Chapter 18 #2
But all I find is ecstasy. Eyes rolling back, hands fisting the sheets, and back arching, Delaney becomes a woman possessed when I'm inside her.
And without the looming fear that I'm hurting her hanging over my head, I'm able to allow myself to fully let go and fuck her, just like she asked me to do.
“So fucking beautiful,” I murmur to myself, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face.
We become a symphony of soft sighs, skin slapping skin, and mumbled prayers as we move against one another.
She falls into an orgasm within the first five minutes, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
I gently coax it out of her, nearly losing it as I feel her tight muscles twitching around my cock.
When she's finished, I flip her onto her stomach, tugging her hips upward until she's on her knees, and then I fuck her from behind with the most glorious view of her ass.
She finishes again when I wrap my arm around her hips and massage her slit as I drill into her, my cock hitting the most delicious angle.
Once I've wrung her dry through that one, I lay on my back and pull her on top, so she's straddling my hips.
She stands on her knees, looking down at my waiting erection like a queen preparing for her throne.
“Spit on it,” I command, my voice rough.
I can tell she's getting tired. Even though she promised to tell me when it begins to hurt, I don't truly believe that she will.
Her eyes roll up to meet mine, a question lingering in her stare.
I nod reassuringly, my hand snaking between her legs to rub soft circles against her clit.
She returns her gaze to my cock and swishes her tongue around, gathering up enough spit.
When she opens her mouth again, a long, hot trail falls onto me and her hand grips my shaft to spread it around.
Once she's satisfied with her work, she lines me up with her center and sinks down with a satisfied hiss.
I let her set the pace, allowing myself to enjoy the view as she rolls her hips and experiments with different angles until she finds one that feels the best. It only takes a few minutes for me to feel an orgasm building, my balls tightening and spine stiffening.
This time, I don't fight it. I allow myself to be taken away right alongside her and we finish in synchrony with each other's names on our lips.
I pull her down to the bed and wrap her in my arms, our breaths falling into sync as we come down from our respective highs.
As she nestles her face into my neck, her leg hiking up over my hips, I have the startling realization that nothing will be the same after this.
Not for me. She’s completely disrupted my status quo, blowing into my life like a violent storm and shaking everything upside down.
No other woman will compare to Delaney. No other place will feel the same as Millbrook Falls.
When this is all over, I’m afraid that it will be me who walks away from this bet the most changed.
And that terrifies me more than I’m willing to admit.
Later that night, Delaney’s curled up in my bed, looking impossibly small among my oversized pillows and the trophies I should probably put away. She slipped on one of my old Howlers t-shirts, and the sight of her in my clothes does something dangerous to my chest.
"This is weird," she says, her green eyes scanning my room like she's trying to memorize every detail. "Sleeping in your sanctuary."
I adjust the pillow on my makeshift bed on the floor, trying not to think about how right she looks there. "Could be weirder," I say, shooting her a grin I don't entirely feel. "At least I hid all the vintage Playboy issues before I left."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. We fall into comfortable silence, the kind that should feel awkward, but somehow doesn't.
"I’m nervous to see your parents," she admits eventually, her voice soft in the darkness. "I don't remember much about them from before, but I don't think they’ve ever been that friendly with me."
"Well, they’ll be on their best behavior tomorrow." I keep my voice carefully neutral, even though talking about my parents always makes my throat tight. "Mom's happier with her husband, Rick. Took her three years after my dad left to even go on a date. Rick was patient."
Delaney turns on her side to face me, tucking her arm beneath her head in a way that makes her hair spill across my pillow. "Is that why you don't believe in love? Because your dad left and she moved on?"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended, so I soften my voice. "My dad's leaving taught me that people leave. What happened to Lily taught me that love doesn't protect you from anything. It just gives life more ways to destroy you."
"What if you're wrong?" She repeats the same question she always asks, and there's something in her voice—hope, maybe, or desperation—that makes me want to believe her.
"What if I'm not?"
We're face-to-face now, close enough that I can see the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheekbones in the dim moonlight streaming through my window. Close enough that I can smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo mixed with my cologne.
"How can you be so sure?" She whispers.
I blow out an exasperated breath, running my hand through my hair. The words feel like glass in my throat, but they need to come out. "Because Lily only died because she found out that the supposed love of her life was sleeping with another woman for most of their relationship."
Her face falls, and I watch the color drain from her cheeks. "What?"
I press my lips together, suddenly regretting opening this door. But the damage is done now.
"You can't just drop that truth bomb and then leave me hanging," she insists in a whisper-hiss that reminds me of the fierce woman who stormed into that coffee shop and challenged me to this insane bet. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
I can practically see the wheels turning in her head, connecting dots, reframing everything I've said over the past few weeks. Probably everything Lily told her about Paul before. Part of me wants to take it back, to let her keep believing I'm just some cynical asshole who doesn't understand love.
I sigh, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling where my old playoff banner hangs like a ghost of better times. "No one wants to know the truth. They just want to keep their carefully-constructed images fully intact."
"I want to know. Please, Mac." She reaches between us, her hand hovering near my shoulder before she pulls it back like she's burned. "After all of this," she waves her hand in the space between us, "I deserve to know."
The words hang in the air, and I know she's right. After everything we've shared, all the walls I've let her chip away at, she deserves the truth. Lily would want her best friend to know. But saying it out loud will make it real in a way I'm not sure I can handle.
My chest already aches with the weight of keeping this secret, and her green eyes are so full of trust and determination that I almost can't bear it.
I'm about to roll away, to end this conversation before it destroys whatever fragile thing we've built between us, when something breaks inside me.
"She called me that night in a panic," I start, my voice rough with unshed tears. "Their rehearsal dinner was the following day, and she was supposed to be staying at my mom's—following tradition, of course—but she had to run back to grab something."
Delaney goes completely still, like she's afraid any movement will spook me into silence. I need to get this out just as much as she needs to hear it.
My throat works around a thick swallow. "When she got there, she found him in their bed with his receptionist. They had a screaming match, where he admitted to not being faithful to her from the start. She knew she couldn't drive home herself, so she called me.
“Oddly enough, I think you're one of the only people who would understand how devastated she was that night.
I've never seen her like that. With her heart practically rubbed raw and bleeding out.
She told me all about what happened on our way back to my place, and it took everything in me not to turn the car around and beat the living fuck out of him. "
I pause, my chest heaving like I've been running drills. Delaney hasn't even blinked, her eyes wide and glassy in the moonlight.
"We were on our summer break, so the media ran away with the story they wanted to spin based on what made sense in their own minds.
But I swear, I wasn't drinking that night.
All my blood tests proved it. The driver who pulled out in front of us was wasted, though.
Completely belligerent. I was so distracted by my anger, I didn't see him until it was too late.
" I look down at the sheets between us, my fingers toying with a few loose threads because I can't bear to see the pity in her eyes.
"That's why you say it was love that killed her," she says, her voice broken and small. "Because she shouldn't have been on that road in the first place. Neither of you should have."
I shake my head, the familiar guilt settling over my shoulders like a lead blanket. "She didn't even have a chance. She believed every single lie and fake fairytale he promised her, and it ended up getting her killed."
"That wasn't true love," Delaney says firmly.
"She believed it was. Everyone still does." The words taste bitter.
"But you know that it wasn't, so why not believe that it's still possible? Why blame Lily? Why blame love when it was so clearly not that?"
I feel the lines deepen between my brows as grief crashes over me in waves. This is why I don't talk about this, why I keep it locked away. Because admitting it out loud means facing the truth I've been running from.
My voice breaks as I say, "Because if Lily couldn't tell the difference, and she knew everything there was to know about love, then what hope do I have for ever knowing?"
Delaney reaches between us, her hand finding my shoulder, and I sink into her touch like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. "You'll know. If you just trust yourself, you'll know."
"It's not that easy," I whisper, but even as I say it, part of me wants to believe her.
"Then we'll figure it out together," she says, and the word 'together' hits me right in the center of my chest.
I shift my arm to cup her face, my thumb tracing the soft line of her jaw. "You make it sound so simple."
"Maybe it is. Maybe we just make it complicated because we're scared."
"I am scared," I admit, the words scraping against my throat. "Terrified, actually."
"Of what?"
"Of wanting this. Of wanting you." My voice drops to barely audible. "Of losing you, too."
She kisses me then, soft and careful, and I can taste everything she can't say—that she's scared too, that last night changed everything, that whatever this is between us is so much bigger than our stupid bet.
When we break apart, I pull her closer, tucking her head under my chin and breathing in the scent of her hair. She fits against me perfectly, like she was made for this exact space.
"Tomorrow's going to be hard," I murmur against the top of her head.
"I know."
"You might see things... Versions of me you won't like." The words come out rougher than I intended, weighted with all my fears about facing my hometown, my past, the person I used to be.
"I'll still be here," she says without hesitation, and the certainty in her voice nearly undoes me.
I hold her tighter, memorizing the feel of her in my arms, trying to believe that someone like her could really choose someone like me. The silence stretches between us, comfortable and warm, until I finally work up the courage to ask the question that's been eating at me.
"Promise?" The word comes out so softly, I'm not sure she hears it.
"Promise," she whispers back, and for the first time in months, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I won't lose everything good in my life.