Page 83 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

For half a second, I debate dropping to my knees and setting up camp under her skirt. I’d happily move in there for a year (or fifty), lick up all that wetness and make her come on repeat. But I need her eyes tonight, her trust as she chases whatever it is she’s after.

In case anyone comes too close, I angle my body toward Main Street and push her underwear aside. I nudge her clit with my knuckle, and she grips my arms. When I press harder, she lets out an almost silent cry and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Delilah.” I slip one, then two fingers into her, stretching her wide. “Your pussy is so hot and tight, gripping my fingers. Watching you come is a fucking gift, so I need you to look at me while I get you off. Show me what I do to you.”

She stills, breathing hard, but doesn’t open her eyes. I don’t move my hand.

I’m not sure why I’m pushing this. Maybe it’s the balancing wire we’re living on, strung together with a mix of baggage and possibility. I won’t ask for answers she’s not ready to give, but I’ll ask for her vulnerability. For her to be as laid bare as I always am.

She finally opens her eyes, and my heart pumps in double time. I’ve seen Delilah let loose. I’ve seen her tease me and get mad and laugh so hard she cries. I’ve seen her fall apart around me, but I’ve never seen this much desperation or unchecked desire.

Blood rushing, I capture her lips in another bruising kiss, moving my fingers in time to my tongue, fucking her mouth and tight channel as she says yes and more and I need you so much.

“You have me,” I pant in her ear. “I’m fucking yours. Just like you and this gorgeous pussy are mine.”

“Oh, God.” She clings tighter to me, her desperate eyes on mine, her walls clamping around my fingers. When I press harder on her clit, she tenses and bites my shoulder, coming so hard she crumples into me.

I ease my fingers out, lick them off, then kiss her gently. “Was that good for you? The dirty talk?”

“So good.” She runs her hand over my stiff cock.

I groan but edge my hips away. “Tonight was just for you. That’s all I need.”

She blinks at me and traces my cheekbone. “That wasn’t all I need. Your fantasy was only half-fulfilled.”

“Delilah—”

She shuts me up with a kiss, working her hand over my aching length until I’m rocking in time with her, heat snapping up my thighs. I’m not sure when she unzips my jeans or when I lift her up and latch her legs around my waist. I’m so fucking turned on, so high on her and the air hitting my ass and the nearby sounds, that I shove her underwear aside and thrust in deep.

We moan into each other’s mouths. The hint of danger propels my hips. It’s an aggressive affair with more dirty words and gasping breaths as we work each other over into oblivion, cursing quietly as we shake and let go.

When we’re both spent, I put her carefully down, my mind and body still fuzzy with lingering desire. “I just fucked you in an alleyway.”

She laughs against my chest. “I can’t believe we did that.”

I smooth her hair back. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

She fixes me with an intense stare that clears the postsex fog from my head. “Everything with you is always perfect.”

My chest heats and swells, filling with so much pressure I almost tell her I love her, but I don’t. We may be opening up about our hidden desires, but neither of us has uttered those three words while the other has been alert. I’m not fully sure why. Maybe we’re both afraid. Maybe our silence is like the secret she’s keeping, truths tucked away until we’re secure and safe enough to face them, but I’m okay with this for now—fun dates and wild sex. Us, building our foundation so we can weather whatever storm awaits.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Delilah and I are roomies. My blue toothbrush is beside her yellow one. My black briefs are snuggled beside her lace underwear with the pretty bows. While I’ve spent less time in my pink apartment and we never formally discussed living together, gradually the past three weeks, more of my belongings have appeared in her place.

I’m at her dining table, hard at work on my graphic novel, putting the final touches on the last panels. I chose the happily-ever-after ending. The sunshine-and-lollipops version of our future with bird children of our own and a new treasure chest of memories we’ll create. It’s sappy and cheesy, but I could use some sappy cheesiness in my life. And this is still a novel—a story to sell. Grandiose happily-ever-afters win over readers.

I’ve gotten smarter in my old age and set an alarm before I started working. We’re entertaining for our first time tonight. Ricky and Aaron are back from their belated Belize honeymoon. Avett and Naomi have a sitter. We’re making beef fondue—yes, the pot has been decontaminated since the meat-soup discovery. My job is to run out and get wine and the beef. Avett’s bringing a salad. Ricky’s making some fancy potato-and-cheese dish. Delilah’s got the apps and dessert and dipping sauces covered. I refuse to have another Eternity incident and ruin our first dinner party, hence the alarm. Not that I need it.

Delilah flies in before expected, flowers in hand, dropping them and her keys on the kitchen counter.

“How’s your work going?” she asks while puttering around and pulling out a vase.

I can’t answer. I’m smiling too wide. Candy Cane is doing her oh-my-God-she-came-back dance, wiggling up a storm. Delilah laughs and crouches, giving my girl a good rub. That’s not enough for Candy. She stops, drops, and rolls, stretching out on her back and spreading her legs. My dog is a floozy.

“Such a ham,” Delilah coos.

“If I jump around like a fool and wiggle my butt, will you rub me too?”