Chapter 14 Delilah
Chapter fourteen
Delilah
Graham sits across from me on my couch, a can of seltzer in his hand, watching me with an irritatingly amused smirk on his face. The sun is setting behind him through the windows of my living room, the workday having ended a few hours ago.
“These aren’t stupid questions, you know,” I say with a slight glare. My research notebook—that he’d so rudely read aloud last time he was here—sits on my lap, my pen in hand. Now that he knows about the stupid thing, I feel I might as well just ask him questions point blank.
The side of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly. “Didn’t say they were.”
“Well, that smirk certainly is.”
He rolls his eyes. “I find plenty of non-stupid things amusing. You, for instance.”
“Wh—” I splutter. “Why am I amusing?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pickles slinking into the room from the hallway. He shoots a suspicious glance at me, Graham, and then me again. Considering Graham has only been over a handful of times, this is brave for him.
“Well, you’re pretty cute, for one.”
I purse my lips.
He raises his eyebrows. “You know that’s a compliment, right?”
I shrug. “Sure. Try being called cute your whole life—never pretty or beautiful or hot—and see how you like it.”
Graham cocks his head. “You’re definitely those things too, you know.”
He says it so matter-of-factly—not like he’s trying to cover up a blunder—that I’m tempted to believe him.
Feeling my face heat ever so slightly, I look down at my notebook, clearing my throat.
I read the next question I’d jotted down.
“Uh … can you describe what attraction feels like from a guy’s perspective?
” I say, taking my time to tear my gaze up from the notebook.
I can tell he’s trying not to chuckle at my question. Pickles saunters past, eyes on Graham the whole time, before hopping up into his cat tower on the other side of the room. “Uh … like, being horny?” Graham asks, eyebrows furrowed. He leans back against the couch cushions.
I wag my head from side to side. Not exactly what I was going for but … “Is that what attraction means to you?”
Graham opens his mouth, pauses, then says, “Good question. I mean, kind of.”
I wave my hand, indicating for him to continue.
He chuckles at that. “What more do you want?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “When you see a cute girl, what’s it like?”
He tilts his head in thought. “Uh … I guess I notice what she looks like first, obviously. Her hair, her curves, her smile. But there’s also an, I don’t know, aura, I guess? The way she moves, laughs, speaks. Her personality. There’s so much that goes into it.”
I nod, my brain stuttering over each point of his.
I’m sure Graham has been with many girls with long, perfect hair, curves in all the right places, who enter rooms like a goddess who belongs there.
And for the first time since starting this whole thing, something tight and painful twinges in my chest.
Jealousy.
I clench my teeth together, both in surprise and an attempt to push it away. Because feelings were not part of this arrangement.
“I’d assume it’s probably similar for girls, right?” Graham’s question pulls me from my thoughts.
I nod. “Yeah, basically.”
Graham looks over his shoulder at Pickles perched in his cat tree. “Cute cat,” he comments. Pickles’s eyes widen at the intrusion.
I smile. “Yeah, he’s not very social.”
“Takes after his mom?”
I snort. “I’m not antisocial, just introverted.”
Graham nods. “Yeah, you don’t run when I enter a room, so you’ve got that going for you.”
I smile softly.
Seemingly sensing the tone shift, Graham scoots a bit closer. “What’s up? You seem off.”
It’s strange having someone read me so well. Most people don’t. Has Graham always been able to read me this well? I swallow. “Nothing, just …” I’m not about to tell him I just had a jealousy attack over theoretical women from his past. “Overwhelmed, maybe.”
“Like I said, we can take this whole thing as slow as you want—”
“Not in that way,” I say quickly. “But thank you.”
“In what way?” he presses.
I grip the pen in my hand, staring at my lap.
“I guess this whole world feels overwhelming. Dating, sex, all of it. It’s not neat or tidy or predictable.
And I just feel so … behind.” I bite my lip, feeling that familiar lump in my throat when I dwell on this kind of shit.
I’m not about to let it get the best of me now, though.
Graham is silent for a moment. Long enough that I worry I’ve scared him off. But then he sighs quietly and says, “I think everyone feels behind in one way or another. Everyone has their one thing.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way before, I suppose.
It’s probably true, that we each have our cross to bear, so to speak.
“It’s just embarrassing,” I admit, and I finally brave a glance up to meet his eyes.
“I mean, I’ve already utterly humiliated myself in front of you throughout this whole thing, but the topic of sex has always been this enormous embarrassment, my whole life. ”
Graham smiles at this. “You haven’t humiliated yourself,” he protests.
I roll my eyes.
“You haven’t!” he presses. “You’ve been honest, and that’s a lot harder than I think you realize. Most people aren’t.”
“Yeah, but I had to be honest. That’s the thing with being a ‘late bloomer’ or whatever you want to call it—there’s no hiding it or pretending it doesn’t exist. You’re outside of the club, waiting for the urge to go inside, all the while everyone is watching you through the windows, wondering why you’re out there, why you’re such a fucking weirdo—” I snap my mouth shut, realizing I’m rambling, that I’m taking this out on Graham and it has nothing to do with him. “Sorry,” I whisper.
His hand covers mine, slowly easing the death grip on my pen that I didn’t realize I had. “There’s nothing wrong with waiting to feel ready for something,” he says quietly.
My gaze falls to his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, to his fingers wrapped around mine, his forearm flexed as he leans toward me. My gaze travels up to his bicep wrapped tightly by a black t-shirt, then his shoulder, his neck, his mouth.
And just like that, it all clicks into place. “I think I’m done waiting,” I breathe, my gaze flitting up and meeting his.
Realization washes over him immediately, and his gaze dips to my lips then back up. “Are you sure, Dee? Because—”
I reach for the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine.
And whatever hesitancy he’d been holding evaporates.
He spans the little distance left between us, scooping me up into his arms and standing, his lips pressed to mine the whole time.
My arms loop around his neck, holding him tight as he carries us down the hallway and into my bedroom.
Our kisses slow as he places me down at the foot of the bed, his hands reaching up to tangle in my hair as his tongue dances against mine. Both excitement and nerves tangle in my stomach, a cocktail strong enough to keep my brain fuzzy for weeks.
Graham’s hands move, and his fingers skim the bare skin of my stomach, right at the edge of my t-shirt. “As cute as this top is on you, Trouble,” he breaks the kiss to say, “I’d like to see you without it.”
I lift my arms as Graham pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside.
He briefly glances down at my pink, lacy bra before pressing a deep, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of my neck.
I sigh, eyes fluttering closed. As he kisses his way across my skin, I feel him fumbling with the buttons of my jeans, undoing them and then standing back to slip his t-shirt off and get to work on his own jeans.
I stand there, chest heaving, watching him. Fuck, his muscles look so much better in person than they did in that stupid dating app photo. Abs for days, arms that flex as he works the zipper on his pants.
“Quit staring at me and get out of those,” Graham says with a smirk, nodding to my jeans, although I can tell he definitely doesn’t mind the staring.
I take in a shaky breath, doing as he says, stepping out of my jeans and kicking them aside. Graham does the same, and soon there we are, standing before each other in nothing but our underwear.
A wave of shyness passes over me, but not enough to stop me from reaching out to gently run my hand over Graham’s sculpted abdomen. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Graham’s breath hitches as my fingers dance across his skin, simply feeling him, taking him in. “You’re so … hot,” I breathe, feeling immediately embarrassed by the obvious and less-than-sexy bedroom talk.
But Graham seems nothing short of thrilled.
He grins down at me, gently scooping me up under the thighs and tossing me onto my bed, crawling up beside me.
“Thanks, Trouble,” he says with a smirk.
“And in case nobody’s told you lately, so are you.
” He leans down and, to my surprise, takes his tongue and licks it up the center of my body—from my navel all the way to the underside of my bra.
“So fucking hot,” he murmurs, his eyes on mine.
My mouth drops open, the skin where he’d licked me practically on fire.
Graham deftly reaches underneath me, unhooking my bra and then—with my cooperation—disentangling me from it and tossing it away. And then his tongue is back on my skin, drawling slow, lazy circles across my breasts, my nipples, sucking and nibbling until I’m whimpering beneath him.
I’m vaguely aware of his hand traveling lower, across my belly, dipping below the hem of my panties, his finger sliding along my slick center. He moves up and down a few times, finally settling against my entrance and prodding gently.
I suck in a breath, and Graham leans up slightly. “Can I?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I answer, my body practically doing it for me.
His eyes on mine, he gently pushes his thick finger inside of me, and I moan softly as he fills me up. “That feel good?” he asks, and I nod, biting my lip.