Chapter 19 - Delilah #2
“Wow….” A hand flies to my mouth as my eyes grow wide. “This is…” shaking my head slowly, I can barely get the words out, the romantic scene in front of me touching my heart in ways I've never experienced before.
Hunter turns, shifting on the blanket to get into a comfortable position, one knee bent as he stretches out a hand to wave me over. My heart flutters, and I feel all shy again, pushing away my trepidations and taking his hand as he helps me to sit down.
“I remembered how much you liked those chocolate-covered strawberries we had at that motel in Alaska,” Hunter says cheerfully as he reaches into the basket and pulls out a tray.
“Where did you get those?” I ask as he lifts the lid, his ears turning red behind his dark hair.
“I made them,” he admits sheepishly, lifting one by the stem and holding it up to me.
“I know that Alaska doesn't have very good, ahem—” he clears his throat and pauses, our eyes meeting for me to see the sadness in the dark brown depths.
“It doesn't have very good memories for us, but there were a few good things, right? Like these awesome strawberries!”
The gesture is enough to leave me swooning, but there's lingering dread that twists my stomach into a knot.
Why do things feel so uncertain, like I could easily lose Hunter for good if I merely blink my eyes? Perhaps it's because he hasn't brought up what any of this means, and I'm becoming frustrated that he hasn't made a move, or even touched me.
That's why he holds the strawberry out, instead of feeding it to me like he did on our first night in Alaska, when we raided the hotel kitchen for leftovers and took our snacks back to the room we secretly shared.
Back then, we had reason to hide, but everything is out in the open now, since that night he opened up to me.
There's nothing else standing between us, being together in every way possible, except the truce we called, which I labeled friendship.
Becoming impatient with the bridge neither of us has crossed—the one I built—I decide to take matters into my own hands, leaning toward the happiness that outweighs my anxieties.
That's when I grab Hunter's wrist and tug his hand forward, parting my lips around the strawberry and taking a seductive bite as I gaze into his eyes.
His sharp, audible intake of breath fills my eardrums, and it's as if time stands still between us as I slowly release his wrist and lean back on my heels, slowly biting the chocolate-covered strawberry.
The moment the hardened chocolate cracks and the juices are released into my mouth, I become as feral as the glint in his eyes as he watches the movement of my lips.
We both move at the same time, closing the distance between us. I crush my lips to his, sighing from the sheer relief the kiss brings as he drinks in the cocktail of strawberries, chocolate, and my saliva.
The kiss is more passionate than I could have imagined, especially with the way Hunter has been keeping a distance between us.
His guttural growl as he kisses me vibrates into my mouth, surging through my bones and pooling between my thighs.
My walls clench around nothing but the promise of what lies ahead, and the memory of his cock buried deep inside me.
“Wait…” Hunter abruptly pulls back, leaving me to whimper in protest at the loss of his lips. Sinking back to my heels, I'm mentally curling into myself as my body tenses.
Hunter reads my reaction, his eyes softening as he shifts to his knees and leans in, tentatively reaching for my face with one hand.
“No, Delilah, don't get me wrong,” he whispers, cupping my cheek as I continue sulking. “I want this more than anything, but I want us to take our time. I want you to be ready.”
“I am,” I murmur through puckered lips, feeling a bout of anxiety threatening to spill from my eyes. “I am ready.”
Hunter's brows knit as he stares deeply into my eyes and bites his bottom lip. “Are you sure? What happened between us was so severe, and I don't want to rush you into anything you might regret later.”
“I'm ready, Hunter…I'm sure…” I whisper, realizing his hesitation must be brought on by my strange mood swings and snapping at him for the silliest things. Dropping my gaze shamefully, I sigh, a lump forming in my throat. “I—I don't want you walking on eggshells around me. Please…”
Hunter instantly swoops in, cradling my cheeks with both hands and searching my face with a look of sincere regret in his eyes.
“I don't wanna be walking on eggshells either,” he admits, the slight movement of his eyes to my lips indicating that he wants this as much as I do.
It's enough to let any doubts leave my mind, compelling me to say, “Then don't.”
That's when the distance between us is closed, our lips meeting for a kiss so passionate my toes curl as I push myself forward.
His hands roam the sides of my body, guiding me onto him until I'm straddling his waist, his tongue in my mouth sending tingles through my body as I feel his length, hard against my core.
I break the kiss only to stare into his eyes—the pause is a metaphorical pinch of my skin that tells me this is real. Our breaths are fiery pants that have me wondering why I ever believed it was a good idea to just be friends.
We're married.
We're fated mates.
And the fiery passion in Hunter's eyes attests to the fact that we could never just be friends.