Page 38 of Bite Back

DELILAH

Sunlight streams through the thin curtains of the motel room.

Since turning, I avoid the bright morning light as much as I can, but now, as it paints the floor buttercream yellow and illuminates the dancing dust motes, I drink in how beautiful it can be.

I resolve to spend more time in the sun, discomfort be damned.

I stretch lazily, enjoying the slight ache in my limbs and the soreness between my thighs. A reminder of our day out riding yesterday. My cheeks heat as I imagine all the other reasons I could wake up next to Asher, thighs aching.

Asher stirs beside me but remains asleep.

His eyelashes, long and dark, kiss his cheeks, fluttering in his slumber.

He’s peaceful like this, the usual furrow gone from his brow.

My gaze traces the soft contours of his bare chest. I take in the scars that cover him, some pale and faded, others angry and fresh.

I’ll never have that again. A map of where my body’s been, what it’s endured, what it’s survived.

Before all this, I would have thought that was a perk.

Now, though, my chest aches with a hollow emptiness.

What I went through was far from beautiful.

But the fact that I survived it, that I’m surviving it, there’s a certain beauty in that.

I would have relished getting to show Luka my scars, brandishing them, making him face the record of what he did.

And maybe someday, I’d show Asher my scars, celebrating the record of what I survived.

My body erased all that. My mind remembers though. So, I’ll just have to erase Luka.

My feet pad softly over to the room’s mini fridge, where I tossed in the blood bags I brought with us.

I grab a bag of A positive and tear open the corner plastic with my teeth.

For once, I miss my sharpened canines, now blunted by the morning light.

A phantom pressure builds in my teeth as I bring the bag to my mouth and the sickly sweet scent of the blood fills my nostrils.

I suppress a groan as the sweetness hits my tongue. It’s heaven.

I sink back on to the bed with a sigh, my head falling back onto the pillow. An electric current strums through me.

Asher wakes slowly, a smile spreading across his face like dripping syrup.

It’s glorious and feline, stretching from the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes.

He props himself up on one arm, muscle rippling under the soft flesh.

It’s the way he looks at me that gets me though. Like I’m pure magic.

“Hey,” he says softly. There’s no expectation in his tone, only a gentle invitation.

Last night, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to wait until after things settled.

It was easy to want Asher before I knew him.

And it’s even easier to want him now that I do.

What’s hard is figuring out what that all means.

Can I keep my emotions out of it to protect my broken heart?

Is a broken heart even worth protecting? Or am I beyond repair?

I’m done though. Done overthinking. Done pushing him away. I don’t have all the answers, but I don’t need them. I need an escape from the physical tension between us and the mental tension of what today will bring. I need this.

I bend forward, bringing my jaw to his. He pulls me in for a languid kiss, as though we have all the time in the world.

I melt into him. My hair falls around our faces like a waterfall, and my fingers twine themselves into his locks.

I press his face to mine, unwilling to break this kiss, to lose this moment.

It’s everything those first kisses weren’t, soft and sweet and aching.

My body remembers before, though. Heat pools between my thighs, and a soft moan leaves me. He hauls me onto his lap, splaying my legs on either side of his, and I rub against him, hard and hot beneath me.

I wrench my mouth away from his, gasping for air. “Buffy’s definitely happy to see me.”

He growls. “Shut up.” He says it with a smile on his lips though, no real bite to it. He noses along my jaw and neck, drinking me in before bringing his mouth back to mine. I do shut up, as what was once gentle and sweet turns hard and demanding.

I grind myself along his hard length, savoring the small gasps that escape him at the increased friction when I buck my hips.

“That’s it, Delilah, use me to make yourself feel good.” How he can form coherent words at this point is beyond me. Because I’m completely and utterly gone, lost in the sensation of his lips on mine, his body on mine.

His hand drifts up my thigh, and I cover his large hand with my own, drawing it to exactly where I want it. He palms my center roughly, and I whimper.

“Look at you, all wet for me.” He repeats the motion with more pressure, and I’m already tipping towards the edge.

My hands skate over his chest and stomach, trying to memorize the shape of him.

In the club, it was dark and loud. Here, though, in the morning light, I drink in the way his hair rises as I trace my fingers along his arms, the way his pupils dilate as my hands drift towards the waistband of his pants, the way his beautifully tangled hair tumbles down his forehead.

I reach out and run my fingers through it, sweeping it out of those cinnamon eyes.

He watches me like I’m a painting in a gallery, something beautiful and wondrous.

It feels right. The two of us together are transcendent, like art.

Certainly, the way he looks, hips straining up towards me, hand working me will be forever ingrained in my brain.

Pleasure builds in my core, and I fall over the edge.

“That’s right, come for me. You’re so, so beautiful, Delilah.” Stars explode across my vision, and I collapse in a trembling heap.

We lay there for a while, his arm draped across me, one hand idly stroking my hair.

A smile quirks across his face, despite the fact that only I came.

I wish we could stay like this forever. Ignoring the complications between us, ignoring the implications of what we’ve just done.

And, maybe we can, at least for a little bit longer.

I tug on the waistband of his pants.

But then Asher’s phone buzzes, and he reaches for it. His eyebrows furrow.

A pit forms in my stomach.

“He’s found another one. Another woman.”

Shit.