Waiting For Me (Beautiful Surrender #2)(9)
Author: Ava Claire

She tasted like salt and need and even though we had a perfectly good bed just inside, we clawed at each other, tearing off shirts and shorts and underwear until we were skin to skin. I clutched her ass with both hands, growling with pleasure when I dipped my finger inside her and felt how wet she was for me. I watched her eyes roll back in her head as I pumped in and out of her.

“L-L-Logan…” She said breathlessly, turning a two syllable name into four. “Take me. Take right here. Please.”

Oh I planned to…even if she didn’t ask so nicely. I needed more of her…all of her. Every bulging inch of me demanded it. I brought one of her legs up, leaning her back so I had a perfect line of sight of her beautiful skin; her pert little br**sts, and the quivering hole that dripped for me. I held my shaft, steering myself into her warmth, letting go as I punched my entire, solid length inside her. She embraced me, her moans driving me wild, loving the way our bodies responded to each other. When she reached around and gripped my ass, pulling me closer, I knew it was a wrap. I had her, she was mine, but she had me too. I was hers.

Her moans deepened, lengthened as her whole body shook from the inside out. She came hard, clutching, groaning. She smiled up at me, her core still twitching, clutching. I released, putting aside my reservations about getting tangled up in someone. I filled her with my warmth, our desires mingling, sealing the deal.

There’d be no going back now.

When we stumbled inside the studio, sex drunk and laughing, I realized I didn’t want to go back, even if I could.

6

****

I stirred, the smell of bacon the first thing that loosened sleep’s grip on me. Feisty, submissive, and cooks breakfast? She really was perfect.

I stretched my arms up above my head, smiling when conversation filtered up the stairs. Last night after part two of f**king her until we were both spent, we talked. Not about D/s, or Delilah James, or her ex, but about television shows. When I found out she’d never seen Lost, I decreed we’d rectify that before she—

“Leaves.” The word was hollow, bitter on my tongue. She was only in Pleasure Point for one more day. She would go back to Sacramento and shortly thereafter, I would be headed back to San Francisco.

And then what?

I rose to my feet, pushing the question away. There was bacon to eat, Lost to watch, and Melissa’s lips to kiss. All the rest would work itself out.

I pulled a pair of boxers and pants on, marching to the bathroom. I glanced at my cell on the counter. A missed call from my assistant, Jessica. Under normal circumstances I’d check it without fail, but I was in no hurry to get back to the real world. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth. When I stepped back into the bedroom, I noticed the volume had gone up exponentially. It wasn’t the television…it was two voices, both female. Heated.

I frowned, pulling on a T-shirt. Definitely yelling.

When I opened the door and one of the voices sailed up the stairs, my stomach soured. It was the voice made of nightmares, drenched in condescension. A voice, a person, that had no business in my home.

Delilah James.

I rushed down the stairs to put a stop to the yelling match that had my labrador, Lola, barking her head off.

Delilah was near the back door, wearing some sort of spandex number. Her red hair fell in tumultuous waves around her face. She had strappy heels on her feet that added an extra five inches to her statuesque frame. She towered above Melissa, glaring at her like something possessed, but if she expected Melissa to grovel, she was sorely disappointed. Melissa was clad in one of my shirts and from the way her body shuddered as she gave as good as she got, she didn’t have much else on. Not that it mattered, because she sized up Delilah she was about to slaughter her, whether she was rocking a T-shirt or armor. When I saw the knife perched precariously close to Melissa on the counter. I stormed into the room.

“What the hell is going on in here?” I thundered.

The room went quite. Even Lola stopped barking. Delilah gasped with delight and bounded over to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

“Oh, Logan! I’ve –”

I gently, but firmly, unlocked her fingers. I had a choice word or two to say, to yell, but being around Delilah was like walking on a minefield. One wrong move and she’d blow us all up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tight as a whip.

“Oh, me?” She giggled like a schoolgirl, complete with twirling a lock of hair around her pinky finger. It wasn’t cute. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

“I thought all the self-obsessed celebrities hung out in LA,” Melissa snapped.

I flicked my gazed over to Melissa with a weary sigh. While I appreciated her spunk, I gave her a look that said ‘no more’. She rolled her eyes (I’d spank her for that later), but she obeyed, walking over to the sink.

Delilah turned her emerald eyes up at me, a grin devouring half her face. “I’m actually staying at the rental right up the street. Small world, huh?”

I didn’t return the smile. It was a small world, alright. Unbearably so. “Let’s go in the living room.”

“But Misty is making us breakfast!” Delilah pouted.

“My name is Melissa, for the tenth time,” Melissa growled. “And if you think—”

“Just give us a second, babe.” My final word caught us all off guard. My cheeks warmed. I wished I could say it was the balmy weather, but it was the heat of shock and surprise that I’d uttered such a thing and the world didn’t end. Delilah looked like I’d just slapped her across the face. Melissa’s cheeks matched mine, a quiet, secret smile in her bright blue eyes. If my stalker ex-lover wasn’t standing right there, murdering me with her gaze, I’d sweep Melissa into my arms and kiss her until it hurt. I’d put her up on the island, spread her legs—

Snap!

Delilah stepped in my line of sight, her face dark with anger. “You said you wanted to talk. So let’s go.”

I threw a glance in Melissa’s direction and she gave me a slight nod. Delilah stomped ahead. She took in the room with a nostalgia that almost made me sorry for what I had to do.

“You know it looks exactly the same in here. Even after all this time.” She swayed her h*ps suggestively as she strutted to the fireplace. “You remember that one weekend when you cuffed me and—”

“The only reason I didn’t get a restraining order was because I thought we had an understanding,” I sliced in. I was too sick of our tired song and dance to mince words. “You can’t just show up at my home, Delilah. If that wasn’t appropriate when we were seeing each other, what on Earth makes you think it’s acceptable now?”