Page 48 of Bite Back

ASHER

Things settle into a comfortable rhythm over the next month.

Early morning training sessions with Delilah—sometimes joined by Claude.

Days spent searching. And nights, here, together with Delilah.

It’s funny how things change. I first left Academy housing and got my own place because all I wanted was to be alone. To enjoy some peace and quiet.

Now, on the rare occasions she’s not there with me, the apartment seems wrong. Too big. Too quiet. It’s not the same without her home.

That word. That’s another change too. I never thought of this place as a home before. Home was where I lived with my parents and my brother, before everything got fucked up, and my life careened off course.

With Delilah here though, the apartment feels like home. With her here the apartment isn’t just a place to rest. It’s a place to live, a refuge, a haven, tucked away from everything.

Floor to ceiling windows stretch from wall to wall, providing a panoramic view of the city.

Delilah stands silhouetted against the windows now, her face upturned, admiring the view.

Her long dark hair, stained cherry cola red, cascades down her back, a light wave rippling through it.

She looks stunning. I love the small curve of her bust and the larger curve of her hips and ass.

Just as gorgeous as that night she met my eyes in that club, brazen and brave. Looking at her now though, I know how brave she is.

Her hand drifts absentmindedly to her neck. Just because her new body healed what happened, doesn’t mean her mind forgot. I wish I could take away the pain of what happened. But at least I can help her bear it.

I sweep her up in my arms, anchoring her to my chest and notching my head above hers.

Wordlessly, we both admire the view. Red brick and rough stone rises around us, mixed with the gleaming glass of new construction of buildings like this one, all tangled up.

Peeks of sky poke out among the towering rooflines.

It’s a pretty view in the daylight, but nighttime’s something else.

The moonlight splashes over the concrete, washing the pale gray with a pearly cast. It’s beautiful.

After several minutes sandwiched together, her neck cranes up towards me, her eyes searching mine. Tears well in the corners of them, hinting at all the things she’s left unsaid.

“Distract me.” She says it half like a plea and half like a promise.

Should I go along? Clearly, everything’s weighing on her. Maybe we should talk, pull the pain out in the open, rather than burying it under the sensation of our bodies against each other.

But I’m helpless against her wants and desires. She asked for a distraction. So, I’m going to give her the best distraction I can.

I pull her closer to me, pushing her ass against my front.

A low whimper escapes her as she finds the evidence of exactly how happy I am to provide a distraction.

I unwrap my arms from her torso where I’d clutched her to me, my hands roaming the peaks and valleys of her body.

My palm skates up over her tank top, encompassing her small, perfect breast. I tease her gently, tracing circles around her hardened nipple.

“You distract me every goddamn minute of the day.” My voice comes out low and hungry. “Thinking about you. Thinking about this body. Thinking about all the things I want to do with you.” She inhales sharply at my words, and a smile curls across my face.

My breath dances over her earlobe, and my teeth scrape along it. My bites are always soft. I thought at first even the most gentle bite might be too much, but she likes it. And I like what she likes.

So much about us is at odds with one another.

On the surface, we don’t make sense. Underneath it all though, we’re not so different.

Just two people trying to move forward after our lives have been shattered apart.

Even before my mind knew how much she complemented me, my bold, brave Delilah, my body knew.

My body has always been drawn to her, like a moth to the flame. And right now, I’m ready to combust.

My other hand drifts lower. I drift down the generous curve of her hips and knead her ass. I move my hand back up to dip inside the drawstring waistband of her sweatpants.

“Is this the distraction you want?” I murmur, lips tangled in her hair.

I palm her core roughly, and her body relaxes against mine as she grinds down on my hand, craving whatever friction I have to offer.

I still my hand. She may want, may deserve a distraction, but I’m never above a little teasing.

This woman drives me out of my mind, and I’ll do everything I can to return the favor.

“Well, is it?” I draw out the question playfully.

“Yes, please.” She practically moans.

It’s the please that undoes me. Hearing her beg, knowing that she craves me too. There’s something incredibly attractive about making her as wild, as greedy, as she makes me.

I palm her again over her soaked underwear, proof of exactly how much she wants me.

I love it. My left hand continues to worship her breasts as my right slips under the silky fabric of her underwear and moves along her slick skin.

My index finger sinks into her while the heel of my hand grinds into the place where she most wants me.

Her eyelids flutter shut, and she leans back into my chest, resting her weight on me.

A beautiful flush spreads across her face, rosy against her pale skin, highlighting the faint freckles that dot across her cheeks and nose. She’s glorious like this.

A small moan leaves her as I add a second finger, stretching her. Her body tenses against me, taut and needy. Another time, I might play with her. Right now, though, I can’t deny her anything she wants. I increase the pressure of my palm, grinding down on her with the friction her body craves.

She comes apart on my fingers, tremors coursing through her body when I take her over the edge.

She falls limp in my arms, and I guide her gently to the rug beside the fireplace, pulling a blanket down from the couch for extra cushioning.

I situate the blanket close enough to the crackling flames that it’s almost uncomfortably warm for me, causing sweat to bead on my shoulders and drip down my back.

Delilah’s body temperature’s lower now. And I don’t want her focusing on that, on how she’s changed, on what she’s gained and lost. I want her warm and safe.

She reaches for my shirt and pulls it over my head.

Her pupils dilate as her hands drift over the planes of my chest and her ice cold fingers traverse my scar covered skin.

Her fingers flutter along the scars. I’ve started telling her the story behind each one and, as her fingers trace them out, recognition flares in her eyes.

A shiver courses through me, and a low chuckle leaves her lips.

“Sorry.” She holds her palm up to the fireplace, warming them. I shake my head as she brings them back to my body.

“Don’t worry about that. Not right now.”

She opens her mouth, but I press a searing kiss to her mouth until her attempts die out and she gives herself over to the distraction she craves.

I work the gray sweatpants down over the convex plane of her stomach and the stretch of her hips, before seizing her tank top and lifting it over her head.

I’ve seen her bare dozens of times now. Tasted, licked, touched, worshiped every inch.

But I still lose my breath every time I look at her.

I’m still struck by how much she looks like a goddess or woman from a Renaissance painting brought to life.

More than I could ever hope for. Her body, her, all of it. I love it, I love her.

I don’t know when those thoughts, those words crept in.

Slowly, sneakily over the past month. There wasn’t a big moment but a million tiny ones.

Watching her sleep next to Praline, their cheeks squished together.

Listening to her laugh with Sarah and Kirby.

Catching the way she looks at me, eyes bright and gleaming.

For a second, I’m tempted to spill out my feelings right then and there.

But she wanted a distraction, not a declaration of love.

And she deserves to hear those words not in the heat of the moment, but when she can know I mean them.

I’m not Luka. I’m not an asshole who says things I can’t follow through on. It’s not the time. Not yet.

Even if I can’t tell her, I want to show her. To let my body say what my lips cannot.

I line myself up at her entrance, already wet and ready for me, and sink into her with a groan.

I pause to let her adjust to the size and stretch of me.

And, once her muscles ease around me, I begin to move.

I worship her body with my hands and my mouth, roving them along her body.

With time, her words and compliments dissolve into pants and moans.

I love that what I do to her affects her so much, so thoroughly.

I’m no better. Every stroke I take feels like salvation, like a homecoming.

I lose myself in the sensation of her soft skin against mine, the sound of her soft pants and moans in my ear.

Her icy fingers burn deliciously as they curl into the corded muscles of my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, urging me on.

“Asher.” There aren’t those three words afterwards. Not yet. But I hear it in her voice. I’m not the only one leaving things unsaid.

“Delilah.” I try to pour everything I can’t say yet into her name, to tell her how completely and utterly I’m hers.

I come with her name on my lips, and she follows me back over the edge moments after. A soft smile drifts across her face. But soon enough, her eyes cloud. This is only a distraction, not a cure.

I tug her close and pull the blanket over us. Snuggling close, she screws her eyes shut. Her hands find mine and bring my arms to wrap around her as though she can hold back the tide with my body. Maybe she can. I’d let her. For her, I’d do anything, be anything.

The image flashes in my mind. Her looking at me, smile wide, fangs visible. And my own mouth, curled around my own extended teeth. Something I never would have even imagined a few short months ago. But now, with Delilah anchored between my arms, I entertain the notion.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I press a kiss to her forehead. She shakes her head.

“I just want to stay here and pretend.” Pretend we caught him. Pretend this is after, not during. Pretend this was enough. But we both know the truth. It’s not. They say love conquers all. But, here, now, for us I’m not sure it’s enough.

It won’t erase what Luka did. It won’t erase that we haven’t found him. Love can ease, but love can’t erase.

So I let her stay there and take what she needs, tangled up in my arms. I press soft kisses to her temples, to her neck, to her shoulders until her breathing slows and she falls into a fretful sleep in my arms. Anything to remind her that she’s not alone.

That I’m right here with her. And I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.