Page 48 of Deliah

T he next few months passed in a blur of sun, laughter, sex, and just the right amount of pulse-racing energy.

The weather had turned blisteringly hot, Spain in full summer mode, and Cherry and I made it our mission to soak up every second.

Mornings were slow and heavy with heat. We’d sprawl out by the pool in barely-there bikinis, sipping iced coffees and bitching about nothing.

By midday, we were usually down at the beach or strolling around Puerto Banús, looking like two very under-qualified influencers on a luxury press trip.

Oversized sunglasses, handbags too small to be practical, and not a care in the world.

Shopping became a full-time activity. We didn’t need anything; we just wanted everything.

Designer shoes, jewellery, little summer dresses that made us feel expensive.

And Damion? He only encouraged it. Every few days, he’d leave little envelopes on the kitchen table—stuffed with cash, folded around notes in his messy scrawl.

“Go enjoy yourself, baby.”

“I’ll miss you today.”

“Red. Something red.”

He surprised me with weekend trips, too, tiny Spanish villages tucked away in the mountains.

The kind of places with cobbled streets, old churches, and wine that went straight to your head in the heat.

We’d sit in little cafés eating olives and sharing secrets, his hand always finding mine under the table.

At night, we’d fuck like it was the only way we knew how to speak.

One afternoon, when he was out and the villa was quiet, I rang my mum. “I love him,” I said. I didn’t even realise I’d said it out loud. But I did. With my whole heart. After everything I’d been through, all the heartbreak and mess, I’d finally landed in something that felt real.

I didn’t tell Cherry I was in love with him.

Not because I didn’t want to but because something was brewing between her and Tommy, and I didn’t want to add to the tension.

It had started subtly. Glances. Silences.

The kind of awkward energy you only notice when you know someone inside out.

They were like fire and ice, flirty one minute, frosty the next.

They’d fight about stupid shit, then disappear to “talk” and come back acting like nothing happened.

But I could see it building. And I wasn’t about to dump my love story on her when she was clearly dealing with one of her own. We still had our fun, though.

Nights out with the Boiler Boys were legendary.

We’d show up late and overdressed, already tipsy and ready to cause trouble.

Cherry and I would steal the show every time, dancing on tables, blowing kisses at strangers, downing tequila like water.

I lived for those nights. The way Damion would stare when I was too loud, too drunk, too much.

When we’d get home, he would just throw me over his shoulder, possessive, jaw tight.

“Is this how we’re doing things now?” he’d say. “You think you can act like that and not get consequences?”

And I’d smile. Sweetly. Innocently.

“What? I was just being friendly.”

That was when the fun really started. I’d been punished more times than I could count.

Tied up. Spanked. Bent over the counter before I could even get my heels off.

He never hurt me, not really. He just reminded me who I belonged to, what he expected, and every single time, it made me want him more.

Winding him up became my new favourite game, and he’d always rise to the bait, stormy eyes and steady hands, dragging me back to his world where everything was sharp.

He didn’t just own my body. He owned my heart. My mind. My messiness. And I let him.

I noticed the change in me. I think everyone did.

I was softer, somehow. More grounded. Still wild, still bratty, but.

.. different. I had something now. Someone.

It was the best time of my life, and I was soaking up every second of it.

I’d gone from heartbreak to euphoria in the span of a few months.

From crying on the floor to dancing under the stars in designer heels I couldn’t afford.

I was in love. What more could a girl want?

Things had been going perfectly, but even the sunniest summers cast long shadows.

Tonight, we had a double date planned with Cherry and Tommy, a nice dinner, a few drinks, and hopefully no drama.

The restaurant was one of those fancy rooftop spots, with flickering candles, low music, overpriced cocktails.

We looked hot. Cherry wore this backless satin number that turned heads from the minute we walked in, and Damion hadn’t taken his eyes off me all night.

Tommy was relaxed, in that typical way of his, borderline disinterested, like he hadn’t just watched her walk in looking like sex on legs.

It started off smoothly. A few drinks. Some decent food.

Easy laughs. Cherry even reached across the table to wipe something off Tommy’s mouth, all playful and flirty.

But I could feel it brewing. That subtle, familiar tension.

The way Cherry’s eyes flicked every time Damion leaned over to pour my wine or touched my thigh under the table.

She wasn’t jealous of me; that wasn’t her style.

But the way Damion treated me? It was everything she wanted, and she wasn’t getting it.

She hadn’t laughed quite as hard tonight.

Her smile felt rehearsed. The fire was there, but it was dimmer. Then it all cracked.

“So, what romantic little village are you whisking her off to this weekend?” Cherry asked suddenly, her voice a little too sweet, a little too sharp.

Damion gave her a polite smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Cherry nodded, a bitter little smile tugging at her lips. “Must be nice.”

Tommy glanced over, oblivious. “Didn’t we just go out last week?”

“To a bar that smells like deep-fried failure and plays Pitbull on repeat,” she snapped. “Yeah, super romantic.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Alright. You want candles next time?”

“No,” she hissed. “I want to feel like you give a shit.”

“Jesus, Cherry, we’re out right now, aren’t we?”

“That’s not the point!” Her voice cracked slightly, eyes narrowing. “It’s been nearly a fucking year, Tommy. A year. And you still haven’t even told me you love me.”

The table went silent. The kind of silence you feel in your chest.

Tommy blinked. Took a sip of his drink. “You know how I feel.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Do I? Because unless you’ve been whispering it in your sleep, I must’ve missed the memo.”

“I show you in other ways,” he muttered.

“No. You half show me. When it suits you.”

Damion, trying to cool the fire, set his glass down and said, carefully, “Look, maybe this isn’t the place—”

“Shut up, Damion,” I snapped. “Don’t get involved.

” He looked at me, eyes hardening just a touch.

But I wasn’t done. “She’s right, Tommy. You all sit there and act like she’s being dramatic, but maybe if some of you actually said what you felt, she wouldn’t have to fucking explode to get your attention. ”

Cherry blinked at me, stunned for a second, then gave me a soft, grateful look. Tommy just sat there, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear it. Damion didn’t say another word. He just stared down at his drink, unreadable. The silence that followed was deafening.

Cherry stood abruptly. “I need a fag before I throw this bottle at someone’s head.”

Tommy pushed back his chair. “I’ll come with you.”

They walked off together, still muttering sharp words under their breath as they disappeared towards the stairs.

I stayed seated. My heart was racing, my pulse hammering in my ears.

The words I’d snapped at Damion still hung heavy between us.

He didn’t look at me. And I didn’t know what the hell to say next.

Before I could even find the words to explain myself, Damion stood up from the table, cool and composed, and threw a few crisp notes down like the meal had insulted him.

“Let’s go,” he said simply.

The tone in his voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced straight through me.

The car ride back to the villa was deadly silent.

My chest was tight, heart pounding so hard I could hear it echo in my ears.

I didn’t dare speak. Not because I didn’t have anything to say but because I knew I was in trouble.

Big trouble. His hands were flexing around the steering wheel like he was restraining something deeper.

His face gave nothing away, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous I became.

Was he angry? Disappointed? Was this going to explode into an argument, or.

.. was he going to punish me? I swallowed hard, my thighs pressing together.

When we pulled up outside the villa, Damion got out, walked around the car, and opened my door like he always did. The familiar gesture gave me a flicker of hope: Maybe he isn’t that mad. Maybe I imagined the tension .

I was wrong. So, so wrong. The second the door closed behind us, he turned on me. Not with shouting but with terrifying, controlled intensity. He grabbed me gently but firmly under the chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes.

“Deliah,” he said, voice low and steady, “you looked absolutely perfect in that dress tonight.”

My stomach flipped.

“But your attitude? Not so perfect.” His grip tightened just a fraction, enough to make my breath hitch. “Take it off.”

“Damion…” My voice wavered. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was just sticking up for Cherry. It was Tommy, not you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do as you’re told, Deliah.”

I hesitated. That was my first mistake.

“I said, take it off,” he repeated. “Before I rip it off you.”

I smiled, nervous, a little defiant. “Don’t do that. It’s Versace.” That was my second mistake.

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned me around and yanked the zipper with such force it split down the middle. The fabric tore like paper. I gasped as the silky dress fell to the floor in a ruined heap. Oh shit.

“Kneel.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes, Deliah. Kneel. Now.”

My breath caught, but I obeyed, slowly lowering myself to my knees right there in the entryway, the cool marble floor biting against my bare skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling his belt free with one hand, undoing his trousers with the other.

He pulled his cock out, already thick and hard.

I barely had time to react before he stepped closer, guiding it to my lips.

Without hesitation, I took him in, my mouth parting around him, the familiar taste making my thighs clench.

He didn’t ease me into it; he gripped the back of my head and pushed in deeper, controlling the rhythm, setting the pace. I gagged slightly, but he didn’t stop.

“That mouth,” he growled. “Only thing that should’ve been running tonight.”

His hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place while he used me. I moaned around him, soaking wet, humiliated, and turned on beyond belief.

“Get up,” he said suddenly, pulling out and wiping the corner of my mouth with his thumb. “I’m not even close to finished with you.”

Before I could catch my breath, he hauled me up and threw me over his shoulder. I squealed, half laughing, half terrified, as he carried me through the villa, past the hallway, straight into the bedroom. He dropped me onto the bed like a rag doll.

“Hands above your head.”

I obeyed. Again. He grabbed the cuffs already hooked to the headboard; he’d left them there from the last time. He clipped them to my wrists, securing me in place, completely vulnerable and exposed. He climbed between my legs, spreading me open with deliberate force.

“Now,” he said darkly. “Let’s fix that attitude.”

His mouth was on me before I could even brace for it, tongue merciless, lips hungry. He licked and sucked, teased and tormented, bringing me right to the edge of orgasm… and then pulled away. I whimpered.

“Did I say you could come?”

“No, Daddy…”

“Then keep that sweet little body under control.”

He edged me again. And again. Until I was begging, writhing, panting, completely undone.

“Say it,” he demanded, fingers teasing just where I needed them most.

“Say what?” I gasped.

“Say you’re sorry for disrespecting me.”

“I’m sorry!” I moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry! Please, please…”

He thrust two fingers into me, curling just right, and my back arched off the bed.

“Good girl,” he murmured against my inner thigh. “You’re going to be good for me next time, aren’t you?”

“Yes! I will!”

“No more snapping at me in public?”

“No,” I whispered. “Never again.”

He climbed over me, thick cock rubbing against my soaked entrance, and paused. “You don’t ever tell me to shut up again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Fuck, yes.”

Then he slammed into me. Hard. Deep. Brutal. The kind of thrust that made my eyes roll back and my legs tremble. I was still tied up, still completely at his mercy as he pounded into me, hand gripping my throat just enough to claim, not hurt.

“You’re mine, Deliah. Mine to love. Mine to correct. Mine to destroy.”

I moaned his name, incoherent, lost to the waves of heat and sensation.

“You love being punished, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “God, yes.”

He kept going, relentless, driving me closer and closer, and finally—

“Come,” he ordered, voice low and ragged. “Now.”

And I did. My whole body arched, lights exploding behind my eyes as I shattered around him, trembling, twitching, unable to stop.

Seconds later, he groaned deeply and followed, spilling inside me with a low growl, his body collapsing over mine.

We stayed like that for a moment, panting, slick with sweat, my wrists still cuffed, heart still racing.

Then, wordlessly, he reached up and unbuckled the cuffs.

I let my arms fall to my sides, utterly spent.

He lay beside me, pulling me into him, wrapping me up like something precious.

His hand stroked my hair. My back. My thighs. Gentle. Loving.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly.

I nodded against his chest, voice small. “Yeah.”

He kissed the top of my head. “I was mad. But I wasn’t going to hurt you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I whispered. “I wanted it.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you fucking did. Even in Versace.”

I laughed weakly, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you, Deliah.”

My chest swelled. “I love you too.”

We lay there in silence, hearts still thudding in sync, and I knew, whatever came next, this was home.