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“No, I like it. I don’t want you to stop.”

He reaches into his bedside drawer, pulling out a box of condoms and putting it on the top of the table. There for the taking when—and if—he’s sure I’m ready.

“Are you sure?” he repeats.

“Yes, Joseph. Yes.”

I shift on the bed slightly so I can pull his top from his body, desperate to feel his skin against mine. Feeling bolder, I reach for the waistband of his jeans, and his hand is against mine. Together we work to remove clothing, leaving just underwear. I take a second to admire his body, far more muscular than I’m sure people would imagine to be hiding away under his usual clothes. He is glorious to look at, but I’m more awed by the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

He leans in to kiss me again, his hands exploring my body as I touch him, mine working without conscious thought, doing what seems natural. What I thought would be awkward and strange feels normal and right. His bare skin against mine is heavenly, making me arch slightly. I nip his bottom lip and he growls, repositioning himself above me so there’s a little more weight against me. I used to think this would be a scary position to be in with a man, but it doesn’t feel scary with him. It feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Every moment has led me to this, like it’s destiny for me to be on his bed with his body above mine.

His kisses get more intense, and every thought falls from my head. I can only focus on a few things at once. The clearest thing is his voice, muffled against my neck, telling me between kisses how much he loves me, how beautiful he thinks I am. The next is the feel of my heart, how it pounds at the sheer thrill of what we’re doing, racing away in my chest with reckless abandon.

He removes my underwear, and I remove his. My hand glides across his firm backside, though it’s slightly trembling when I let it travel around his body and reach to hold his cock. I’ve seen them before because some of my mother’s boyfriends are almost proud at their ability to wander to the bathroom naked, and I’ve felt them pressed against me by hormone-filled men before they pass out, but I’ve never touched one before. The smoothness of the skin takes me by surprise. I let my fingers explore, feeling every inch, mapping the contours and the ridges, marvelling at the satin-like feel of the skin.

His own hand does some exploring, too, touching me in places I’ve never been touched before. My reactions come automatically; I don’t even need to think about what I’m supposed to do. My leg shifts to give him better access. My moan is like a breathy prayer for more. My hand grips him harder as I ache for him.

The next time he reaches for the condoms, there’s no hesitation—from him or from me. No fears, no concerns about whether this is right or wrong, just the slow tumble into what feels right and what feels perfect. Nothing else exists, just him and me and the waves of pleasure that radiate between us, like we’re a force to be reckoned with, a spark that he’s lit within me, something that nobody could ever douse.

I feel like the whole world has shifted slightly, and that when this is over, I won’t be the same Delilah Adler I was this morning—and not just because of the sex. This is more than sex. This is me giving myself to somebody who sees all of me but still thinks I’m special, still thinks I’m worth something.

This is somebody wanting me, and for more than just a drunken fumble.

As he moves above me, I focus on how good it feels to be loved. Adored. Cherished. Wanted.

When he whispers again how much he loves me, for the first time ever, I whisper it back, and I feel our proclamations sing like a siren in both my heart and my soul.

Chapter eleven

Joseph

Two Years Ago

Iwake slowly and let the scent of the room wash over me. Discarded condoms. Lubricant. Sweat. Honeysuckle. Sex. Sin.

Delilah.

I move slightly as I regain consciousness, and then I’m aware of her body against mine. I open my eyes and smile when I see she’s sprawled out on the bed next to me. Her blonde hair is everywhere, tussled up. The wild hair, coupled with her kiss-swollen lips and still-blotchy skin, make her look thoroughly fucked. I’m sure I look just as dishevelled. The birds had been chirping outside by the time we finally decided we were spent.

I smooth her hair back gently, and she frowns but stays sleeping. She gives a little disgruntled moan, like a protest against the idea of being woken up. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. It’s late, much later than she ever seemed to sleep back then. She was always up at the crack of dawn, but given we didn’t stop until the early hours, I’m not surprised she’s still out for the count.

I pull her a little closer to my body, enjoying her heat and the feel of her soft curves against me. It’s been a long time since I woke with a woman in my bed. Definitely before I started filming, and long before I moved into this house.

She sighs as she snuggles against me, and the sound makes me think about last night in great detail. It’s almost like an automatic replay in my head, flashes of images, stirring my emotions and flooding me with desire. I remember how sweet she tasted and how loudly she squealed with desire as I gripped her hips as she rode my face.

There were brief moments last night when she seemed insecure, comments about how she’s changed since we first had sex, how she looks different to how she did then. She’s right. She’s different. We both are. And she’s changed in all the best ways. It isn’t just her looks, going from somebody hiding her beauty to looking sensational, but it’s her confidence. The way she seems so sure of herself, especially in bed, is a gift.

We’re both in much better places than we were, and sexually we seem to fit together even better than we did back then. It had surprised me because I always thought sex with Delilah was the pinnacle, like the way our bodies fit together was because we were designed to. But last night exceeded any memory of what we used to be, of how good it used to be.

It’s easy to look back at relationships through rose-tinted glasses, especially one that ended despite the intense emotions, and imagine them to be better than they were. I’ve had plenty of lovers since Delilah—a string of women who were fine with a discreet relationship away from the prying eyes when I was with Hannah, and a couple of relationships after she died. Sex was always great, and it wasn’t like I always compared them to Delilah, but last night felt like a missing ingredient had been added.

Delilah orgasming on my hand, watching her come undone as she maintained eye contact with me was the hottest thing I’ve experienced in years.

At least, it was until I heard her grabbing the headboard as she rode my face, shouting out my name followed by “Oh, fuck” and “Fuck, that’s so good, don’t stop” as she climaxed.

That was surpassed by the sight of her on her knees in front of me, licking her lips after she gave me a blow job.

Every experience just got better as the night went on, culminating in our slick, sweaty bodies clinging to each other as we chased the most intense orgasms.