Page 17

DELILAH

T he morning sun cut across the apothecary’s wooden floor in long, soft beams, dust motes drifting in their wake like lazy fireflies. Delilah stood by the window with her tea—cool now, forgotten—and stared out at the path that led toward the sanctuary.

She hadn’t slept. Not really.

Every time she closed her eyes, she felt Rollo’s breath on her lips, remembered the way he tasted like cinnamon and heartbreak. The kiss still tingled on her mouth like it had stitched itself into her skin.

And Hazel’s words echoed louder than any dream.

He will mark you, or the woods will claim you both.

Delilah had half a mind to stay put. Let the day pass without a single step in his direction. Let silence make things simpler.

But something tugged at her—deep and unrelenting. A pull she couldn’t name. Maybe it was the bond. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the part of her that still, after everything, wanted .

She didn’t even realize she was moving until she was halfway down the path, wind tugging at her shawl and the scent of the forest growing sharper with every step.

The sanctuary was quiet when she arrived.

No sign of Rollo out front, but the door was cracked open, as if expecting her. The phoenix pup chirped from his pen and then promptly turned back into his nest, unimpressed by her presence.

She stepped inside, heart thudding against her ribs.

“Rollo?”

His voice came from the back, muffled. “Greenhouse.”

Of course.

She hesitated, then pushed through the side door into the greenhouse.

The moment she stepped in, warmth wrapped around her like a hug. The air smelled of honeysuckle, damp soil, and something distinctly green. The enchanted glass panels let in the sun in soft ribbons, and the vines above rustled faintly, as if whispering secrets between themselves.

He stood near the back, elbow-deep in a planter of moonleaf, shirt sleeves rolled up, dirt smudged across his forearm and the edge of his jaw.

He looked up—and froze.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted, stepping forward. “Thought about hiding behind jars and letting the awkwardness take care of itself.”

He wiped his hands on a cloth and set it aside, eyes never leaving hers. “I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

They stared at each other for a moment. The only sound was the soft rustle of the wind through the herbs and the creak of old wood adjusting in the heat.

Delilah’s throat was dry. “About yesterday?—”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to push you. The kiss… I wasn’t trying to corner you into anything.”

She blinked, startled by the honesty.

“I meant it,” he added. “But I didn’t expect it.”

Delilah stepped closer, arms wrapped around her middle. “That’s the problem, Rollo. I did expect it. I’ve expected it for years. And I kept hoping you’d catch up.”

He looked like she’d struck him.

She softened. Just a little.

“I’m not angry,” she said, voice quieter. “But I am scared. Hazel came by last night.”

That got his attention. “What did she say?”

Delilah’s eyes dropped to the stone path beneath their feet. “That the forest is shifting. That something old is coming. And… that you’d either mark me, or the woods would take us both.”

Silence. Long. Dense.

Then, in a voice rougher than she’d ever heard from him, Rollo asked, “And what do you want?”

Her eyes snapped back to his.

“What?”

“I know what Hazel said. I know what fate wants. But you , Delilah—what do you want?”

She swallowed. Her hands trembled, so she balled them into fists.

“I want… not to be afraid,” she said. “I want to know that if I give you all of me, you won’t disappear again. And that the reason you want me is because of me, not a bond or fate type of thing.”

Rollo crossed the space between them in two strides.

“It’s not. And I won’t,” he said, voice low and fierce. “Not again.”

Delilah’s heart pounded. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can.” He stepped closer. “Because I’ve already made the choice. Every day since you came back, I’ve chosen you. I just haven’t said it out loud. Hell, the moment you left, I knew I was wrong.”

He raised a hand, cupped her cheek.

Delilah leaned into it without a second thought.

“You’ve always had me,” he said, thumb brushing beneath her eye. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

She closed the space between them, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in like gravity itself demanded it.

Their mouths met.

This kiss wasn’t like the one at the bridge.

This one burned.

It demanded.

She melted against him, chest to chest, as his arms wrapped around her. One hand tangled in her hair, pulling gently, the other held her firm against him like he could keep the world from falling apart if he just anchored them together.

The air shifted.

Flowers bloomed—literally.

Around them, petals opened with a soft rustle. Moonvines curled toward the sky, vines trembled, blossoms glowed faintly in the greenhouse’s enchanted light. The scent of honeysuckle, damp moss, and some new floral note she couldn’t name swirled like incense.

“I think your greenhouse is reacting,” she whispered between kisses.

He grinned against her mouth, eyes gleaming. “You’re the one with magic in her blood.”

She laughed breathlessly, tugging his shirt over his head. Her fingers ran down the broad expanse of his chest, calloused palms meeting warm, wild skin. “You started it.”

“Then I’ll finish it.”

He kissed her again, harder this time, and began to undress her slowly.

Reverently. Her dress slipped from her shoulders, caught at her hips before pooling at her feet.

He kissed her collarbone, then the top of her breast, then lower, and every brush of his lips coaxed a memory, every touch an ache she’d buried.

Delilah gasped as he dropped to his knees before her, strong hands gripping her hips as he looked up through those dark lashes and said, “Lay down for me, sweetheart.”

She did.

The moss beneath her was soft, cool, and kissed with sunlight. He hovered above her for a beat, just looking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “Golden and soft and all mine.”

His hands slid up her thighs, spreading them. His breath hit her pussy before his mouth did, hot and wanting. She felt the tremble run through her as he licked her slowly, tongue gliding through her folds like he was savoring every inch.

“Oh gods—Rollo,” she moaned, fingers tangling in his thick hair.

He groaned low against her, the vibration deep and primal. “Fuck, you taste like honey and fire.”

He licked her clit, slow and rhythmic, then sucked it between his lips. Her hips bucked. He didn’t stop. Just pinned her down gently and kept eating her like he needed it to live. Her climax built fast, already too close from how badly she’d needed him.

“Right there—please—Rollo?—”

Her moan shattered into a sob as she came, thighs clenching around his head, cunt pulsing against his tongue.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he stood and scooped her into his arms.

“I’m not done,” he said, voice husky with need, and carried her straight into the bedroom.

She was still shaking, boneless and soaked with release, but there was more in her—more fire, more ache. And from the way his cock jutted heavy and thick between them, Rollo was just getting started.

He set her down on the bed like she was something sacred, then stripped off what little he still wore.

Gods.

Rollo was carved from hunger and devotion. Broad chest dusted with dark hair, his cock thick and flushed, bobbing slightly with each step as he climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs.

Delilah spread for him, unabashed.

“Your turn,” she said, breathless. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.”

He reached down and ran his fingers through her folds, groaning at the wet heat.

“Fuck, Delilah—you’re dripping for me.”

“Then do something about it.”

He grinned—feral, hungry—and pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside.

The stretch made her gasp. He was thick. She felt every inch, every ridge of his cock as he sank deeper.

“Gods,” she breathed. “You’re… so deep?—”

“Feel that?” he rasped, jaw clenched. “That’s me inside you, where I belong.”

Her walls gripped him, fluttering around him, slick and hot and pulsing.

“You’re squeezing me like a vice,” he groaned, bracing himself over her. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

He began to thrust—slow, deep strokes that dragged his cock along her walls, brushing her clit with every grind of his hips.

She clawed at his back, moaning shamelessly. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop?—”

“I’m not stopping till you come on my cock,” he growled. “Till I feel this pussy clench and milk me dry.”

His thrusts got harder, faster, their bodies slapping together in time with every pant and curse. The room filled with the sounds of sex—wet, slick, raw.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave.

She screamed his name, back arching, body locking around him. Her cunt clenched so hard he nearly lost it right then.

“Delilah—fuck?—”

He buried himself deep and came with a shuddering groan, cock pulsing, spilling inside her as he collapsed against her chest, both of them gasping.

But it wasn’t over.

Not for them.

She dragged her fingers down his back, whispering, “Again.”

He lifted his head, eyes dark with need. “You sure?”

“I can’t get enough of you.”

His cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, still thick.

“Then ride me,” he said, flipping them so she was straddling his hips. “I wanna watch you come undone.”

And she did.

Again.

And again.

Until the sun dipped lower through the enchanted glass, and the only sounds left were whispered vows, soft moans, and the rustle of sheets where love had rooted itself deep.