Chapter 1 #2
My body reacted instantly to his words. I felt myself melt into a puddle, my knees genuinely weak. Up until that moment, I thought swooning was something Hollywood invented for soap operas for added drama. But there I was, swooning over this god of a man.
Everything broken inside me stirred. Where dread and despair had lived, hope and excitement had taken their place. Had this been Hannah’s plan all along, to set me up with Jared? Later conversations with her would prove my suspicions right.
We spent the rest of the wedding reception together on the dance floor, moving nonstop until the music shifted into a nightclub vibe.
Most of the family and kids had cleared out for the night, leaving only the party crowd.
He paused. I could tell he was searching my face for a cue, trying to figure out whether I wanted to keep dancing to the raunchier music. With plenty of Grey Goose coursing through my veins, I felt brave.
Fuck it. Time to rip the Band-Aid off, Delilah.
With something feral flickering in my eyes, I stepped closer without breaking eye contact.
I closed the space between us, my body moving on instinct alone.
The reaction between us was immediate and undeniable.
When his hands shifted with more confidence, grabbing my ass, my body lit up.
It had been starved from being untouched for so long.
A dark, primal look surfaced in his expression, like control loosening just enough to reveal what lived beneath it.
He pulled me closer, firm, and sure, and my fingers slid into his dark hair without thought.
He smelled incredible. Whatever cologne he wore, mixed with the heat of him, sent me spiraling.
My hands traced the strength in his arms beneath the fabric of his shirt.
His gaze dropped slowly, deliberately, and the hunger there made my breath catch.
“So which part isn’t accurate?” I asked.
He blinked, like he was being pulled back from somewhere else, confusion flickering across his face for a brief second.
“The horny frat fuck boy thing,” I clarified. “You said not entirely accurate.”
He visibly reined himself in, calm settling back over him as if he were locking something dangerous away. Then he smirked.
“Only one of the three is true.” “Okay,” I said softly. “So which part?”
“Well, I’m in a tech program at the community college, so no frat,” he replied.
He hesitated, then added, almost sheepish, “And as embarrassing as it is, the last time I had sex was three months ago with my ex.”
He shrugged slightly. “So, sadly, I don’t really meet the fuck boy criteria either.”
He leaned closer to my ear, and I shuddered at the brush of his warm breath against my skin.
“But the way you’re dancing with me,” he murmured, his voice low and unsteady, “the way your curves feel in my hands… you’re driving me absolutely wild. You are just so… fucking … beautiful, Delilah.”
My pulse thudded hard in my chest.
“So you’re horny then?” I teased. It was more of a statement than a question.
Again, he leaned close, his lips nearly grazing my ear. “From the moment I saw you,” he said quietly, “all I could think about was what this dress would look like on my floor.”
I was going to have an actual fucking heart attack. My pulse pounded through my body. He spun me around and pushed his hips against my backside. I could feel his arousal pushing back at me, and good Lord he felt big. I could tell just from the pressure of it on my body.
Is he going to want me to suck that thing? Could I even suck anything that big properly? Do I even remember how? Oh my God it has been over two years, what if I’m out of practice?
I sensually started to move my hips in a circular motion on him. His hand trailed over my breast on top of my dress, it swept over my hardened nipple, and I thought I might climax right there on the dance floor. It had been so long since I had been touched. Every fiber of my being ached for him.
We danced through several songs like that, teasing and grinding on each other, the air between us thick with promise. Every fiber of my being ached for him.
Before I knew it, the lights came on and the reception was over. I had completely lost track of time. He let go of me, and my body instantly mourned the loss of his touch. Then he offered to drive me home.
“Drive? Didn’t you drink?” I asked.
“I don’t drink. Just a personal choice,” he replied casually.
We said our goodbyes to our friends. I gave Hannah a big hug, and she flashed me with that mischievous smile. In a sing song voice, she said, “You’re welcome,” followed by a wink.
The drive home was short, filled with small talk that felt oddly disconnected, like we had not just been wrapped up in each other moments before. The shift was jarring.
When we arrived at my shabby apartment complex, he insisted on walking me to my door.
I was thrilled, hoping it meant he wanted to come inside, that we might continue what we had started on the dance floor.
But I was not sure. Out there, I had coaxed something raw and primal out of him, though I suspected I had only scratched the surface.
In the car, he was a perfect gentleman again.
Calm. Poised. Completely unfazed by what had happened.
My entire world felt turned upside down, yet he seemed untouched by it. I could not tell what he wanted.
Jared maintained that calm composure as he offered his elbow, helping steady me as I climbed the stairs in my heels. I must have been more unsteady than I realized because the next thing I knew; I was lifted into his arms. He carried me princess style all the way up to the third floor.
He set me up right in front of my door, then slipped his hands into his pockets. I took a steadying breath, trying to calm the nerves buzzing through me. I gathered what courage I had left, ignored my mild panic attack, and asked,
“Did you… want to come in?” My voice was shaky, flirtation barely holding together.
He held my gaze for a second or two longer than necessary, as if wrestling with something inside himself. Then he leaned in, bracing his forearm against the door above my head, caging me gently between the door and his solid frame.
There it was again. That darkness in his eyes, sharp and hungry, like something barely restrained. His demeanor shifted from charming and controlled to dangerously alluring the moment the question left my mouth. He paused, breath heavy, before finally speaking.
“As much as I want to come in and worship that body of yours all night long and take total advantage of you… I’m not going to do that, you’re drunk, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Just like that, the darkness faded, replaced by the calm steadiness I had seen before.
He lifted one hand and traced his finger slowly along my jaw, tilting my chin up. His lips brushed mine in a soft, lingering kiss, simple but devastating. When he pulled back, he looked into my eyes and said, “Good night, Delilah.”
Then he turned and walked away.
I could have sworn I heard him humming the melody of “Hey There Delilah” as he disappeared down the stairs, hands in his pockets, as if nothing at all had happened.
I could not believe how unaffected he seemed.
I was a mess. I teased him all night, then practically threw myself at him, and he just walked away.
What kind of superpower did this man possess to have that much self-control?
I wanted to yell after him, please take advantage of me.
But that would have made me seem desperate, which I was, but he did not need to know that.
I had seen the feral animal behind that prince charming facade, and I wanted to rip that mask off and let him take whatever he needed from me and use me up until he was satisfied.
The cruel part is that I still want him now, seven years later, just as much as I did then. My body simply cannot keep up anymore. Even if he is gentle, I am too fragile now, weakened by chemo and radiation.
I fell for him quickly and deeply. My feelings took over completely, pulling me in with an unstoppable force, like gravity.
In the early days, he used to call me his dream girl. We got engaged a year later, and seven months after that, we were married. Deep down, I wanted to rush into it before something terrible could happen to him, the way it did with Danny.
Time changes everything. Seven years later, the two people sitting in this car are no longer who they were when they first met on the dance floor.
Still, we had five solid years of happiness. Five perfect years of laughter, holidays, mind-blowing sex, romantic dates, trips, and love. Real love. Nothing can take that away from me, not even cancer.
We tried to have children, but it never happened.
Two years ago, we found out that cancer had claimed my womb.
That was the first diagnosis. Ovarian cancer at thirty years old felt like a cruel joke.
The results came back just days before my thirtieth birthday.
Nothing says happy birthday quite like surprise, you have cancer.
Still, I refuse to wallow in self-pity. As terrible as my life has become, I cannot bear what my diagnosis has done to Jared.
That is all I can think about. Not the operation in a couple of hours.
Not the very real possibility of dying. Only how much loving me has cost him.
If I am honest with myself, part of me hopes I die on the operating table just to set him free.
He would never leave me. I would have to be the one to do it.
“I have a good feeling this time,” he said with a smile, breaking the silence.
Though he kept up the act of optimism, I could sense the truth beneath it. Jared never admitted to anything but hope and happiness, but I knew the pain hidden behind his words. He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, tracing gentle circles across my skin.
“Everything is going to be okay,” he said softly.
I had spent weeks quietly getting my affairs in order, just in case today was the end. I wanted my death to be as logistically easy for him as possible. That part, at least, was within my control.
I offered him a small smile, then retreated back into emotional stillness. We spent the rest of the drive in solemn silence, hands intertwined. I wondered if these were my last few hours with the man I loved so deeply. The weight of that thought was almost unbearable.
We arrived at the hospital. A nurse brought me a gown and explained that I needed to undergo a few pre-surgery scans and tests.
The hospital had a spacious waiting area with comfortable chairs, snacks, and televisions, so I suggested that Jared wait there instead of squeezing into the cramped pre-op room.
He kissed the top of my head and said he would be back after the tests.
I gave my usual forced half smile and nodded. The nurse told me to change into the gown and wait for a wheelchair that would take me to the next floor.
“Do you need help getting undressed?” she asked kindly. I shook my head. “No.” She smiled and left the room.
I changed and stood in front of the long mirror, taking in my reflection.
My frame was thin, my ribs too visible. The sunken look of my eyes and the sharp lines of my collarbones made me barely recognize myself.
My gaze drifted to my only tattoo, a red heart pierced by a downward sword, low on my hip.
A cliché, maybe, but it always makes me smile. It always makes me think of Danny.