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19

DELILAH

M y palms and knees are both red by the time Asher finishes guiding me to our bedroom. He doesn’t allow me to move my head until he’s standing in front of me. Everything about him is bigger. He rips his t-shirt over his head and pulls his sweats down as he gently removes the napkin from my mouth.

The waistband remains at his thighs, and he strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles as he softens his voice slightly.

“You’re so beautiful.” A small smile lifts his lips before it falls and he grabs my jaw. “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you.”

His eyes are wild, searching mine. I swallow audibly and try to get the smile back.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” I say weakly.

It’s true. We both know it and he smirks to himself. “So earn it. Earn me.”

I sit up on my knees and ignore the dull ache in my joints as I wrap my fingers around his dick. My other hand rests on his abs, and I don’t look away from him. Pressing the flat of my tongue against the tip, I suppress my own smugness in favor of gratitude.

He flexes and gently strokes my hair as he coos, “That’s a good fucking girl. Clean me up so I can coat my cock in you again.” I clench my thighs together and he softens his voice further. “Do you like tasting the pussy I own, Delilah?”

I nod and turn eager. Spit runs down my fist as I push my head forward. My eyes water and I gag around him. It blurs my vision, dimming the proud smile looking down at me.

“That’s my filthy little wife, choke yourself while I watch.”

Dropping my hand from his abs, I pull the t-shirt up and widen my thighs. A dull sting hits my cheek and leaves four lines from Asher’s fingers.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he asks, his nostrils flaring.

He grabs my hair in his fist and pulls me away from him. My knees skid against the floor from the force of him turning me and pushing my back against the footboard of the bed. My nape hits the cushioned edge until my head is bent back and resting on the bed. My hand is still against my stomach while he steps forward and wraps his hand around mine. The cool metal of his wedding band grounds me despite the way he spits out, “Needy little thing.”

My mouth opens automatically, and my cheeks lift with a smile as he pushes inside my mouth. The angle forces me to choke sooner, and buzzing vibrates through the room. It comes from Asher’s pocket, and he freezes before he says, “Don’t make a sound or I’ll cut off your air.”

I nod and swallow around him as he pushes further into my throat. Every muscle in his body tenses as he takes his phone from his pocket and slowly raises it to his ear. I can’t see the name on the screen, but his greeting tells me who it is.

“How can I help you, officer?”

His other hand softens against my hair, and he threads his fingers through the strands he’s knotted while slowly thrusting into my throat. I swallow around him, watching the pale green be eaten up by his expanding pupils.

The other end of the line is muffled but I can make out what they’re saying. “Mr. Newman, I know we spoke earlier, but is there any possibility that you could come in earlier than tomorrow?”

Asher tenses and his jaw pulses. He’s not given an opportunity to answer as they try to reason with his impending argument.

“I appreciate you’re currently out of state, but the matter is one of urgency considering your mother’s business and…” There’s a deep sigh and I watch his face. “Well, there’s also the matter of your father being uncontactable that is complicating matters.”

What the fuck?

I thought the police were calling about the break-in or my crazy episode.

He lets out a long harsh breath through his nose before his stilted agreement comes. “I’ll be there when I can.”

Ending the call, he throws his phone on the bed. He continues to thrust into my mouth and barks, “Don’t.”

I let go of the t-shirt and hold his thighs so he can see I’m not going to add further pressure to his shoulders. I see my husband, the man I’ve been in love with since I knew what love was, in a new light. He’s not arrogant or temperamental, he’s drowning under the weight of responsibility, but I can give him a safe space to breathe for a moment by cutting off my own ability for air. It’s my fault for making his life harder anyway, so I give up all control with the knowledge that my husband, the man my mind made me hate, will protect me no matter what happens, because that’s who he really is.

He smiles warmly at me and rests his hands on the bed above my head. That’s the last thing I see before he fucks my throat with abandon. He grunts and my nose is squashed against his abs, but I don’t remove my hands from his thighs.

Hugging his thighs, I attempt to relax my throat as I gag; it mixes with the sounds of him groaning. My stomach constricts as he turns even rougher and fucks my throat harder. I can’t take it and my gags are violent. Pushing against his thighs in a panic, I try to get him to slow down. I choke and spit froths from the side of my lips, but he grits, “You can take it all.”

I push my head back into the mattress, trying to get some air, but he grabs my hair, holding me immobile, and slaps my cheek.

“Anytime, any-fucking-where, remember?”

I want him to force me to do it and he does it automatically without me having to ask him and feel the discomfort of thinking I’ll be rejected. Holding my head with both hands, he drags my mouth up and down his dick and moans. His thighs twitch and he presses his knees above my shoulder. It pushes him even deeper into my throat and tears run down my temple, splashing against his palms.

Sound cuts off, other than my choking, with Asher’s palms pressed flat against my ears to give him better leverage as he fills my throat. Every muscle in his body is pulled taut and his balls pulse against my chin as I choke from the amount of cum blocking my throat. There’s a brief moment I think he’ll remain on top of me, stopping me from drawing in air. But he turns onto his side and pulls his hips back enough for me to breathe.

My throat burns as I pull my head out of his hands. Thick spit and cum drip from my mouth onto his twitching dick and he groans, “Fuck, baby. Sit on it and ride me.”

A breathless, exhausted laugh leaves me, and he grabs my arm to pull me up to lay beside him. We both move slowly as he gently wipes my chin with his thumb. His eyes are softer and the pain in them undoes me. It’s so deep like he’s not capable of any other emotion.

I’m stopped from examining it as he slowly leans forward, lining his lips up against mine. I move back and press my fingers against his chest as I whisper, “Your cum is all over my face.”

My cheeks heat but he smiles and that pain in his eyes is hidden.

“I know,” he says and grabs my jaw, pulling me forward.

His kiss is soft, and I comb my fingers through his hair as I shuffle forward so our chests are touching. This is my favorite part: where he holds me and he pulls me on top of him as he turns onto his back. His arms wrap around me as though he’s trying to pull me into his chest, and I smile against him.

Asher moves his head to the side and sweetly kisses my cheek. His lips don’t leave my skin as he asks, “Do you love me, Delilah?”

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and there’s no need to think about my answer when I know it more than anything else in my life. “Yes. You’re the first person I ever loved.”

Whatever reason my mind has for making up fake memories and tricking me isn’t important when I have Asher. He’s everything I ever wanted, and he can be rough when I need him to but his arms are safe. They stop my confusion and I rest my hand on his chest, directly over his heart, and close my eyes.

His voice lowers further, and I wouldn’t hear him if it wasn’t for the question being asked into my cheek. “You’re the only person I have ever loved. Can you say the same?”

My sore throat dries because all of my teenage mistakes are going to hurt him if he finds out the truth. I want to be this new person and as much as I know some of my memories are false, the ones involving Kane can’t be. They’re too visceral and I know I loved him, I know how he felt, and I know what it was like to sneak in and out of his room so Asher didn’t catch me. The fuzzy memories started after my parents sent me to the hospital, so Kane has to be real, the same way Asher has confirmed that the other memories from my childhood are correct. Each thud of my heart gets faster and more painful as I lie. “Yes.” Tears burn the back of my eyes as I quickly change the topic and prolong this moment with my husband’s arms around me rather than admit my idiotic teenage mistakes. “What did the police want?”

Everything falls silent and I will my heart to slow down. It’s guilt, I know it is. but there’s no way to explain to Asher that I slept with his dead brother, his brother I killed. We were teenagers, stupid idiots, and he wasn’t this Asher. I don’t know which Asher he was, and my tears are building from the frustration of my fucked-up fucking head. Why can’t I have the stability of being able to trust myself? Instead, all I have are questions and guilt that intensifies as I question my memories.

Was he this Asher all along?

If he was, I never would have touched Kane. In my memories, he was too focused on networking and taking over his family’s business, and Kane was all that I had. I look up and watch him staring off into space. The pain is back on his features, his breathing slows, and the teenage version of Asher that I remember was formidable. He was like me at that time, unable and unwilling to show emotion. We both enjoyed being spoiled bastards, playing with mommy and daddy’s money and thinking we had the world at our feet.

Fuck, maybe we’ve both changed and those versions did exist, but we stopped them and my mind has created an alternate universe where we refused to change. In the alternative universe, Asher died and I was alone, but we’ve changed and this is real life, so I kiss his chest and soften my voice. “You can talk to me. I’m your wife, remember? Here for anything and everything you need?”

Slowly blinking, he looks at me and some of the pain lessens in his eyes. It’s not an appropriate time to point out that all my mother’s etiquette and rules on how to be a perfect wife have actually come into use as he takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “My mom was in an accident, and…” he trails off to breathe like it’s the hardest thing in the world, “and now my dad has disappeared apparently.”

I slowly get up and realize how inappropriate it is to have the conversation in the position we’re in. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I ask, “When are we going?”

There’s no answer. He freezes and stares at me like I’ve developed a second head.

“What?” I ask.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he speaks slowly, battling with every word. “They struggled…” He audibly swallows. “After the…everything.”

The fire I caused.

I nod and robotically stand.

We both know what he’s not saying. They hate me. His parents hate me because I stupidly caused a fire for a reason that isn’t even real anymore. It felt real at the time, but so have all the other memories and my head hurts. Every single time I feel like I’m finding my way through the mess of my mind something happens, a sentence or a comment, and I’m thrown off again. More obstacles are placed in my path and I keep tripping over them. Asher can’t be lying because there’s proof, pictures and small details that feel familiar, but it just hurts and I’d rather be in the middle of an episode where it all makes sense to me than be in the real world where I’m lost.

I slowly sit on the edge of the bed and stare straight ahead, each blink is slow and involuntary as I work through my memories and try to piece them together with facts. The flickers of the flames follow behind my closed lids and it’s so real that I can hear the crackling as Kane screamed my name.

“ Delilah? Where’s Asher? Delilah? Can you hear me?”

My hand twitches with the urge to point just like I did that day as I stood outside of their lake house watching the embers lick the overgrown trees. It’s so real, too real, then it disappears as the bed dips beside me and I’m pulled into a strong side. It forces my voice out, the thought we’re both refusing to say, because the truth is that I fucked up and my guilt has caused this fracture in my life and in my mind.

“They hate me.”

His parents weren’t the warmest people in the world, but in comparison to my parents they were the sun. I can’t remember a time that I even had to knock on their door when going to their house because they always treated me like family, but I broke it. I don’t have his mom who would buy me gifts just because she saw something I liked, and his dad who always praised my talents to my face instead of congratulating my parents on raising me well and paying for my piano lessons. More importantly, Asher doesn’t have them either because he’s beside me and I’ve inadvertently taken away both of their sons.

Asher kisses the top of my head and I ask, “How don’t you hate me?”

I look up, genuinely curious about the answer when I killed his brother, my best friend, but he gives me a sad smile and carefully says, “It wasn’t your fault. We all know that.”

Lie.

I literally lit the match. I remember the burning, but I also remember pouring accelerants on Asher and now he’s in front of me, so I couldn’t have done it.

My vision fades as I try, yet again, to make sense of everything.

“How did the fire happen?”

It can’t be like my memory. Unless Kane is the one I set on fire. Lead drops in my stomach and I try to breathe through the pain in my chest.

Asher keeps me contained and softly says, “We bought fireworks, remember?”

I nod, despite it not matching what I know.

“They were piled up in front of the fire, you wanted to use one of the sparklers, but it burnt your fingers and it fell on the pile.”

I nod again.

“All the drinks were next to it, and it happened faster than any of us could notice. But it wasn’t your fault, Delilah. It was an accident.”

Another nod.

I remember the fireworks. We had to hide them from his parents because they were illegal. I remember driving to collect them and the place being creepy as fuck. But I don’t remember the events of the fire the same as he does.

He pulls me to sit on his thigh while I continue to stare into space. Asher might not hate me, but I do. I hate myself for not remembering. I hate that I can’t trust my own mind when it’s twisting memories and vindicating my actions while making them even more insidious than they really are.

“Do you remember why you went to the hospital?” he asks gently.

I know that one and nod as my voice lowers and unease crawls up my spine. “My parents said I was crazy, that I kept lying and making shit up.”

Those memories of the hospital are hazy due to the drugs, but I remember some of the arguments I had with my parents that made them decide to lock me away. They kept saying that I couldn’t remember things correctly and accusing me of fabricating stories for attention. There’s a foggy memory of Asher’s parents being involved, an argument with his mom, but it’s not clear enough to provide me with the facts.

So, I word vomit it all out to Asher in the hopes he can tell me if I’m right.

“My dad kept calling me a liar, he said I was being a silly girl and ruining everything, and then my mom said…something. I can’t remember it because it goes fuzzy, but she was there when I went to the hospital. They were both standing in the room and they wouldn’t let me leave.”

Pulling on the hem of the t-shirt, I pull it over my knees and try to hide. Whenever the hospital, or any hospital, is mentioned, I can’t prevent the feeling of being dirty. It’s stupid when I know that’s due to my fucked up dreams and how my disgusting body reacts to them. Logically, there’s no want or desire for my dreams to become a reality, but I can’t stop it. I laugh to myself because I have no control over my mind or my stupid body.

Asher shakes his head and kisses my temple, a small smile touches my skin as I truthfully answer. “Because they’re cunts?”

“No, baby,” he says. “It was because you were hurting yourself and you kept going to the police and telling them you were a murderer.” His voice lowers and a lump grows in his throat. “That you set him on fire, and it was purposeful.”