Page 59 of The Stranger

“Jesus … fuck, Delilah,” he groans when I angle my hips and grind myself against him. I tilt my head back and part my lips as the pressure I’ve been craving since the restaurant has my entire body zinging to life.

I’ve been turned on in the past—many times—but never on this scale. My body is on the verge of combusting. Every nerve ending feels like live wires running havoc under my skin. One of Spencer’s hands moves to grasp my hip, anchoring me in place, while the other curls around the crown of my head, bringing my mouth back to his.

He spears his tongue into my mouth, and this kiss is so wild, so frenzied and desperate, that our teeth occasionally clink with each other’s. I can feel every inch of him now. He’s so hard, so thick, and so long. As much as I’d like to feel him inside me, I’m kind of glad we are doing this with clothes on.

I continue to roll my pelvis, but my movements are now limited because of his grip. Thankfully, I’m still able to get enough friction to get myself off.

The sheer intensity of feels I’m experiencing would scare the ever-loving shit out of me if my mind could process them, but I’m so lost in the moment I won’t need to worry about them until later.

It only takes a few more juts of my hips until I reach that delicious point of no return. That magical place where you’re teetering on the edge of an abyss and about to fall. My fingers slide from his hair to grip his broad shoulders, holding on for dear life. I’m worried I’ll melt into a puddle on the floor if I don’t.

“I’m … I’m coming,” I whimper against his mouth.

My confession has him thrusting his hips forward, making my orgasm that much more intense.

I throw my head back and the noise that falls from my parted lips sounds more like a strangled sob.

This.

This is exactly what I needed. A release … a chance to expel all the tension and pent-up feelings I’ve been struggling with over the past few weeks.

It’s freeing and soul-destroying in equal measure, because although I’ve only been given a tiny taste of Spencer Prescott, I have a feeling he’s just ruined me for all the men to come.

“Delilah,” he growls as he leans forward, angling my body backwards. One hand is now supporting my back and the one gripping my hip drags me down to meet each drive.

He’s now dry fucking me with so much vigour a second orgasm hits, this one more intense than the last. I’ve never had consecutive ones before and,sweet baby Jesus, I’m not complaining.

He doesn’t relent in his attack on my body until I ride the last wave, collapsing against his chest in a sedated bliss.

Chapter 20

Spencer

Ican feel her heart racing as she lies against my chest … or maybe it’s my own. I can’t believe I just blew my loadin my pants,like some horny teenager. This has never happened to me before, but we’re talking about Delilah here. The sweet and sassy woman who’s wrapped up in a neat little bundle of pure fucking sin.

This is a line I never intended to cross, despite the temptation that has been constantly looming over me like a dark cloud. The guilt that will plague me going forward after what just happened hasn’t quite hit home yet thankfully. It’s coming, though, and I already know I’m going to hate myself for this by morning. For taking advantage.Shit, what was I thinking?

This was a mistake, one that never should have happened.

My hand slides along her spine until I’m softly stroking her hair. Hair that I’ve been dying to run my fingers through. The scent of her voodoo shampoo—the one that’s been driving me insane for days—is all over me. I bet I’m going to smell it on my clothes even after we’ve parted ways. I might keep this shirt as a memento.

That’s a stupid idea,I tell myself.

I don’t need or want a reminder of a woman I know I can never have.

Yet I apparently like to torture myself. I knew from the first night I met her she was different …a temptation, but I still gave her a job and invited her into my home.

You’re an idiot, Prescott.

Leaning in, I place my lips on the top of her head. I’m going to enjoy the last few seconds of my time with her, like this, and worry about everything else later.

“Do I still have legs?” she mumbles into my chest. “I can’t feel them.”

I chuckle into her hair. “Your legs are still there, sweetheart.”

Her pretty eyes sparkle when she lifts her face and gives me a lazy grin. “I like it when you call me that,” she admits, and something deep inside my chest cracks wide open.

I want to give her, the wholethis can never happen againspeech, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I’ll have that talk with her tomorrow.