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But still, a wave of heat runs through me.
He sees it, of course.
“Huh. You don’t hate that. Good to know.”
“Oh, dear god,” I say, but still, I cross my legs.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve had him.
“But really, Lilah, you don’t have to smile at every man who talks to you.”
“What?”
“That man. He was talking to you. I can read you better than I can read anyone. You hated it. But you kept your pretty smile on your lips despite the man staring at your tits the whole time.”
“Now, now, don’t get possessive,” I say with a smile, still not looking at him.
“I’m always possessive when it comes to you. Stop giving people a smile when they don’t deserve it.”
“That’s how the game is played, Dante. Women smile.”
“Not you.” My brows furrow in confusion, and I look around the room. “You don’t give the gift of your smile to anyone who doesn’t deserve it, Delilah.”
My mind goes to days when I would be at a gala and Shane would whisper through gritted teeth in my ear, Smile, Delilah. Smile when you are being spoken to. Make it actually look like you enjoy being here.
“In the real world, Dante, when a woman isn’t smiling, she gets told that she should do it more.”
“This is the real world. This is your real world. Anyone says that to you, you kick them in the fuckin’ shin for even deigning to tell you what to do.”
Finally, I let my eyes drift over to him where he’s standing next to me. He’s leaning against the wall, ankles and arms crossed like he doesn’t give a shit about anything going on.
But his jaw is tight, irritated.
“You mean that,” I say, my words low.
“You don’t let anyone tell you what to do anymore, Delilah. Ever.” My eyes scan the room before I murmur my next words low.
“Not even you?”
“There’s only one time when I’m allowed to tell you what to do.”
“It’s been a while since you did.”
He doesn’t smile but even in his profile, I can see the smile in his eyes.
“Whose fault is that?”
My eyes scan the room, finding the culprit. His date.
“Not mine,” I say.
“How much longer is this going to go on?” he asks me. “Sleeping with you is nice, watching you make yourself come was fucking spectacular, but I know you need me just as much as I need you, baby,” he says.
He’s not wrong.
Two weeks.
It’s been nearly two weeks of sleeping next to Dante in little nighties, of kissing and touching but not much more, except that one night a week ago.
