Chapter 21 Delilah
Chapter twenty-one
Delilah
The email stares up at me, proud and assertive, affirming everything I’ve accomplished—everything I’ve gone through—over the past month and a half.
The book has been accepted.
The email from my agent, Jessica, is complimentary as she lays out the structure for acceptance and the steps from here.
Just like all my others, this book will go through developmental editing, approval by the author, and sent back to me for revisions.
So I’m not completely done, but we’re signing off on a first draft.
My first draft. That I seriously worried I’d never be able to finish.
I lean back in my chair, hands clasped to my chest, beaming from ear to ear. I close my eyes, lean my head back, and whisper, “Yes!”
At the sound, Pickles hops into my lap, and I scoop him into my arms, squeezing him and planting kisses atop his head. “I did it, Pickles!” I exclaim, but he only accepts my attention for a few more moments before hopping away.
In the end, it was all worth it. Mostly.
While I might have spent a few nights crying myself to sleep over Graham, I’m chalking it up to a learning experience. One that gave me the ability to write a damn good sex scene, and to know to be a bit more cautious with my heart in the future. Both good lessons.
One a little harder than the other, but … fine.
I’m still trying to ignore the twinge in my chest every time I think about Graham—which happens much too often.
Speaking of that twinge … I get up, cross my apartment to my kitchen, and pull a bottle of champagne from the shelf.
Someone had given it to me as a birthday present last year, and now seems like a pretty good chance to celebrate.
Who knows? Maybe this book deal will lead to future ones. It’s a whole new genre for me.
I struggle with the cork for an embarrassingly long time before popping it open, sending Pickles fleeing for the hills before hesitantly slinking back in a few minutes later.
I pour myself a glass, toast the empty room, and take a sip.
My eyes land on a pile of papers on my desk, and I cock my head in thought. Maybe …
A knock on my door startles me, and Pickles goes fleeing for cover again. I set my glass down and head to the door, glancing through the peephole. It’s late—almost eight o’clock.
And the person I see has my heart hammering in my chest and that stupid, stupid twinge returning with a vengeance.
I suck in a breath of air, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. But I can’t just leave him out there.
I swing the door open, and Graham locks eyes with me. “Hey, Trouble,” he says softly, and fuck—that name hurts.
I consider slamming the door in his face, but before I can react, he asks, “Can I come in?”
I swallow and simply step aside, staring at the floor until I can shut the door behind him.
I hear his intake of breath, know he’s about to say something, but I interrupt, “Why are you here?” I force my eyes up to meet his, my voice steady but stern.
A mixture of emotions flash through his eyes at my tone—surprise, hurt, resignation. But I don’t waver. If anything, it makes me angrier.
“I thought it wasn’t a good idea to see each other anymore,” I parrot his words back at him. “I thought we were going to pretend like this never happened and go back to—to nothing.” I wave my hands in the air.
Graham opens his mouth to speak, takes a small step forward. “We were."
“Then why are you here?” I nearly yell, feeling the familiar lump at the back of my throat. Shit, shit, shit. I shake my head. “I can’t move on if you’re … here.”
Graham is silent for a moment, and then, softly, he says, “Then don’t move on.”
I flick my now tear-filled gaze up to his, incredulous. “What?” I whisper. “Why would you—”
But my words disintegrate as Graham spans the distance between us and sinks to both knees, his blue eyes gazing up at me.
I stare down at him, mouth still open, blinking.
“Don’t move on, Trouble,” he repeats, and his hands move to the backs of my bare thighs, right below my lounge shorts, holding me.
I suck in a shaky breath at his proximity, at the look in his eyes, at … whatever the fuck he’s saying right now.
Graham swallows. “Delilah, I was just supposed to be your first stop before moving on and finding someone so much better, someone you deserve. That was the whole point, right? You use me and cast me aside.” He flashes a grin, one I would have found annoying months ago and attractive weeks ago.
Now, I’m not sure what I feel. “I thought I was doing the right thing pushing you away. Letting you go. Especially after Harrison found out.” His smile falters.
“But fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you.
Everything about you.” His gaze tears from mine to the spot on my thigh where his fingers meet my flesh.
He squeezes gently, and he looks almost pained.
“And I cannot think about anyone else. I scroll through those stupid apps, I go to bars, and no one compares to you. No one is you. You’ve ruined other women for me.
You’ve ruined me.” At this, his gaze returns to mine, and my breath hitches.
Everything I wanted to yell at him, everything I wanted to say, shrivels up inside of me. Because Graham Whitaker on his knees before me is a sight unlike any other. And I’m the one who put him there. I ruined him.
“You asked if I’ve ever been in love,” he murmurs. “The answer is once—and it’s with you.”
That twinge in my chest is back, only it’s not hurting anymore. The lump in my throat is still there, only I think I’m crying for a completely different reason now.
Graham leans forward to press his lips to my upper thigh, soft, slow, tender. “I know I’m not good enough for you, Delilah,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving mine, “but I’m begging you to love me anyway.”
A soft whimper escapes my throat, and I sink to my knees as well, taking his face in my hands. “Graham Whitaker, if you ever say you’re not good enough for anything ever again, I’m going to sic Pickles on you.”
He lets out a strangled, surprised laugh. “I don’t know how much damage that cat is capable of.”
“Harrison, then,” I shoot back.
He raises his eyebrows through a grin. “That, I’d like to avoid.” His face softens, and he gently reaches up to my cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” he murmurs.
I take in a shaky breath, barely even realizing that the tears had slipped free. “I—I think …” I stammer. “I think it’s because I’m in love with you.”
Graham’s eyes widen, and the corners of his mouth tick upward. “Is that a good thing?” he asks hesitantly.
“It is now,” I choke out, and suddenly his lips are on mine.
I whimper into his kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls my body flush against his, into his lap.
His tongue moves against mine, taking me, claiming me, devouring me whole.
His hands slide along my body, under my t-shirt, under my bralette, his fingers deftly skimming the sensitive skin, tugging moans from my lips, which he simply kisses me through.
His fingers gently pinch my nipples, and I whimper, grinding my hips against him. I feel him smile against my mouth as one of his hands travels south, slipping under the waistband of my shorts, then my underwear, to slide along my slit.
“So wet for me,” Graham murmurs against my lips before slipping a finger inside of me.
I cry out, breaking the kiss to throw my head back as he thrusts his finger in and out of me.
“God, I missed the sounds you make,” he breathes, trailing kisses along my collarbone. “Such perfect, perfect sounds.”
I buck my hips, riding his fingers, desperate for more—more of this, more of him, more of everything. So when Graham pulls his hand away, I nearly whimper in disappointment.
“Take everything off,” Graham demands, his hands going to his belt buckle.
I scooch away from him so he can wrangle out of his jeans while I get to work shedding my shorts, underwear, shirt, and bralette.
Graham takes a condom from his wallet, tearing it open with his teeth, his eyes on me, and then guiding it over his cock.
Once it’s on, he sits with his legs spread on the floor and beckons me to him.
I crawl over awkwardly, a bit unsure of the logistics of what he’s asking me to do.
But he patiently guides me to sit in his lap, my legs wrapped around his torso and my arms around his neck.
He reaches a hand between us and guides his cock to my entrance, teasing me for a few moments by swirling it around my wetness, before slowly lodging himself.
Then, his eyes go to mine, dark with arousal. “Sit down, sweetheart,” he says.
I do, slowly, feeling the stretch of him gliding into me.
My mouth opens on a gasp, but unlike the other times we’ve done this, it isn’t quite as much of a shock.
When he’s fully seated within me, Graham’s hands go to my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh, and he begins rocking me back and forth.
I whine as his cock thrusts in and out of me. And while I’m on top, and I’d think I’d be doing most of the work, Graham is still somehow the one running the show here. He bounces me up and down like I’m a ragdoll, and I cling to his shoulders for support.
After a few moments, I get the hang of the rhythm, and soon Graham’s hands fall to the floor, supporting himself as I shamelessly ride his cock.
“That’s a good girl,” Graham praises, his gaze glued to the way my breasts bounce with each thrust.
“Oh my god,” I moan, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I bounce up and down.
And just when I’m almost to the edge, Graham sits up, wrapping his arms around me and spinning us so that I’m pinned to the floor and he’s over top of me. He’s still inside me and continues thrusting, although slower this time—lazily, as if he plans to pin me down and fuck me like this all night.