19. Delilah
Chapter 19
Delilah
“ D arling,” Eloise says, standing to greet us when we arrive at the restaurant. She embraces me first before air-kissing both cheeks. “I’ve missed you.”
“You have?”
She draws back and makes eye contact with me. “Of course, sweet girl. You and Spencer are my life … you two are what keeps me going.”
I hear Spencer chuckle from behind us before grasping hold of my shoulders and gently moving me to the side. “You’re laying it on a bit thick, Mother.”
“Nonsense,” she replies with a mischievous grin that contradicts her words. “Seeing my two favourite people together makes this old lady’s heart happy.”
Spencer’s eyebrows spring so high they almost reach his hairline. “Since when have you ever liked to be referred to as old ?” he questions.
“I’m in my fifties now, darling,” she scoffs.
“Which is hardly what I’d call old, Mother.” Spencer briefly side-eyes me as he speaks and I have a fair idea why.
He leans in and places his lips on her cheek before pulling out her chair and encouraging her to retake her seat. He then does the same for me.
“Thank you,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to smile up at him.
When I face forward, I see Eloise watching us with her open palm resting on her breastbone. I want to remind her we are not a couple, which deep down she knows, but I don’t have the heart to after that display.
“So how are you two handling cohabitation?” Eloise asks.
“You realise we aren’t actually cohabitating?” Spencer replies.
“You’re living under the same roof.”
“In separate bedrooms,” I add as my eyes move from Eloise to Spencer.
His attention is now on me, and the intensity of his stare has a tingle running down my spine. Somewhere along the line, I became super aware of this man. As much as I’m trying to deny these bizarre feelings he evokes in me, they are undeniable. It’s crazy how quickly he’s become a huge part of my everyday life.
This pull I have towards him is palpable, and I’ve tried many times to brush these feelings off as mere gratitude. An appreciation for him being there when I needed him most—an unexpected ally—but if I’m being honest with myself, it’s more than that. So much more. I want this man in ways that I shouldn’t.
My skin prickles and the air around us crackles as I continue to hold his stare. The moment is only broken when Eloise clears her throat. My gaze snaps to her, and the full smile she’s now giving us both tells me she sees exactly what I’m feeling.
Shit.
My life is complicated enough right now, so this is the last thing I need. Besides, I can’t risk losing the only friend I have over a stupid crush on a man who is way too old for me.
After dinner, Eloise has her driver drop us back at the apartment. It was an interesting evening, and although there were no more mentions of us , the weight of my epiphany hung heavy on my conscience for the duration of dinner. And somewhere throughout the meal, I suddenly became acutely aware of Spencer’s every move.
The way his strong hands held his cutlery or how the food slipped past his pillowy bottom lip. The movement of his strong jawline as he chewed, or the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallowed. Every so often, his eyes would flicker to me and he’d briefly observe me watching him.
In those moments, I knew I should’ve looked away, but I couldn’t. It left me all kinds of hot and bothered. At one stage, I even squirmed a little in my seat to release some of the pressure that was building in my core.
Now that we’re alone, riding the elevator back to his floor, the scent of his cologne permeates my senses to the point I feel like I’m suffocating. Is it because we’re in a confined space, or just him?
He’s been quiet since we left the restaurant, and although he hasn’t spoken, I can tell by his pinched eyebrows he’s in one of those extra growly moods. Spending almost every woken moment around someone will soon reveal all their tells.
Does he recognise mine?
Can he sense that something has shifted in me?
If he does, he’s not letting on. Or is he trying to spare my feelings by not acknowledging what he probably perceives as some childish crush?
He’s focusing on the numbers as we climb like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. I use his distraction to observe him as he leans against the far wall with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. His legs are casually crossed at the ankles, and somewhere during the journey home he’s removed his tie and undone the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Despite the don’t fuck with me vibe he’s now giving off, it’s a look that suits him well. There is something about a pissed-off Spencer Prescott that floats my boat.
“Have I said or done something to upset you?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine for a beat before he grumbles a single syllable, “No.”
“Okay then,” I murmur under my breath. Someone will be getting a jumbo-sized coffee in the morning.
He returns to his brooding, and when we reach the top level, he simply extends his arm without making eye contact, indicating for me to exit first.
It seems like he’s purposely hanging back, so I don’t bother waiting. The click of my high heels against the marble echoes through the foyer as I march towards the front doors.
I have my own key to his apartment now, so I fish it out of my bag to unlock it. I’m halfway across the main room, on my way to my bedroom, when I hear him call my name.
“Delilah.”
Pausing, I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
I’m half expecting an apology for his curtness just now, but instead, he asks, “Have you received any of your results yet? ”
“I don’t know. I checked this morning, but there was nothing there.”
My hands are a little shaky as I dig into my bag to retrieve my phone. I’ve been so preoccupied with a certain grumpy boss-slash-roommate that I haven’t given my current predicament a second thought.
I hold the screen up in front of me to activate the face recognition before clicking on the app the clinic got me to download. They said all the results and future correspondence would be sent via there.
Bile rises to the back of my throat as I use the tip of my finger to scroll down the page. I hate he chose this very moment to bring this up. I was hoping to have a warm shower, possibly relieve some pent-up tension in my nether regions, and fall into a blissful post-orgasmic slumber.
There is no chance of that now. His question is the equivalent of being doused in a bucket of ice-cold water.
I’m holding my breath as my eyes scan over the screen. Common sense tells me that a sexually transmitted disease is not the end of the world—most can be treated—but I feel like my entire future is riding on this outcome.
My legs threaten to give way from underneath me when I see there’s an update. I crouch down into a squat, resting my backside on my calves as my eyes frantically read over the results.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative …
My eyes cloud over, as the outcome is the same for them all. I know I’m not technically out of the woods yet—one test alone has to be cultured, and can take up to twenty-eight days—but the sheer volume of relief I feel is instant.
The phone drops from my hand as I cover my face and begin to cry. Through my breakdown, I hear Spencer bark, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
A few seconds later, I’m being gathered into his arms and lifted off the ground. He carries me across the room. I have no idea where he’s taking me, but I’m too stunned to ask. My confusion is answered a few seconds later when he takes a seat on the couch and deposits me on his lap.
I’m. On. His. Lap.
“What are you doing?” I squeak.
He draws back his upper body slightly and gently tilts my face to meet his. “Consoling you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re upset.”
“They’re happy tears,” I tell him.
“They are?”
“So far, the results were all negative.”
My answer is rewarded with my first full, toothy smile. And oh, my God! It lights up his entire face. Even when he’s brooding, this man can get your blood pumping, but this version … holy cow . It’s enough to steal all the air from my lungs.
His hand moves from my jaw, tenderly caressing my cheek with the pad of his thumb.
“You look beautiful when you smile,” I admit. The words spill from my mouth before I realise what I’m saying.
I don’t know if it’s my confession, the moment, or just the inevitable, but his face suddenly inches forward and a minuscule whimper pushes past my lips the moment our mouths connect.
At first, it’s just an innocent kiss—like the one he gave me when my sister was spying on us through the window. A mere meshing of our mouths. His lips are soft—softer than I remember—but firm in a way I’m not expecting.
His tongue juts out, slowly skimming along my bottom lip, tasting me … teasing me. This time I moan, but I still don’t open up for him.
“Do I have to take what I need from you, Delilah?”
I nod my head, because as wrong as this is, it feels so goddamn right. Every fibre of my being is screaming for me to relent. To hand myself to him on a silver platter, but the thought of him forcefully taking what he needs has moisture flooding my underwear. A simple request from a man I have absolutely no business being with, has me more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m not kidding; if he so much as breathes on me, I’m pretty sure I’m going to come.
Is it because he’s forbidden … or because our age difference makes this taboo? I can’t say, but I want to climb this man like a tree. I want to sit on his face and ride him until I’m screaming his name.
My flattened palms slide over his firm chest until my arms encircle his neck. My fingers tug on the short hairs at the nape as I encourage him to keep going, to take it all … to devour every inch of me.
My lips part when he draws back, and our eyes lock. I hope he can read minds because I’m telepathically sending him a silent plea.
Please.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, giving me an out if I need it.
I nod again because I have no plans to move. I’m right where I want to be and eager to see how far he’ll take this.
On a shuddering exhale, he grasps my ponytail, tugging slightly before wrapping it around his wrist and tilting my head further back. His move is possessive, hot, and makes my skin prickle with anticipation.
“I’m going to hell for this,” he mumbles, and if that is true, I’ll be there right alongside him.
Instead of kissing me again, which I was hoping, he runs his flattened tongue from the base of my throat to my chin. “You drive me wild,” he whispers against my skin, and even if he’s just speaking in the moment, I’ll take it.
He peppers kisses along my jawline before sucking my earlobe between his lips, lightly nibbling on the flesh with his teeth. The only part of him that has touched me is his mouth, and I’m already on the brink of coming undone.
“Do you know how often I’ve fantasised about you, Miss St. James?”
He has?
I like that the not-as-pretty, not-as-smart, and least likely to succeed out of the St. James sisters can bring a man as handsome, intelligent, and successful as him to his knees.
His lips are back on mine, and his movements are gentle at first, but when things amp up and he finally lets loose, his kiss is rough, relentless, all-consuming, and so fucking good.
Without breaking contact, he wraps his free arm around my waist and somehow manoeuvres me, so I’m straddling his lap. He doesn’t release me, though; he drags my body closer until my chest is flush with his.
It’s not the only part of us that’s touching. In this position, I can feel how hard he is beneath the zipper of his trousers. I wore a pantsuit today, which I’m now grateful for, because it doesn’t constrict how far I can part my legs.
“Jesus … fuck, Delilah,” he groans when I angle my hips and grind myself against him. I tilt my head back and pa rt my lips as the pressure I’ve been craving since the restaurant has my entire body zinging to life.
I’ve been turned on in the past—many times—but never on this scale. My body is on the verge of combusting. Every nerve ending feels like live wires running havoc under my skin. One of Spencer’s hands moves to grasp my hip, anchoring me in place, while the other curls around the crown of my head, bringing my mouth back to his.
He spears his tongue into my mouth, and this kiss is so wild, so frenzied and desperate, that our teeth occasionally clink with each other’s. I can feel every inch of him now. He’s so hard, so thick, and so long. As much as I’d like to feel him inside me, I’m kind of glad we are doing this with clothes on.
I continue to roll my pelvis, but my movements are now limited because of his grip. Thankfully, I’m still able to get enough friction to get myself off.
The sheer intensity of feels I’m experiencing would scare the ever-loving shit out of me if my mind could process them, but I’m so lost in the moment I won’t need to worry about them until later.
It only takes a few more juts of my hips until I reach that delicious point of no return. That magical place where you’re teetering on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. My fingers slide from his hair to grip his broad shoulders, holding on for dear life. I’m worried I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor if I don’t.
“I’m … I’m coming,” I whimper against his mouth.
My confession has him thrusting his hips forward, making my orgasm that much more intense.
I throw my head back and the noise that falls from my parted lips sounds more like a strangled sob.
This .
This is exactly what I needed. A release … a chance to expel all the tension and pent-up feelings I’ve been struggling with over the past few weeks.
It’s freeing and soul-destroying in equal measure, because although I’ve only been given a tiny taste of Spencer Prescott, I have a feeling he’s just ruined me for all the men to come.
“Delilah,” he growls as he leans forward, angling my body backwards. One hand is now supporting my back and the one gripping my hip drags me down to meet each drive.
He’s now dry fucking me with so much vigour a second orgasm hits, this one more intense than the last. I’ve never had consecutive ones before and, sweet baby Jesus , I’m not complaining.
He doesn’t relent in his attack on my body until I ride the last wave, collapsing against his chest in a sedated bliss.