Page 73 of Deliah

“Thanks for today,” I said, clearing my throat. “For all of it. Seriously.”

He didn’t blink. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do,” I said softly. “I don’t think anyone’s ever… done something like this for me.”

He just stared at me for a moment, then sat beside me and took a sip. “You deserve it.”

I looked at him, my heart doing this weird thing it always did when he said something soft but meant it so fucking hard. I almost told him everything right then—about needing more, about feeling lost even while living the dream. But instead, I smirked. “Round two?” I asked, wiggling my brows.

His lips curved into that slow, dangerous grin. “Already?”

“Well,” I purred, “I just thought, you know, for the full fantasy... maybe you should put those grey joggers back on first.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. They do something to me, and you know it.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, standing up and running a hand down his face like I was exhausting. “You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“Am I wrong?” I teased, sipping my coffee. “You in those joggers is peak porn category. Might as well give the people—me—what they want.”

He stared at me for a second, then set his cup down. “Go to my room.”

“Or what?” I grinned. “You gonna punish me with jogger sex?”

He was already unbuttoning his shirt as he stalked towards the stairs. “Keep talking, baby girl. You’ll be lucky if you can walk by morning.”

“Cocky bastard,” I muttered, but followed him anyway—past the bags, past the espresso, straight upstairs like the obedient little brat I absolutely wasn’t.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d ask him again about those joggers… once I’d caught my breath.

Chapter 25 –

More Than Just a Good Girl

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I’d been steamrolled by a freight train made of orgasms, punishment, and bratty backchat. My body ached in the best kind of way—sore thighs, tender lips, and a faint handprint on my ass that I was half-tempted to take a photo of, just to remind myself he really did that. The sheets were tangled around my legs, the sun bleeding through the open balcony doors, warm and golden. I stretched out with a quiet sigh, letting the memories of last night settle over me like silk. It hadn’t just been sex. It had been everything—rough, soft, teasing, punishing. There were moments he’d made me scream and moments he’d made me whimper. Moments where I felt likenothing but a needy little brat and others where he looked at me like I was his entire universe. I’d never had anything like it. Never had anyone like him.

I rolled onto my side, and there he was—Damion—walking in from the hallway, shirtless, hair damp from a shower, two mugs of coffee in his hands. He gave me that lazy, knowing smile and passed one over without a word.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting up slowly and tucking the sheet across my chest, not that he hadn’t already seen every inch of me—ruined and begging, back arched and hands tied.

He sat beside me on the edge of the bed, sipping from his own mug. His hand absentmindedly traced a line up my calf, and I let him, leaning into the silence for a minute.

“That was…” I started, then shook my head, laughing softly. “That was insane.”

He smirked. “You were a brat. You earned it.”

“I loved every second,” I admitted, cheeks warm. “And not just last night. I mean… yesterday. The shopping, the teasing, the alleyway…” I looked at him. “Every day since I got here. It’s been amazing.”

Something shifted behind his eyes—softened, maybe. Or tightened. It was hard to tell with Damion.

“But…” I said, and there it was. The shift in the air. The weight of a truth I hadn’t said out loud yet. “I can’t do this.”

His hand paused. “Do what? Us?”

“No, no, not us,” I said quickly, reaching for his arm. “God, no. I love spending time with you. That’s not it.”

He didn’t move. Just waited. Watching.