Discovering Delilah Read online

  I nod, thankful that she understands, too. “She knows, and she still wants to be with me.”

  Cassidy looks at Wyatt and smiles, then looks at me again. “Then it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Just do what comes naturally.”

  “Sometimes doing what comes naturally is the hardest thing on earth.”

  Chapter Seven

  ~Ashley~

  THIS HAS BEEN the longest day of my life. Learning to surf is about a million times harder than I thought it was going to be, and I had a terrible time trying to concentrate on anything other than Delilah. Drake was patient as a saint, but every time he held on to my board to steady me, I wished he was Delilah. When he cheered me on, I wanted it to be her who was proud of me. And I knew she would be. I kept looking up at the dunes, where she and I have been meeting in the early mornings, hoping she’d appear.

  And then there is the war that’s been raging between my head and my heart. I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone who wasn’t out. I’ve been down this road. I know how painful it is, and yet here I am, doing it again.

  Oh, Delilah, what am I going to do?

  Luckily, the surf shop was superbusy today, so I didn’t have much downtime to brood or count down the hours until I’d see Delilah again. After work I stopped at the Harborside General Store to pick up a few things, like Delilah’s favorite crackers and hot chocolate.

  I check the clock. She’s going to be here any minute. She had to work until ten, and it’s almost ten fifteen. She’s been to my apartment a million times, but tonight I’m extra nervous. I’ve already washed and changed my sheets, run the vacuum, showered, and put on the prettiest underwear and bra that I own under one of my regular tops and shorts, so I don’t look too eager. It’s been a long time since I cared about any of these things, and even though I know Delilah won’t care if my apartment is messy or my underwear doesn’t match my bra, I can’t help the fluttering in my chest or the anticipation that’s been building since she first returned my text this morning and asked if she could see me tonight.

  Can she? I couldn’t even believe it was a question.

  Doesn’t she know she owns me?

  From the moment I saw her, she’s been weaseling her way into my heart. She’s the only person who could ever break through the walls I built around my heart after Sandy.

  I turn on my iTunes playlist, which has been full of Delilah’s favorite bands since we first met: Paramore, 5 Seconds of Summer, Imagine Dragons, and a handful of others. My apartment is on the second floor and faces the ocean. It’s not very spacious, but I like having my own place, and the view of the ocean reminds me of Delilah’s house, which makes me feel closer to her. I dance around the room lighting candles, then dim the lights. My living room feels romantic with the candles flickering in the breeze coming through the balcony doors and music playing softly in the background.

  A knock on the door sends my stomach into a whirlwind. Suddenly the room feels like I’m trying too hard. I run around blowing out the candles, waving my hands around, trying to get the scent of sulfur out of the room.

  Crap. Why did I do that?

  She knocks again, and I flick on the lights, feeling like an idiot. There’s no disguising the scent of extinguished candles.

  I breathe deeply, once, twice, three times. I’m never nervous like this, and it makes me even more nervous because it’s such an unfamiliar feeling.

  I reach for the doorknob, then hesitate, giving myself a get-your-head-on-straight talk.

  I’m not going to kiss her first thing. This is all new to her. She needs time to adjust.

  I’m going to be cool about it so I don’t scare her off.

  No. Kissing.

  Until she wants to.

  One more deep breath and I open the door.

  Delilah smiles.

  She smiles.

  I can’t get enough of Delilah’s smiles, and it melts all my good intentions.

  As she steps into the room, I slip my hand behind her neck—her neck, that’s another part of her that I can’t get enough of—and I press my lips to hers.

  So much for keeping it cool.

  Finally, after hours of feeling like I was holding my breath to get from one minute to the next, I can breathe. And she kisses me back. I love how she kisses me back, like she’s been as desperate for me as I’ve been for her. The door clicks softly behind her, and I back her against the wall, fisting my hand in her hair. Her hands are all over me, on my waist, my ribs, my ass. I love when she grabs my ass like I’m hers.

  I am hers.

  I know I’m already in way too deep to walk away if she can’t be open about our relationship. I know this as I lift her shirt over her head and toss it aside. I know this as she does the same to mine, then kisses the crest of my breast, making my knees weaken. We’re kissing, panting, begging, moaning, as we strip away each other’s clothes right there in the foyer.

  “Where have you been all my life?” I say against her lips as I unsnap her shorts and tug them down her beautiful hips.

  “Waiting for you.”

  Her perfect answer spurs me on.

  How can she do that with three little words?

  She’s wearing her favorite boots, and this makes me happy, because it means she feels confident. I love confident Delilah as much as I love shy Delilah, uncertain Delilah, sexy Delilah, and sleepy Delilah. But tonight of all nights, I’m thankful that confident Delilah is here, kissing me in my foyer wearing nothing but a light blue thong and those boots.

  “Jesus, you’re sexier than hell.” I rake my eyes down her body, and her cheeks flush, but she returns the heat-inducing leer, dragging her eyes down my nearly naked body, save for my own pink panties and bra. The hunger in her eyes sets me in motion again.

  She tries to toe off her boots, and I crouch to help her. I take them off and set them aside, then place one hand on the back of each of her legs and kiss my way up her right calf to her thigh, where I linger. I kiss the inside of her thigh and trail featherlight kisses up and over her muscles. She fists her hand in my hair, and when I lift my eyes, I catch her staring down at me, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks are flushed, and her long blond hair hangs loose and tousled over her peaked nipples. She’s too stunning for words, and for a beat it’s all I can do to stare at her. I force myself to my feet and nudge her legs apart with my knees, grip her hips, and hold her against the wall as I bring my mouth to her neck and kiss her lightly.

  A breeze sweeps through the living room from the open balcony doors, and I feel her shiver as she presses her hips to mine.

  “I want to taste you,” I whisper against her cheek.

  She stops breathing for a second. I’ve embarrassed her, and I fear she’ll retreat.

  “No.” I freeze, but before I can react, she adds, “Let me taste you.”

  I’m not sure how I remain standing or how my legs carry me as she leads me into the living room. With shaky hands she unclasps my bra and watches it fall to the floor. She glances over my shoulder at the sheers blowing in the wind.

  “Can people see inside?” Her voice is shaky, too.

  “Not with the lights out. We can go to the bedroom.”

  She shakes her head and crosses the room, turns off the lights, then returns to me.

  “I love the way you look right here.” She settles a shaky hand on my hip. “With the breeze brushing your hair and the moonlight coming in through the curtains.”

  I love artistic Delilah, too.

  She touches the sides of my underwear with her fingertips and looks me in the eye. “I apologize ahead of time if I suck at this. I’ve never done it before.”

  Now I’m the one shaking. I just fell a little harder for her. She’s telling me she didn’t do this with Janessa. This is ours. I’m her first. I seal my lips over hers and kiss her as she lowers me to the couch. I’ve thought about what Delilah’s body would feel like beneath me, on top of me, beside me, a million times, but nothing compares to th
is first time of feeling the weight of her on me as we kiss. Her hips press to mine, and her hands slide beneath my back and she holds me close. My legs naturally wrap around her. I’d climb inside her if I could. I want to be her everything. I want to be the breath she breathes, the words she says, the blood that pumps through her heart.

  She rises up on her palms and looks down at me. Her hair curtains our faces, creating our own private world.

  “You’re playing my favorite songs.”

  I nod, because my heart is beating so hard it’s swallowed my voice. She smiles and kisses my collarbone, my shoulder. She runs one fingertip down the center of my body so lightly that it tickles and excites me at once. How can one fingertip send so much heat through my body? She follows that finger with her tongue, stopping every few seconds to lavish my heated flesh with an openmouthed kiss. Every time I feel her mouth settle over my skin, it sends a shiver of anticipation right through me. When she gets to my underwear, she kisses each of my hips and splays her hands on my thighs as she runs her tongue along the crease beside my sex. First up one side, then the other.

  My body is on fire.

  She looks at me through her lashes, then closes her eyes and runs her tongue between my legs. I’m so wet that I can feel the heat of her tongue through the damp material, and it’s about the most erotic sensation I’ve ever felt. She does it again, and I close my eyes. She repeats it again, and again, and just when I think I’ll tear a hole in my couch cushion with my fingernails if she doesn’t put her tongue on me, she pulls down my underwear. The breeze sweeps across my wet skin as she tosses them to the ground and comes back up so we’re eye to eye. She claims me with a deep, possessive kiss that takes me by surprise and draws me further in to her. I’m pulling at her thong, pressing my hips to her thigh, about to crawl out of my skin.

  She smiles against my lips, and her eyes go as dark as the center of the ocean. My heart’s beating so hard my chest feels like it’s going to explode. She takes my breast in her mouth and drives me out of my freaking mind.

  “Delilah,” I plead.

  She sucks and licks and moves to my other breast, giving it the same lavish attention as the first as her fingers trail south.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  I’m already so close to the edge I know it won’t take long, but she parts me and teases me with one finger. Languid, torturous strokes that make my insides feel like they’re clawing their way out.

  “More. I need more.” I push her shoulders, urging her down. I know I probably shouldn’t rush her, but I can’t help it. When her lips curve up in a coy smile and she shifts lower with greater speed than I’ve ever seen her move, I know she doesn’t mind.

  And then her mouth is on me and—yes, yes, yes—she totally knows what to do. I writhe beneath her, moaning and pleading and making noises I’ve never heard myself make. She uses her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, and her hand. Oh God, her hand. My thighs flex and my toes curl under. Pinpricks explode up my limbs and my body bucks and thrusts uncontrollably. She holds my hips down as she strokes and teases, prolonging my climax until I’m sure I’ll die right here on the couch.

  “Delil—”

  She moves up in record time and captures my plea in her mouth. I taste myself, but the taste of her mouth overpowers it, and I reach between her legs. She’s so wet, so ready. She rocks against my hand, and I know she’s as close as I was when she took me. I push my hand inside her thong and take her right over the edge, swallowing her moans and taking every shudder of her body as a plea for more. My muscles are fatigued, but after the glorious attention she’s just given my body, I want to give her the same pleasure. I wrap my arm around her and shift her beneath me, then make quick work of ridding her sleek, hot body of that pesky thong. I want to kiss her breasts—I love her breasts—but I’m too anxious to get to the rest of her, and she’s pressing on my shoulders. Urging me lower. She doesn’t need to urge. I’m there, and there’s no place else I’d rather be. I spread her thighs and don’t even try to slow my desire. I take her like it’s a race and I’m the winner, and when my name comes off her lips and her body rocks with pleasure, I take her in my arms and hold her like I’m never going to let her go. And hope I never have to.

  Chapter Eight

  ~Delilah~

  “I DEFINITELY DID not come over here expecting to attack you.” Ashley and I are lying on the couch beneath a blanket she grabbed from her bedroom. There’s a breeze whisking over our damp skin. We’re facing each other, and I’m glad she’s got an arm around me, holding my body against hers, because I’m so relaxed that my limbs feel like spaghetti.

  Ashley smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. I love lying in her arms. It feels so right.

  “I thought I was the one who attacked you. I was about to apologize.”

  “Oh good. Then it was a mutual mauling.”

  We both laugh.

  The music is still playing, and as our pulses calm, she brushes my hair from my shoulder and presses her lips to mine.

  “I’m glad you came over.” She kisses me again. “I missed you today.”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either. I was so worried that you’d wake up this morning and decide I wasn’t worth the headache.”

  Her eyes narrow, and as a breeze sails through the room, she pulls the blanket up over my arm.

  “You’re worth waiting for, Delilah. But I’m not good at keeping my emotions hidden, and I’ve already had to hide them for the past two months.” She sits up, and the energy between us shifts and cools. “Let’s get dressed and sit on the balcony.”

  As we retrieve our clothes from the floor, I watch her carefully, unsure if I’ve said something that caused her to separate so quickly. She steps into her shorts and smiles over at me, but it feels forced.

  “Did I just say something that upset you?”

  She walks slowly toward me as she pulls her shirt over her head. Then she gathers me in her arms and touches her forehead to mine.

  “No, you didn’t upset me. It’s hard for me, Dee. But I can deal with it. I just want to talk for a while, make sure we’re both in the same place.”

  She rubs her hands down my arms, warming me from the breeze. “Let me get you a sweatshirt.” She presses her lips to mine, then disappears into her bedroom while I retrieve my shorts from the foyer.

  I like being in Ashley’s apartment because it’s hers. I can feel her presence in every room through her taste in furniture—comfortable and not showy, with pastel colors and wooden accents. She painted several of the pictures hanging on the walls. I recognize the one of the pier that she painted during the first few weeks after we met. On the wall outside her kitchen there are three small paintings. A scene of the shoreline, a painting of a boat, and another of the dunes. The one of the dunes wasn’t there last week when we were here watching movies.

  She hands me a sweatshirt.

  “Thank you.” I inhale as I pull it over my head. It smells like her, and I’m already planning to take it home with me. I watch her as she walks into the kitchen, evaluating every step, every glance, and hoping she’s not going to change her mind about me being worth waiting for.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Hot chocolate?”

  “I love that you’re not a big drinker.” She pulls me closer by the pockets of the sweatshirt and kisses me again. “I like you way too much, Delilah Armstrong.”

  Delilah Armstrong.

  She makes my name sound special, and she probably has no clue that she’s just helped alleviate my worry.

  “I’m going to take that as a golden nugget, and when you get mad at me for something, I’m going to pull it out and say, Remember that day you said you liked me way too much?”

  She laughs as she heats up the water.

  “When did you paint this picture of the dunes?”

  She shrugs. “I’ve been working on it the mornings that we don’t meet and sometimes in the evenings. Do you like it?”

/>   “I love it. It amazes me that you can make every blade of grass look as though it’s moving with the wind.”

  “You do the same thing with hair when you sketch,” she points out as she fixes our hot chocolate.

  “Yeah, but that’s not using a paintbrush. I have much more control with a pencil.”

  “Come on, let’s sit outside and argue about control.” She takes my hand and squeezes it with the tease, then leads me onto the balcony, where we sit on mismatched chairs and listen to the sounds of the ocean, the noises of people in the distance.

  The mugs we’re drinking from are made of pottery, and they don’t match, either. I like that Ashley’s taste is eclectic more than conservative. My beach house was decorated by my parents, and I think it would be nice to have my own place. I love living with Wyatt and Cassidy, and Tristan and Brandon, but I’ve never lived on my own, and I think that I should.

  Baby steps.

  I steal a glance at Ashley and catch her staring at me. She smiles, but she doesn’t look away. Everything about her intrigues me. I blush just knowing she’s staring at me, and she’s not at all embarrassed.

  “Have you had many girlfriends?” I’m not sure where the question comes from, but once it’s out, I want to know her answer.

  “Enough.” She sips her hot chocolate, holding my gaze.

  “Enough? Girlfriends aren’t like ice cream cake.” I make my voice an octave higher and mock sarcasm. “I think I’ve had enough, thank you. Oh, no, not yet. I need a little more.”

  She laughs and looks out at the water. “No, they’re not, are they? I said enough because I’ve had enough girlfriends to know how special you are.”

  “Aw, Ash.” I reach for her hand, and she brings it to her lips and kisses it. She’s so much more romantic than any guy has ever been with me. I have the urge to ask her all the things we’ve never talked about. I want to know as much as I can about her.

  “Have you ever been in love?”