty seconds before his lips finally part.
Gazing warily at me, he slowly murmurs, “I know you assume what happened in the gathering room was normal for us and something we do all the time.” He grimaces.
“Or worse, that I was unaffected by it.” I blink, surprise overtaking me at the abrupt shift in conversation.
Apparently, he isn’t going to answer my question.
But it’s not like I answered his, either.
A sad, rough chuckle erupts from his throat, and his head tilts to the side as he studies me, waiting for me to react. “If it had bothered me, I should have done something about it right?” he whispers, voice low and thick.
An unsteady exhale skitters past my lips, and I lift one shoulder. Yes! You should have! I want to scream. Eyeing me, his chest jerks unsteadily, then he rubs a hand over his face as something I think might be real regret steals over his features.
“But it’s not that simple, I promise you.
” And yet … it could be. Somehow, he easily reads my thoughts without me having to voice them.
He swiftly jerks his head. “No. It wouldn’t be easy at all.
It’d bring fury down on us.” Exhaling with a huff, he hurries on, bringing a hand to my neck and letting his fingertips slide over my skin.
“Please believe that it wouldn’t have been good.
I don’t like what happened to you. But it could have been worse.
” My brows shoot up, but unfortunately, based on what I’ve seen and experienced, I believe him.
The swallow that works down his corded throat is rough. “I don’t want you in the middle when I decide—”
“When you decide what?” I ask. He shakes his head, unwilling to answer.
I might be crazy, but I swear, I see within him a yearning for something different than his current life offers.
For something he knows is better. Quietly, I whisper, “I have trouble separating the person you’re presenting yourself as now from the one who hurt me. ”
He blinks once as he studies me. Twice. Then murmurs, “I wish you could know the real me.” Those words rip from his throat, raw and heartbreakingly honest in a way I wasn’t expecting.
And then his hands are on my waist, lifting and turning me until I’m facing him.
Straddling his thighs, I tremble, breath stuttering as I bring both hands to his cheeks, cupping his face.
Our lips are a hair’s breadth apart, my heart rioting behind flesh and bone.
I once thought his dark eyes were soulless, but now they’re alive with something I can’t quite describe.
They drift over my face as if he’s attempting to memorize every square inch, causing molten heat to slide through me.
The intensity of the moment makes me wonder who the hell he is all over again.
Malakai’s warm breath feathers over my lips and makes me want something that seems utterly ridiculous under these circumstances.
The emotions flashing through me are confusing as fuck.
My mind races, a near constant battle between what I want and what I think I should feel.
Fuck it. I lean in, my tongue flicking out to sample the softness of his lip.
“What are you doing to me, spitfire?” he growls, looking pained.
“I-I don’t know.” I give him a helpless shrug.
“Maybe the same thing you’re doing to me.
” The subtle roll of my pelvis against the pronounced ridge of his cock has him swallowing hard, eyes roaming my face before dipping down to look at where I’ve straddled him.
A hint of confusion has entered his gaze, but something else is also hiding there.
Desire. Shifting beneath me, his jaw goes rigid.
A feral groan rumbles loose from deep within his chest, and he presses his lips to mine with such desperation it nearly knocks me senseless.
His head slants to the side, his tongue delving deep into my mouth in a wicked lick. Goose bumps erupt all over my flesh.
My head can’t keep up with all the thoughts flying through it. Could he be telling me the truth? Can I trust him? If I surrender to everything I’m feeling right now, is it going to help me or hurt me in the long run? I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.
On a sob, I let myself sink into his kiss and accept the assault of demanding lips and curious tongue.
Fingers tangle in my hair, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll slip right through his hands if he doesn’t hang onto me.
The heat between us steadily builds, and on a groan, he tugs me closer, attacking my lips again with renewed vigor.
Inside me, an unexpected storm of emotion has come out of nowhere.
I let it bruise me. Batter me. Internally, every bit of me is whipped into a frenzy and frantic.
Giving into the need to just let go, I chase the feeling, grinding down on him to increase the friction between our bodies.
A whimper leaves my lips at the sensations that begin to crash through me.
My fingers claw at him, my body full of an ache to be closer, and I open my eyes to find him staring intently back at me. It makes me jerk, then ease away, disoriented as I blink, studying the shadows of his face, the possessive, protective way his arms hold me.
“I feel you,” he rasps. “Every hitch of your breath. Every whimpered moan.” The connection between us as he watches me is almost too much.
I don’t know what to do with this level of intensity.
His lips find mine, demanding that I join him in a carnal dance.
I don’t understand what he’s unleashing within me, but I need him.
With every nip and lick and suck, he’s dragging me into his orbit like he’s the earth and I’m his moon.
Between my legs, his cock is hard and thick, and he’s eager, nudging upward with it, making himself groan aloud.
Angling his head, he changes gears. Teeth meet my skin, scraping along my jaw.
A shuddering breath tears free from my lips.
Oh, god. He’s going to devour me whole. Something about that idea sets me off, and I meet his ferocity with my own, savagely holding him to me while my tongue plunders his mouth.
When we finally come up for air, he shakes his head, his lip curling.
On a gasp, he growls again, “What the fuck are you doing to me?” My clit flutters at the question, and rather than waiting for an answer, he dives in for yet another kiss, and it’s nothing short of feral.
Brutal. And so fucking heady, I almost forget who I am and what I’m doing.