Page 35 of Swim To Me

I peer down at Delilah, waiting patiently. Intrigued as to what she’ll do. I feel her take in a deep breath, chest and stomach expanding, and then she tears herself away, dumping her handbag on the spotless kitchen counter.

She wants me, I know she does, it’s written all over her, but there’s something stopping her.

“You’ve got a nice space,” I offer, spinning in a circle to get a glimpse at it all. There’s a hallway to the left, leading to two doors which must be the bathroom and Delilah’s bedroom. “It’s very you.”

“Very me?” she echoes. The sound of water sputters between us as she lifts the tap, opens a cupboard and pulls out two glasses.

“Yeah… tidy, polished, something distinctly feminine.” It’s in the matching pink cushions and blanket folded over the sofa, the set of marble coasters waiting to be used on the wooden coffee table, the fresh bunch of flowers sitting in their vase.

My feet take me to the bookshelf in the corner. It’s wooden too, unlit fairy lights hanging from the top, books and papers and notebooks spilling out, not at all lining up precariously as I’d imagined them to be.

Interesting. It’s an anomaly in the otherwise ridiculously neat space.

I run my finger along the row of exposed spines, some cracked, some worn, some still in perfect condition. Picking one out at random, I flick through the pages with the pad of my thumb, the topless man from the cover staring at me with a smoulder.

A few words jump out at me, one particular descriptive scene catching my attention, so much so I turn the page to keep on reading.

“Something caught your attention there?”

I glance up to find Delilah watching me, a glass of water to her lips, a second glass resting upon a coaster on the coffee table.

Holding up the book in my hand, middle and ring fingers resting in between the pages to keep my spot, I squint at her.

“This is pure filth, you know.”

Delilah tilts her head to the side with a smirk to her lips. “I know.”

“Are all your books like this?”

“Most of them.”

“Are the books you edit for work the same?”

She nods slowly, not backing down from my stare.

With my heart stuttering in my chest and blood rushing south at Delilah’s admission, I shove the book back in its haphazard home, and pick up my glass to gulp down some water.

Delilah perches herself on her own sofa as if nothing is amiss. She settles into the cushions, tucks her now bare feet up under her and watches me, smiling.

Mimicking her pose, I fold myself back into the sofa, arms spread wide over the back, Delilah’s knees kissing my hip. “So, you read porn?”

“If you want to call it that, sure.”God, her smile. Fucking knockout.“It’s the twenty-first century, I can be a sexually empowered woman, who reads whatever the fuck she wants too and sometimes gets off on it.”

I swear my heart fucking stops for a second.

Here’s the most attractive woman I’ve met in a long time talking about getting herself off…

Spread out on my bed, brunette hair splayed over my pillow, Delilah reaches her hand down between her thighs, stroking herself over the lace underwear covering her pussy. Her hips jerk, stomach tightening, head tilting back, throat bared, a sweet moan spilling past her lips.

I clear my throat, once again reaching for my glass of water, while I vehemently ignore the blood rushing and filling my cock. “Course you can, gorgeous.”

Delilah’s smile only widens.

“Look, Grey,” she breathes, eyes dipping down to her lap. They stay there for a second or two, before returning to my face. “I’m attracted to you. Really attracted. Have been since I… since the incident at the pool and you took me into the infirmary room, but I didn’t want to admit to myself. I think you’re really fit. But I-I don’tdorelationships. I’m not looking for one, so I-I—”

My mind rushes with thoughts at a million miles an hour.

She’s attracted to me. She thinks I’m fit. She doesn’t do relationships.

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