When she turned all the way around, I was presented with an almost nude Delilah, shining with moonlight, eyes honest and face open. Whatever had happened between us, whatever had been holding her back—even slightly—had vanished. Delilah came to me like a vision, and as I curved my fingers up the back of her thighs, I could only stare up at her in wonder.
This woman had taken out half of Victoria’s guards without batting an eye. Had stared down an armed psychopath with nary a tremor. Was about to fight back against the man who had tried to steal her bravery.
But he hadn’t succeeded. If there was one thing I was learning, it was to never, ever underestimate Delilah Barrett.
She stroked her fingers through my hair, caressing each curl.
“Any man that doesn’t realize your love is a privilege is a goddamn fool,” I said before I could stop myself.
I felt her shudder. Then her fingers, tugging off my tie gently. “I trust you, Henry.” She lifted my head.
“I trust you too.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Tonight, I want you bare. No barriers. No Thornhills.”
“I’m clean,” I said against her belly.
“Me too. And protected.” Her fingers caressed my cheeks.
“Take what you want,” I rasped. “You can have it all.”
Delilah nodded and dropped the tie into my palm. Closed my fingers around it. “Didn’t you once tell me you’d tie me to your bed and fuck me for days?”
I was stripped of speech. My palms on the back of her thighs slid up to her ass—yanked her hard into my body. She smirked.
“You want me to tie your beautiful wrists to this bed?” I asked in a rough voice.
“Please.” In her eyes was an alluring combination of challenge and submission—and I was the luckiest man alive to tie this goddess to my bed. My head was between her legs, mouth covering her mound, tongue gliding along her slit through the wet fabric.
“Why do you smell so fucking good.” It was no question—more a curse, an acceptance. I growled against her clit, gripping her waist, holding her still for my worship. I plucked the sides of her panties between my fingers and dragged the silky fabric down her thighs, exposing the glistening lips of her pussy. I licked my tongue inside her cunt.
“Oh, yes,” she crooned. I explored deeper stroking my tongue until her legs shook. I scooped her up and threw her back onto the bed with more force than I meant, but she only spread her legs wide for me.
My belt hit the floor with a thwap. Then my pants, my vest. Down slid my white shirt—every item of clothing came off until I was naked and fisting myself in front of Delilah’s hungry eyes.
I dropped to the bed and prowled up her body with deliberate intent. She backed all the way up and presented her wrists with an innocence I found wickedly deceitful. I took her panties, bound them around her wrists, secured the material to the bars on the bed.
“Okay?” I whispered against her lips.
“Perfect,” she assured me.
I wrenched her knees open, pressing them as wide as they could go. “I’m going to fuck you until you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are mine.”
I dragged the head of my dick through her folds, right against her clit—sliding, grinding, applying the right amount of pressure to have her head thrown back in submission. I palmed both of her breasts, rolling her nipples as she squirmed.
“Mine,” I said.
I gripped her waist, lifted the entirety of her lower body off the bed. Wrapped her legs around my head and fluttered my tongue against her clit.
“Mine.”
Suspended in the air, Delilah let out a series of wails that increased in volume as I lavished her clit with my tongue—bringing her right up to the edge before stopping.
I dropped her back to the bed. Kissed up every single inch of her body, from her ankles to her mouth, an exploration of details I didn’t want to miss—details I couldn’t believe I hadn’t focused on before: the splash of freckles on her belly, the curve of her ribcage, the rounded softness of her shoulders, the rippling strength of her thighs. Fingers, tongue, lips, teeth—I cataloged this woman’s body with the devotion of a scholar.
And by the time I reached her mouth, she was gasping with pleasure.
I entered her body with shallow strokes, gliding both hands to entwine with hers on the headboard. My hips moved between her legs with a luxury born of understanding—that we could have all the time in the world to discover the depths of our feelings.
Because in that moment, sharing a breath, hearts beating as one, I knew what I had to do tomorrow. Knew it and embraced it.
I gave her a kiss that had us both gasping, groaning when her heels dug into the small of my back with each thrust. She was softly chanting “yours, yours, yours” as I used my teeth to mark the spot between her throat and her shoulder, uniting us with the same sweet bite. Her chants became cries and her cries became loud, keening moans. Her internal muscles were squeezing my cock so tightly I knew she was close. Keeping one hand with hers, I let my other hand land on her clit, massaging her in tight circles as my thrusts grew frenzied, wild, out of control. The headboard smacked against the wall, the bed shook, and I poured every piece of myself into this moment, this time, this glimpse at paradise.
Delilah and I climaxed together, in a kind of erotic harmony I’d never experienced before in my life. I pressed our mouths together as I rode out our dual orgasms. When the aftershocks had finally abated—when we were nothing but a panting, sweating, tangled mess of limbs—I untied her bound wrists. Pulled her into my body, needing her as close as she could be. Her blue-green eyes shone in the darkness.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“Mhmmm,” she hummed, clinging to my chest.
I grinned against her neck, fully understanding the permanent shift that had occurred between us. The fact that I’d even briefly entertained the notion that Delilah and I could work together at Codex—and also have a romantic relationship—was ludicrous. They couldn’t coexist.
I’d made a living out of cataloging the tiniest of details in the oldest of books—appreciating each mistake and flaw, each poetic line and brilliant page, because that was what told the story. Love could be expressed through these tiny details, through gestures, through actions.
It told the story. It was the story. I recognized the massive poignancy of Abe, bringing his staff donuts because he struggled to say well done. Of Freya, staying up all night, bringing Delilah tacos so she wouldn’t get hungry on stakeouts. Francisco, admitting he’d been fooled by Bernard as easily as I: friendship, trust, connection.
I was falling in love with the woman I held in my arms. And I needed a way to show her.
“Delilah?” I whispered. She was snoring softly, already asleep.
Which was fine—she’d only try and talk me out of it anyway.
I slept deeply that night, Delilah wrapped around me, the sweet feel of her skin sliding against mine as she shifted and dreamed. When I woke, my decision felt hard—but also easy. Relieved, I turned over in the bed. Only to find it empty.
Delilah was gone.
52
Delilah
Abe glanced up from his computer with a look of concern. Freya had given me a comforting smile when I’d come in, noting the piece of paper in my hand. But I wasn’t nervous or scared. Unlike that day two years ago, I wasn’t walking into a room with a man who had manipulated me to do his bidding.