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It almost feels like a battle of wills at this point—a game to see which of us is stronger. It’s not about the prize, just about power.
And as I watch long, thick fingers work at the button of his pants, I wonder if maybe it isn’t me who’s strongest.
“What?” he asks when he catches me staring.
I lick my lips, unable to answer.
“Delilah . . . ,” he starts, looking me over with a hint of worry before that melts with his realization. A smile grows on his lips. “Oh.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Dante. I’m not losing,” I say.
He smiles.
“Yeah, I know.” My interest perks up.
“Is that you saying you’ll lose? For the cause?” My mind starts to move over all of the ways I can have him tonight if he does, all the ways I can enjoy my husband finally.
“Nope.”
I glare at him and he laughs.
Fine.
Two can play that game.
I stand from the bed, moving over to my vanity and grabbing my lotion before sitting at the little stool before it. Squeezing some into my hand, I start to slowly spread it onto my skin, starting at my legs and moving up, over my knees, up my thighs.
He’s standing there shirtless, his slacks unbuttoned, but his progress stalls as he watches my hands move. Perfect.
And then he speaks.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says, and I give him a weird look. “Keep me company?”
“We were just about to go to bed, Dante,” I say. “And I don’t want to get my hair wet.”
I don’t mention how I refuse to get in that shower for fear that I’ll break, naked in a small space, hot water beating on our bodies . . .
“Just sit in there with me. You sit on the toilet, get ready for bed, put your lotion on. Keep me company.”
I stare at him and his smile, and I know. I know this man has some other plan.
But do I care?
Nope.
“Fine,” I say, and he smiles wider before moving to the attached bathroom in my room. I listen to the shower start, refusing to follow him until he’s under the water, his naked body away from hands and eyes that are quickly becoming their own entity.
“You’re safe, Lilah,” he says, his voice low from the bathroom. “I’m in the shower.” I roll my eyes but also fight a laugh, knowing he knows why I didn’t follow him instantly. I head in, eyeing the neat pile of his pants and underwear before sitting on the closed toilet and finishing the process of putting on my lotion.
“I miss you, you know,” he says, his voice low.
It's low in a way I know, a way that has that invisible string that connects to my clit tugging.
“Hmm?” I say, not trusting my voice.
“I miss you. Touching you. Tasting you. Being in you.” His words fill the room alongside the steam, making it feel like it’s everywhere, he’s everywhere.
“I—”
