Chapter 22
Delaney
“What kind of cookies are these?” Warner’s question travels the length of the hallway and into the bedroom where I’m slipping into something comfy.
“Double chocolate.” I rush into the closet after leaving my dress tossed across the arm of the chair.
What if my mom only packed a few, and he eats them before I get one?
Panic rises, knowing that if he takes one bite, he won’t be able to help himself from eating the rest. Grabbing a fandom T-shirt from his closet, I start down the hall, pulling it over my head. “Save me one, okay?”
I run so fast that when I try to slow down on the approach to the island, my socks slide me into home base. Slamming my hands down on the counter, I say, “How many are there?”
“Six.” His eyes widen. “They’re big.”
“As all cookies should be.” Taking the one on top, I bite first and talk later.
But that first bite . . . I slump against the wall and moan.
“Mmm.” As soon as I swallow, I say, “So good.” Warner’s not eating.
He’s still staring at them like they aren’t the most magical, delectable cookies that ever existed. “Have one. You’re going to love it.”
“The other day, you said you’d only eaten a cookie. Double chocolate, to be exact.” I cram more cookie into my mouth, worried and knowing where he’s going with this. “From a bakery.” He has the courtesy of giving me a brief reprieve before his eyes land on me. “Was it from your mom?”
Now, why did he have to go and ask me flat out like that?
Despite all the lying I’ve had to do with him to this point, I still don’t feel good about it.
And now I’m supposed to go hard and lie to his face when he’s asking point-blank.
By how slowly I’m chewing, he must think I lost my ability to speak.
I go into the kitchen and pull a glass from the cabinet before I finally swallow it down, along with the will to keep all these secrets from him.
I don’t have it in me anymore. I pull open the stainless-steel door of the refrigerator to block him from seeing how guilty I am of bad deeds, and reply, “Yes. I went home that day.”
When I shut the door, he’s right there. “Good lord, Warner.” I grab at my shirt over my pounding heart.
“If you’re trying to scare the crap out of me, you succeeded.
” He’s still staring at me like I wasn’t already startled.
“What?” I ask, staring back at him. He closes the door before I can get the pitcher. “Hey, I was getting water.”
“It can wait.”
Rubbing along my throat as if that will throw him off the path he’s on, I say, “I don’t know, my throat is really dry. Coarse like sandpaper—”
“Do you live with your parents?”
Gulps. “I live with you.” The lies begin again . . .
“When you’re not living with me, do you live with your family?” There’s no detouring this guy. But I’ve never been known to give up that easily.
“You’re my family.” I should be more impressed with the skills I’ve been honing at his expense. But I’m not.
“Delaney.” His voice is firm, a demand made without uttering one word other than my name.
I raise my chin, offended by this line of questioning. “Yes.” Real offended or fake offense? Hmm. I’m not sure. I’m teetering on the line.
He touches my cheek before tucking some strands of hair behind my ear. “You moved back home when we separated.” Bringing me against his chest, he hugs me to him. I’m lost. Am I busted, or am I still undercover? “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband to you.”
I’m not sure what is happening, but I wrap my arms around him and whisper, “The past doesn’t matter. Only the present, and you’ve already changed so much.” Why does the truth sound like a lie? Oh geez.
But this doesn’t feel good. It never did.
Everything has changed now that he’s met my family.
And been inside me. Without warning my family I was coming, I showed up with this man holding my hand, and they welcomed Warner into the fold with no questions asked.
That’s who they are as people. That’s the family feel Bayetti’s strives to give to everyone who dines there. And it was captured just for him.
I’ll never ask him for money again, but will he change his mind and cancel the contract after experiencing the restaurant and meeting my family? Maybe, if I’m judging anything by this hug. “Warner?”
When he steps back, his eyes search mine, and a smile appears.
Sliding his finger down my nose, he says, “Let’s get that water for you.
” I step back out of his way. Something feels off about this situation.
He fills my glass from the pitcher and then continues on his merry way out of the kitchen like nothing happened.
This time, he steals a cookie from the box and heads down the hall toward the bedroom.
I ask, “Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
What the . . . “With a cookie?”
“Yep.” He takes a bite without stopping or looking back.
“You realize they have crumbs, right?”
“I do.”
Something is most definitely off. I take my water and grab another cookie before following his same path. As soon as I enter the room, he’s climbing into bed. “Crumbs that will burrow into the carpet and on the bed?”
He chuckles. “I know, Sass.”
I pad my way across the floor, stepping over the heels I purposely left in his way and noticing the dress is still flung over the chair. “What has gotten into you?”
“Nothing. I just realized that worrying about every little thing is not worth the good times I’m sacrificing.”
“What does that even mean?” I set my cookie and glass on the nightstand and climb under the covers. The silky soft cotton feels like the sheets are freshly washed every day. Wait a minute . . . are they? Does he come in here and change the sheets when I’m not looking?
“It means I’m focusing on the wrong things.”
“Like staying up past nine o’clock? Why are we going to bed so early?” I reach over, pinch off a piece of the cookie, and take a bite.
“I’m not going to bed. I’m getting into bed. With you,” he says, leaning over and kissing my shoulder. Now it’s becoming clear.
I finish the bit of cookie I broke off as I angle to face him, crisscrossing my legs under the covers. “Did you lure me in here with cookies?”
“I’d like to think you came in to spend time with me, but did I unashamedly use a dessert to get you into bed?
I did.” With his back against the headboard, he grins like a fool in love.
Oh my. Is that what’s happening here? My feelings for him have grown exponentially.
Have his feelings for me done the same? One thing he said I know for a fact is truthful; he is unashamed to have tricked me into this bed by looking at that gorgeous and not-so-humble grin on his face.
“I want you on me,” he says, the dulcet tones of his voice just as devilishly enticing as the treat. Maybe more.
I climb over him and kiss those incredible lips of his. Definitely more.
With his broken arm at his side, his other hand reaches around, running along the hem of my underwear and then dipping under the thin fabric to caress my ass. Pulling me higher, right where he wants me, and where I wanted him so badly, he kisses me again.
The cookie is forgotten, the mess of clothes I left around the room, the glass of water on the nightstand, and everything else that’s not him and me.
I lift from the sensations, the pressure between my legs already feeling so good.
I’ll either fall apart quickly or try to relish this connection to him a little longer.
Either way, he knows exactly how to get me to the edge of rapture.
Sitting back down on his erection, I can’t stop myself from wanting to skip the foreplay and feel him inside me again.
Cupping his face, I lean my forehead against his, gathering the will to leave this position when he feels so incredible. “I need to get—”
“I already got it.” His hand disappears from my body, and the sound of a packet glides out from under his pillow, and he drops it to the mattress. “Lift.”
I stand on my knees as he pushes down the boxer briefs on one side. I help with the other, and then they disappear to the bottom of the bed. Eyeing me, he asks, “You want to take that off?”
Nodding, I pull the tee off over my head and toss it to the far side of the bed.
He’s already working on the side of my panties, so I help him out until they’re trapped around my knees.
I laugh and get to my feet. I lift one foot at a time as he slides them free from my ankles.
Before I drop back down, he says, “Stay there. Let me look at you.”
His hand runs along the side of my calf, and then up the back of my thigh.
A breath seems to jag when he sucks it in and encourages me forward.
“Come closer, Sass.” I’m starting to notice that his pattern of commands and requests is direct, with no room for discussion.
A discussion is the last thing I want as well, but I find it so sexy the way he’s so sure of himself.
Standing with a foot planted on either side of him, I step closer.
As his hand slinks up my backside, he cups my ass and pulls me closer.
He kisses the lowest part of my belly and then slips his tongue through the slit of my lower lips.
My breathing comes hard as I watch him do what no one else has before.
I run my hands through his hair, wanting to share this with him and only him.
The emotions blooming in my chest are false flags to distract me, brought on by being intimate with him.
Surely . . . but I don’t know. They feel real, even with his tongue teasing my clit.
“Ah,” I release from my lips, though it’s barely audible to even my ears.
My knees weaken as he runs the tip of his nose across my skin and then says, “Lie down, Delaney.”
I look at him, lightly scraping my nails under his chin, and then reply, “Okay.” I turn around and make a show of it.
His eyes are on me anyway, and I like the way he looks at me like he can’t get enough.
I feel powerful in his gaze. Beautiful. Equal in his eyes, though he holds so much more stature in society than I do.
I face him again before lowering down to my knees.
“All the way. Flat on your back for me.” I do as he requests and lie down, staring up at the ceiling and waiting. The mattress shifts, and his weight bears down under my legs as he lifts one over his shoulder and then the other.
My gaze travels from the eyes he has set on mine to his erection—so hard and strong.
With both my legs over him, he dips down and kisses my pussy long and sensually, deep when his tongue dives into me and whirls, making my head spin from feeling so overwhelmed by the pleasure.
My head falls back, and I close my eyes, taking every lick and nip, scraping his finger over my clit, losing myself to Warner’s attentions. And God, it’s so good.
He slides his tongue up and flattens against me as I push against him, chasing my need and fulfilling my cravings when his finger presses to my entrance.
I want him inside me, but I want his cock more.
Propping up on my elbows, I watch him savor me like that gelato last night.
When he peers up at me, I say, “Don’t keep me waiting, Hotshot. Give me all you got.”
His smirk just about does me in, but when the foil packet lands on my stomach, I laugh, the levity feeling so good. I’m really beginning to love how we interact. I’m also beginning to love him.