Delaney James seemed to have it all-a Manhattan townhouse, a thriving career as a fashion journalist, and a handsome, high-powered husband, but when he announces he's leaving her, Delaney's picture-perfect life unravels. Heartbroken and in need of a...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
When I get to the kitchen it's empty. There are cooking supplies on the counter that show she was here, but I can't find her anywhere. She wasn't in bed when I woke up and her side was cold. She wasn't in the bathroom or on the balcony drinking coffee, like she sometimes is in the morning. Her clothes from last night are still on the bedroom floor, and her shoes are lying in the middle of the living room. She's not on the back deck with Hercules or taking him for a walk. He's fast asleep in the sun rays that are shining through the sliding glass door. If she's still here, but not anywhere in the house, where is she?
I turn around to look for her out front, and when I do, I find her leaning against the wall of the archway, foot popped, tip of her thumb between her perfect lips, sapphire eyes hungry. She's looking at me like she wants to eat me, and God knows I'll happily let her.
"Whatcha doin' all the way over there?" I ask.
"Just looking."
"You're staring."
"I'm gazing." She pushes herself off the wall and I notice what she's wearing. My T-shirt from last night and a pair of my boxer shorts. I can see her pink, pebbled nipples underneath the thin fabric, and as her long, tan legs stalk toward me, I instantly harden. "Hard not to when you look like that."
"Like what?"
She slides her hands up my bare chest and wraps her arms around my neck. "All muscular, and half-naked, and yummy."
"I think you kinda like me."
"I think I kinda love you," she says.
I snake my arms around her waist and dip my head, lightly pressing my lips against hers. They're warm and soft and her mouth tastes like caramel flavored coffee. I take her in a chaste but hungry kiss, and by the way she moans into my mouth, she feels it too. As I reluctantly pull away from her, I curl my fingers around the back of her neck, caressing her cheek with the pad of my thumb. My movements are slow and gentle – not at all the voracious man I was last night – but as she tangles her hand in my hair and pulls my face down to hers, our mouths colliding in another greedy kiss, I lift her up and place her on the island countertop, positioning myself between her legs.
Last night was incredible. God, it felt good to finally tell her I'm in love with her. I've been biting my tongue since our trip to LA, but I didn't want to tell her before I knew she was ready to hear it, or before she was ready to say it back. I didn't care last night if she said it back though – I needed to tell her. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I see forever when I look at her, and when that happens, you want forever to start as soon as possible.
On top of how good it felt to tell her I love her, it felt even better to be with her. I wasn't kidding when I said I've been a boy scout this summer. I deserve all the fucking medals for every time I gently turned her down. All the times I stopped her hand when it got close to my cock while we'd be making out. Every time I left the room while she was getting undressed or pretended not to notice her naked silhouette in the bathroom mirror when she got out of the shower. It's not that I didn't want to her. I wanted her more than anything. In fact, I'm pretty sure my right forearm is now two sizes bigger than my left due to all the times I had to jerk off just to keep myself from giving in to her. I've wanted Delaney every minute of every day since the moment I saw her in Maribelle's all those weeks ago, but she's been through something traumatic, and I wasn't going to rush her into doing anything simply because I wanted to fuck her.
