Chapter 15 - Delilah #3
"Delilah…." My name is a warning, rough and pleading, laced with desperation. His hands stay at his sides, clenched so tightly his arms shake, veins standing out on his forearms. He's breathing harder now, chest heaving, and I can see the sweat trickling down his neck, soaking into his collar.
I rise up on my toes, my mouth inches from his, our breaths mingling hot and fast.
"What if I make it easy for you?" I whisper, my lips brushing his ever so lightly in a tease. "What if I kiss you first? Would that help your conscience? Let you pretend I seduced you, that you didn't have a choice?"
Before he can respond, before he can pull away, I close the distance, pressing my lips to his—soft at first, testing the waters, but then firmer, insistent, demanding. My hands frame his face, fingers threading into his short dark hair, holding him there as I angle my head to deepen the kiss.
I pour everything into it: months of longing bottled up, the fire ignited by our letters, the shared darkness that binds us like chains.
For a heartbeat, he's frozen, lips unmoving under mine, his body rigid as steel, unyielding.
I can feel the war raging inside him—the way his breath stutters against my mouth, the slight tremble in his jaw as he fights the urge to respond. His hands hover at my sides, fingers flexing as if debating whether to push me away or pull me closer.
A low, tortured groan builds in his chest, vibrating against my lips, and then, for a fleeting moment, he loses himself in it—his lips part, responding with a hungry brush of his tongue against mine, tasting of mint and desperation, his hands twitching toward my waist before he catches himself.
It's brief, but it's enough to send a jolt of triumph through me, my core tightening with anticipation.
My hands slide down from his face, trailing over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle twitch under the wool of his sweater. I move lower, fingers deftly finding his belt buckle, the leather cool and smooth under my touch.
The metal clinks softly as I start to undo it, my body pressed flush against his now, the silk of my dress catching on his pants, my thigh brushing deliberately against the hard ridge of his arousal.
But suddenly, his hands clamp down on mine, stopping me cold.
His grip is iron, fingers digging in just enough to halt my progress without hurting, but the pressure sends a thrill through me. He pulls back from the kiss, his breath ragged, eyes wild and dark with conflict, pupils blown wide.
"Don't," he says, his voice strained, hoarse like gravel, laced with a desperation that makes my pulse race faster. "Delilah, don't do this. We can't—"
"Why not?" I whisper, my voice husky, teasing, my lips curving into a sly smile despite the interruption. I hold his gaze, challenging, daring him to pull away completely. "Afraid you'll like it too much? Afraid you'll lose that precious control?"
Without waiting for an answer, I sink slowly to my knees before him, the carpet rough against my bare legs, scraping faintly as I settle.
My hands slide down his thighs as I go, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way they quiver under my palms, taut like bowstrings.
I look up at him through my lashes, watching his face—jaw clenched so tightly a vein pulses in his temple, eyes hooded with a mix of torment and raw desire, sweat glistening on his brow.
Leaning in, I press my mouth against the bulge in his trousers, feeling the hard, throbbing length of him twitch beneath the fabric. My lips trace the outline deliberately, tongue darting out to wet the cloth, hot breath seeping through as I nip lightly with my teeth, teasing the sensitive tip.
He groans deeply, a guttural sound that reverberates through his body, his hips jerking involuntarily toward my mouth. His hands flex at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling, as if unsure whether to push me away or pull me closer.
"Fuck, Delilah," he mutters, his voice breaking, cracking like dry wood under pressure. "You're—fuck, you're killing me."
I hum against him, the vibration making him shudder, his breath hitching in a way that sends a fresh wave of heat between my thighs.
I continue, sucking gently through the fabric, tasting the faint saltiness of his arousal seeping through, my hands gripping his thighs for leverage, nails digging into the muscle through his pants.
His hand finally moves, tangling in my hair—not pulling me away, but holding, fingers tightening almost painfully as he fights himself, his hips twitching with every slow drag of my mouth.
But then, with a growl of surrender that sounds like it’s ripped from his core, he drops to his knees in front of me, the carpet creaking under his weight.
His hands go straight to the zipper of my dress, fingers trembling slightly as he yanks it down with rough urgency, the silk parting to reveal my skin inch by inch.
"You drive me fucking insane," he rasps, his voice thick with lust and frustration, his dark eyes devouring the sight of my exposed shoulders, the black lace bra barely containing my breasts.
He pushes the dress off, letting it pool around my waist on the floor, the cool air hitting my heated skin, making my nipples harden instantly under the lace.
His hands roam greedily, cupping my breasts through the fabric, thumbs circling my nipples with a pressure that makes me gasp, my back arching instinctively. He leans in, claiming my mouth again, the kiss fiercer now, all teeth and tongue, a messy collision of need.
His stubble scrapes my chin, my lips, adding a delicious burn to the heat.
I moan into his mouth, my hands tugging at his sweater, yanking it up to feel the hot, hard planes of his chest beneath. He helps, pulling it off in one swift motion, tossing it aside, revealing scars and muscle that I trace with hungry fingers, nails scraping lightly, leaving faint red lines.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, marking me as his.
He unhooks my bra with a snap, the lace falling away, and his lips close around one nipple, sucking with a fervor that pulls a sharp cry from me. His teeth graze, just shy of pain, sending sparks straight to my core.
"God, you're too much," he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, hands sliding down to grip my hips, fingers digging into the flesh above my dress, still bunched at my waist.
I push him back slightly, enough to reach for his belt again, unbuckling it fully this time, the leather sliding through my fingers like a promise.
I unzip his pants, freeing him, my hand wrapping around his thick, pulsing length, stroking slowly, deliberately, watching his face contort with pleasure.
"Look at you," I taunt, my voice low and sultry, thumb circling the tip, slick with precum. "All that talk about doing the right thing, and here you are, hard as fuck for me."
He groans, head tipping back, but then his eyes snap to mine, a flicker of concern cutting through the haze. "Delilah," he says, voice rough but softer now, almost hesitant. "Are you—have you done this before? Are you a virgin?"
I laugh, a dark, throaty sound, leaning in to nip at his jaw, my hand still working him slowly, torturously. "No, honey," I purr, my lips brushing his ear, "but you can pretend I am if it makes you fuck me harder."
His breath catches, a low growl rumbling in his chest, and I feel his cock twitch in my hand, the words hitting him like a spark to kindling.
"Fuck," he mutters, and then he’s moving, shoving my dress the rest of the way off, the silk sliding down my legs to pool on the floor.
He hooks his fingers into my panties, tearing them down with a rip that makes me gasp, the lace catching briefly before giving way. His fingers find me, slick and ready, circling my clit with a precision that has me whimpering, hips bucking against his hand.
"You’re so fucking wet," he growls, sliding one finger inside, then two, curling them just right, making me moan loudly, my head falling back.
"Keep talking," I demand between gasps, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. "Tell me how much you want this."
"Want you?" His voice is a snarl now, fingers pumping faster, his thumb pressing my clit in a rhythm that makes my thighs tremble. "I’ve been losing my fucking mind over you. Every letter, every word—you’re in my head, under my skin.
" He lowers his head, tongue replacing his fingers, lapping at me with slow, deliberate strokes, sucking my clit until I’m writhing, hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard.
"Kent," I moan, my voice breaking, "more. I need—fuck, I need you inside me."
He pulls back, eyes dark and wild, and shifts us, pushing me down onto the carpet, the rough texture scraping my back as he positions himself between my thighs.
But I flip us, taking control, straddling his hips as he leans against the bed frame.
I guide him to my entrance, sinking down slowly, inch by inch, both of us gasping at the stretch, the fullness.
"Like that?" I tease, rolling my hips, watching his face twist with pleasure, his hands gripping my ass hard enough to bruise.
"Jesus, Delilah," he groans, his voice raw, hands sliding up to my hips, fingers digging in as he tries to steady himself against the onslaught of sensation.
The shitty carpet burns against my knees, a delicious sting that grounds me in the moment, amplifying every touch. I lean forward, my breasts brushing his chest, and bite his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss, his hands tightening reflexively.
"You’re fucking killing me," he sighs, but there’s a dark hunger in his voice now, no trace of the earlier hesitation.