Page 50 of Deliah

“Fucking hell, babe,” she said, immediately breaking into a laugh. “Yesterday was… eventful.”

“You’re telling me.” I chuckled, patting the bed for her to sit down. She plopped herself down at the end like her bones hurt. “No shame in this house, girl. You do you.”

Just then, Damion walked in holding three coffees, shirtless and smug like he was starring in a perfume ad. He handed one to me, then one to Cherry as he settled beside me on the bed.

“Breakfast of champions,” he muttered, taking a sip.

I glanced between the two of them, then tried to cut through the tension with some humour. “Threesome?”

They both burst out laughing. Cherry nearly choked on her coffee.

“Babe, I love you, but not that much,” she said, fanning herself dramatically. “And anyway, I think I’m still drunk.”

“Well,” I continued, sipping my coffee, “today’s another day. You’ll sort it all out.”

“I don’t want to sort it out,” she snapped, quieter now. “I want to erase it from my memory.”

The laughter faded. We sat there for a while, just sipping our drinks and dissecting the mess of yesterday, the screaming, the crying, the tequila. Cherry started laughing again, nervously this time.

“I vaguely remember jumping in the pool?” she said, glancing at me with wide eyes. “But not much after that.”

“Oh, you did.” I nodded, grinning. “Fully clothed. You cannonballed in like it was the Olympics.”

She groaned and put her head in her hands. “Christ. No wonder my hair feels like seaweed.”

I didn’t mention that Damion had called Tommy last night. I probably should have, but it felt like the wrong moment. Her mood was still balancing on a knife-edge. I didn’t want to tip it. Then, of course, there was a knock at the door. Cherry froze, her coffee halfway to her lips.

“Who the fuck is that?” she asked, brows suddenly knitting.

I glanced towards the hallway. “I think… it’s Tommy.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Just blinked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. Then her jaw tensed.

“Tell him to fuck off.”

“Cherry—”

“No, seriously. Tell him to fuck off.”

Her whole vibe changed in seconds, laughter gone, warmth gone. It was like a switch had been flipped. She was in fight mode now, eyes narrowed, body stiff. Rage was her armour.

“I can’t really tell him what to do, babe,” I said gently.

“Yeah, you can,” she bit back. “It’s your house. Damion, go tell him to get fucked. I don’t wanna talk to him.”

Damion stood up slowly, calm as ever. “I’ll speak to him, Cherry. But it might be worth you just… having a quick chat.”

“Oh, of course.” She scoffed. “You would say that. He’s your mate.”

“He’s not just my mate,” Damion said, meeting her eyes. “He’s a prick sometimes. But maybe hearing you out will be the wake-up call he needs.”

Cherry turned to me, defensive. “And what, you agree with him now?”

I sighed. “I’m not taking sides, Cherry. I just… think you’ll feel better if you get it off your chest. Even if you scream at him. At least then you’ve said your piece.”

“Oh, great,” she muttered. “Two against fucking one. What is this—some kind of intervention?”

There was another knock. Louder this time. Almost desperate. Damion turned and headed downstairs.

Cherry looked at me, her expression wild with hurt and fury. “I swear to God, if he says one thing to make me cry, I’m launching that fucking coffee at his head.”

“Noted,” I replied, squeezing her hand. “But maybe don’t waste the caffeine. You’ll need it.”

She let out a small, reluctant laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Downstairs, we could hear low voices, Damion talking to Tommy, calm and steady. I strained to listen but couldn’t make anything out. Cherry stood up and paced, chewing at her thumbnail.

“I don’t want to see him,” she muttered. “I’ll slap him. I will.”

“I know.”

“I hate him.”

“I know.”

But the part we both didn’t say out loud, the part that hung heavy in the air, was that she didn’t.

Not really. Because if she did, this wouldn’t hurt so much.

And that was the worst kind of pain. Not the heartbreak.

The not-hating. The still loving someone who didn’t treat you right.

She crossed her arms and stared at the floor, bracing herself for whatever came next.

Next thing we knew, Tommy walked into the bedroom.

He stood there awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets like a naughty schoolboy.

Cherry didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at him.

Arms folded across her chest, jaw clenched.

She stood like a statue sculpted out of fury and eyeliner.

The silence was so thick it made my skin itch.

I stayed in bed, silently begging the duvet to swallow me whole.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” I said gently, shifting to get up.

“No, Del,” Cherry snapped without moving. “I don’t need a minute. I’ve got nothing to say to him.”

Tommy sighed. “Cherry, come on. Stop being dramatic. Just come home and we can talk.”

She let out a sharp laugh, like a bark. “Oh, brilliant. Right on cue with the word dramatic. Love that. You know what else is dramatic? Me feeling like shit in your kitchen while you shrugged and said, ‘I don’t really do labels.’”

“Cherry,” he muttered, glancing at me, embarrassed.

“No, no.” She held up a hand, finally looking at him. “Let’s put on a show, shall we? You can be the emotionally stunted lead, and I’ll be the clingy lunatic who wanted—God forbid—a proper relationship.”

He frowned, stepping into the room. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“Well,” she said brightly, eyes wide, “you did! So either you’re clueless, or you just really enjoy treating me like I’m a reusable shopping bag. Convenient, but nothing special.”

“Come on,” he said, voice softening. “That’s not fair.”

I shifted in the bed again, hoping to escape before it escalated further.

“Don’t you dare leave me in this,” Cherry said, turning to me. “Anything he’s got to say, he can say in front of you. I want a witness for my downfall.”

I sat back down. Sipped my coffee. Silently regretted all my life choices.

“Cherry,” Tommy tried again, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quieter now but more dangerous.

“You never know what to say. You don’t do big conversations.

You don’t do labels. You don’t do vulnerability.

You just… exist. Float through life in your little bubble, hoping the women you casually half date don’t ask for anything inconvenient. Like, oh, I don’t know—effort.”

He flinched slightly. “That’s not true. I liked what we had.”

She stared at him. “You liked it because it was easy for you. I did all the emotional heavy lifting. I gave, and you… coasted. You were charming when you needed to be, affectionate when it suited you, but the second I wanted more? You tightened up like I asked for your PIN number.”

“I didn’t know you wanted more,” he said, genuinely confused.

“Really?” she asked. “You didn’t catch on when I said, ‘I want more,’ like six times? Or when I asked you if we were exclusive, and you replied, ‘We don’t need to label everything, do we?’ Honestly, Tommy, I could’ve proposed, and you’d have said, ‘Let’s just see how it goes.’”

He winced. “Okay… maybe I got it wrong.”

“Maybe?” She gave a short, bitter laugh. “You treated me like a placeholder. A part-time girlfriend. You introduced me as your ‘friend’ after I’d literally just left your bed. You think I didn’t notice that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” she said, and for the first time, her voice cracked. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The room went quiet again. Her sarcasm slipped away for a moment, leaving behind the raw truth of it all. She looked tired. Not just hungover tired. Emotionally tired. The kind of tired you get when you’ve been holding out hope longer than you should.

“I didn’t need grand gestures,” she added softly. “I didn’t want you to write me a love song or buy me a diamond. I just wanted to feel like I mattered. Like I was more than a good time with good banter.”

“You do matter,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “Too late. I needed to hear that when I was crying on your bathroom floor because I felt invisible.”

He stepped forward again. “Just come back. We can talk. Really talk. Properly.”

She looked at him for a long beat. Then: “I’ll come back to get my stuff. That’s it. I’m booking a flight tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I’m done, Tommy.” Her voice broke, but she recovered fast. “I want love. The messy, inconvenient, heart-racing, real kind. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with casual when it’s breaking my heart.”

He stood still. Silent. Finally understanding, maybe. Or at least realising she wasn’t bluffing this time.

“Also,” she added, clearing her throat, “being in your flat feels like walking into a Rolex ad where no one actually loves anyone.”

That got a weak smile out of him, but she didn’t return it.

She turned to me and opened her arms. “Come here, give me a hug before I spiral into a playlist of sad songs and start narrating my life like a tragic Netflix original.”

I stood up and wrapped her in a hug. “Call me later?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I’ll need someone to double-check my packing list and tell me I’m a bad bitch.”

“You are a bad bitch.”

“Damn right.”

And with that, she walked out, chin high and heart bruised but finally choosing herself. Tommy just stood there, watching the door, as if he’d just lost something important without realising it was ever his to lose.

After they left, Damion wandered back into the bedroom, rolling his eyes with a smirk and tossing his phone onto the dresser.

“She’s full-on,” he said, shaking his head. “But I actually really like her.” He sat on the edge of the bed, stretching out his arms with a sigh. “I think Tommy’s throwing away a good girl there.”

I leaned back against the pillows, watching him. “Some men just can’t handle the chaos.” I looked over at him, smiling. “Not like you. You’ve got all of us in check.”

He stood up and leaned over me, bracing a hand on either side of my hips. “Someone’s gotta take one for the team,” he murmured, stealing a kiss.

“Smug bastard,” I teased, nipping at his lip.

He laughed, then pulled back and grabbed his shirt from the chair. “Alright, I’ve gotta head out to work.” He slipped it on, buttoned halfway, then turned to me with a look that lingered just a second longer than usual.

“Text me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I always need something,” I said, smug.

He smiled—slow, knowing, soft. “Yeah. I know.”

Then he was gone.

By 3 p.m., I was still sun-dazed and stretched out by the pool.

The stress from this morning had fizzled into stillness, but the tension inside me hadn’t left.

I needed something. A mental release. Him.

So I reached for my phone, stepped onto the lounger—naked—and took the photo. Tits up, legs spread, face innocent.

Me: Daddy.

Damion: Yes, baby? You okay?

Me: Just chilling by the pool. *Picture attached.*

The reply was instant.

Damion: Fuck, Deliah.

Damion: What the fuck are you doing to me?

Me: Getting some sun.

Damion: Go to my room. Now. Naked. Wait for me.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I was already on the bed, legs parted, body tingling, when the door burst open twenty-seven minutes later. He stepped in like a storm. Tie loose, shirt unbuttoned, eyes locked on me like prey.

“You think teasing me like that’s cute?”

I gave him a smug grin. “Worked, didn’t it?”

That was all it took. He was on me in seconds—one hand around my throat, the other pinning my wrists above my head as he crushed me into the mattress, his weight heavy, commanding. His cock throbbed through his suit trousers, hard and already angry.

“You want to be used, don’t you?” he whispered against my ear. “You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He slid two fingers between my thighs, groaning when he felt how wet I was.

“Fucking soaked. You’ve been dripping for me all day, haven’t you? My filthy little toy.”

“Yes,” I whimpered. “All day.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your toy.”

He pulled away.

“Louder.”

“I’M YOUR TOY.”

His fingers slammed back into me, fast and deep, curling against that spot that made me gasp. I writhed under him, clenching, close—

Then he stopped.

“Not yet.”

“Daddy, please—”

Slap. His hand cracked across my thigh.

“Don’t ‘Daddy’ me. You don’t get to come until I say. You wanted to act like a tease—now you’ll be treated like one.”

He flipped me over and shoved himself inside—no warning, no mercy. I screamed into the mattress as his cock filled me, thick and deep.

“This what you needed, princess? To be stuffed full like a worthless little cumhole?”

I could only moan, body already shaking.

He fucked me hard—relentless, dominant, cruel in the way I loved. Every time I got close, he stopped. Pulled out. Spanked me. Denied me. Made me beg.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your fuck toy.”

“Louder.”

“I’M YOUR FUCK TOY.”

He yanked me up by the hair, my body shaking, his cock still buried inside me. He held me there—impaled, trembling—his breath against my cheek.

“You’re mine, Deliah.”

“Yes—yes, I’m yours.”

“You’re going to be mine forever.”

I gasped. My heart stuttered.

“You hear me?” he growled. “You belong to me. I don’t want anyone else ever touching you again.”

“I’m yours. Forever.”

He pulled out.

“Get up. Balcony. Now.”

I stumbled after him, thighs shaking, cum running down my legs. He dragged me outside into the warm dusk air and bent me over the railing.

“You like being fucked where anyone could see? Like Daddy’s personal little whore?”

“Yes,” I choked. “Please.”

He rammed into me from behind, brutal, claiming. His hands gripped my hips like he owned me. One reached around to rub my clit while the other curled around my throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, rutting deep. “My good girl. My slut. My forever.”

He kept thrusting until I was sobbing. Desperate. Barely coherent.

“Please, Damion—please can I come?”

“No.”

He pulled out. I nearly collapsed. Then he slid back in—deep. Possessive. Final.

“You come when I say and not a second before.”

I nodded, broken.

He growled in my ear, “Say it. Say you’re mine forever.”

“I’m yours—forever—fuck—please—”

“Good girl. Now come.”

His fingers flicked over my clit, and I shattered—violent, loud, raw. My orgasm tore through me like a scream, my body pulsing around his cock.

“Say my name.”

“Damion—fuck—Damion!”

He groaned, thrust twice more, then came deep inside me, holding me there, his body shaking against mine.

When we were done, he carried me inside like I was fragile. Laid me on the bed. Pulled the sheet over me and curled around me like a shield.

I was still catching my breath when he kissed my shoulder. “I love you, Deliah.”

My heart cracked open.

“I love you too.”

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “You always have been.”

I turned to face him, naked and raw. “Then don’t let me go.”

“I won’t. Not ever.”

And he didn’t.