Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
DELPHI
The pain is starting to recede now that the pills are doing what they’re supposed to. There are times a migraine can knock me out for hours. Sometimes, though, the pain starts intense and fizzles out if I get the drugs into my system fast enough.
My body tingles, which isn’t unheard of. It’s usually more of a pins-and-needles sensation. But what I’m feeling right now is not that. I’m turned on.
I force my eyes open and blink when I see a topless Kruger kneeling beside the bath, his hand in the water between my legs, his head bowed as if he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight before him. Well, that makes two of us.
I blink again, trying to clear the fog. I’m not sure if this is a daydream or the migraine playing tricks on me.
As he continues to stroke me, my awareness sharpens and my body responds in kind.
My breasts feel heavy, and my pussy is slick.
If Kruger dipped his fingers inside me, he’d feel exactly how turned on I am.
I bite my lip. I’m in the perfect position to play this off. He thinks I’m out of it, so there’d be no awkward conversation to come.
I should be pissed.
That thought registers in the back of my head before it floats away.
I should be shouting at him for making a move on me that I’m not sure I’d consent to if I were firing on all cylinders.
If this were Legs relaying this story to me about Midas, I’d lose my ever-loving mind.
But I’m not Legs. I don’t have a man who loves me like that.
What I have is a dry spell that could rival a nun’s and an opportunity to feel something other than pain, confusion, fear, and anger.
This is a stupendously bad idea, and I’m sensible enough to know that. But here’s the thing. I’m not pissed like I should be. I’m not scared or angry. I’m more turned on than I’ve been in years, and right now, I don’t care what that says about me.
“Kruger?”
His hand freezes, his eyes lifting to mine.
My breathing picks up at his expression.
He looks like he wants to devour me. How convenient that I’m feeling like an extra yummy snacky-snack right now.
Okay, so maybe the pills make me a little loopy.
In a court of law, this would seriously make the line of consent look like a squiggle.
But the fucked-up part of me is turned on by that, too.
When I push the vision in my head further, to the prospect of waking up with him inside me before I become aware, I find myself on the edge of orgasm.
Holy shit.
“Fuck, Delphi,” he groans, pulling his hand away. But before he can get far, I grip his wrist.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
“I shouldn’t—”
“What? Touch me when I’m unconscious? No, you shouldn’t.”
He swallows hard, guilt warring with his arousal. I tug his hand and move it to cup my pussy, his fingers poised over where I need him most.
“But that didn’t stop you. Instead, you turned me on, made me all wet and slippery. Are you really going to leave me like that?” I curve my hand over his and use my fingers to push two of his inside me.
We both hiss at the contact. As soon as he realizes how wet I am, it’s like something snaps inside him. He thrusts those fingers inside me, making my eyes roll into the back of my head.
I hum in appreciation and use my fingers covering my pussy to stroke my clit. Being stuck in the hospital, I neglected this part of myself. You couldn’t exactly jill off when the hospital room has a revolving door, or doctors and nurses who rarely believed in knocking.
It’s as if my body has gone into hyperdrive. Everything feels more sensitive, and the urge to come feels more urgent, like I might die if I don’t.
“You like that, chestnut? You like feeling my fingers inside your slick cunt?” Kruger grumbles, making the synapses in my brain spark as his words set off an inferno in my blood.
“Yes,” I hiss, dangerously close to losing the ability to speak. “Harder.”
My wish is his command. He thrusts his fingers into me harder, making me gasp as he hits a certain spot, stealing my breath.
“Can you take another finger? You’re so fucking tight, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Make it hurt, Kruger. I can take it.”
“Goddamn it, Delphi, you’re killing me.”
I don’t reply. I can’t, as Kruger slips a third finger inside me. A delicious burn pulses through me as I stretch to accommodate him.
“Gotta get you ready to take me, baby, because it feels like I’m bigger than you’re used to.”
I ignore that comment because I don’t plan on fucking him. Mostly. I know that’s a line we can’t cross and come back from unscathed. I get too emotionally invested to keep things light and simple. And tying myself to a Raven Soul again is never going to happen.
The thought is enough to derail my arousal slightly. But then he reaches over with his free hand and cups one of my breasts, pinching the nipple hard enough to snap me out of my negative thoughts. I feel my pussy tighten around his fingers, and I know he does too when he starts cursing.
I stroke my clit hard, applying more pressure until my legs start shaking.
I can’t hold back the tsunami threatening to drag me under.
I do the only sane thing I can—I let go and let it wash me away in a sea of sensation, crying out Kruger’s name as I come so hard I see white spots.
I worry for a minute my migraine is back, but when the wave of pleasure ebbs, so too does the pain.
Post orgasm, it’s almost completely gone.
Huh. I wonder if I could get my doctor to prescribe orgasms. Okay, so still a little Looney Tunes over here, but I don’t dwell on it.
I’m sure there’ll be enough moments of self-recrimination when the bliss wears off and my sanity returns.
For now, I’m going to bask in the afterglow before the storm of real life rolls back in.
A knock at the door has my eyes snapping open. Kruger slips his hand from between my legs before leaning over me and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Be right back.”
I blow out a shaky breath as he walks away.
I contemplate climbing out and wrapping a towel around myself, which seems ridiculous now because he’s seen everything.
Besides, I’m not sure my legs are steady enough to hold me.
I sit up and pull them to my chest, sighing over the latest clusterfuck of my life.
I just let Kruger finger fuck me. Dear god. What is wrong with me? Do I really like living dangerously so much that I’ve decided dancing with the devil might be fun?
My eyes move around the bathroom, landing on the pile of dirty sheets in the sink, and everything flutters back.
Waking up in his arms and him calling me beautiful.
Then I puked and puked again. I have flashes of him brushing my teeth and holding back my hair.
I don’t know whether to be mortified by my actions or endeared by his.
I hear voices, but not loudly enough to make out what they’re saying.
A migraine leaves me feeling weak and vulnerable, and being curled up naked in the bath like this isn’t helping.
I’d love to say I at least feel safe with Kruger here, but that’s where everything falls apart.
Kruger is anything but safe. He’s shown me how he can hold me with one hand while stabbing me in the back with the other.
It doesn’t matter what he says now. It doesn’t undo what was done.
My daddy always said, “Lies can be whispered, but actions are always out loud.”
Pretty words might paper over the cracks, but I can still feel them, like thorns embedded under my skin.
It’s easier now because my skin has grown tougher, but in the beginning, every breath was torture.
It got to the point where every night I went to bed, I prayed for death.
And then the sun would rise, ignoring my pleas, and I would grieve who I used to be all over again.
That’s the part people miss in all this.
I didn’t just lose my husband and my MC family.
I lost myself. I was erased from my own life as if someone had scrubbed me from a chalkboard, leaving only a faint smear of who I used to be.
I had no idea what came next, what I should do, who I should be.
And in the end, why it would matter. Why not just fade away and be done with it all?
“Delphi?”
I jolt at Kruger’s voice, having not heard him come back. I lift my head from my knees to look at him and see him holding out a fluffy robe.
“Let’s get you out.”
My eyes move down his sculpted body, one I know he works hard to maintain, pausing on his rock-hard cock that’s hidden only by a pair of black boxers. My eyes jump to his amused ones.
“Did you open the door like that?”
“Trust me, the prospects have seen worse.”
I sigh, annoyed, more with myself than with him. I’d be surprised if this isn’t all over the club before the end of the day, which is precisely what I don’t want.
He walks toward me, making me gulp. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to him now. He’s always been either my friend or my enemy, never anything in between. Objectively, I can say he’s a good-looking guy, though I never felt anything for him because Lee was my be-all and end-all.
Now, though, I don’t even have Lee’s ghost to hide behind.
My eyes drift to Kruger’s scars. The ones on his face are the most prominent, though they’ve faded over time.
I can only imagine how horrific they were in the beginning.
The MC can be dicks, but there was an extra layer of cruelty giving him the name Kruger when he patched in.
Like being forced to see the reminder of what happened to him every time he looked in the mirror wasn’t enough.
I’ve seen grown men recoil from them, which always pissed me off, and women who looked like they might somehow be contagious if they touched them.