Page 34 of Swim To Me

She nods, searching my face, her thumb moving to follow the chain link of my necklace laying on my skin. I’m not entirely convinced Delilah is registering the back and forth strum of her thumb, but my heart picks up speed at the sensation, the skin beneath my necklace prickling.

I don’t want to move, too caught up in the heady feeling of Delilah’s breasts pressing against me. The way she’s leaning into me, warm and solid with lips I want to bend down and kiss.

Taking a lock of Delilah’s hair between my thumb and forefinger, the strand buttery soft, I tuck it behind her ear, with a whispered, “I’ll grab us a taxi.”

Surprisingly, it takes me all of a few seconds to hold out my arm into the oncoming traffic, flag down a black cab and grab the sleek door to the back seat, holding it open for Delilah to climb inside.

Sending me a soft smile in thanks, she bends at the waist, giving me afuckingamazing view of her heart shaped arse. I clench my hand into a fist to stop myself from grasping her hipsand pulling her back…Delilah splayed out in front of me, head down, that fucking arse up, whimpering out my name while she clutches a pillow. She turns her head to the side, about to peer at me over her shoulder, begging me too—

Delilah pokes her head out of the car. “Aren’t you getting in, Grey?”

I feel myself nod jerkily, hoping the dark interior of the taxi will hide the semi I’m sporting from my mental fantasy.

Once seated, Delilah rattles off her address, about to strap herself into the left-hand side window seat.

“Come here,” I whisper, reaching for her.

Delilah scoots along into the middle seat, our thighs packed tightly against each other as she loops the safety belt over her torso. My hand finds a home on her upper thigh, squeezing once gently, my fingers curving around the inner portion of her body.

Delilah peers out of the taxi window, I know because I’m watching her, cataloguing the curve of her button nose, each blink of her makeup coated eyelashes, the purse of her glossy lips.

I’m so engrossed, I miss the sudden move of Delilah’s hand, the way it tiptoes away from holding the strap of her handbag and lands on top of my hand. She threads her fingers through mine, upside down, until I flip my palm, catching those dainty fingers of hers.

We’re both quiet as the taxi trundles along steadily, only slowing down when we approach a street in Bayswater.

I’m tapping my phone to the automatic card reader to pay for our taxi ride before Delilah can stop me, tipping the driver and then stepping out onto the street.

“You didn’t have to do that, Grey,” she says.

“I wanted to,” I reply.

My words get stuck in my throat once again as I follow Delilah into her flat, listening to the distinct sound of her keyturning in the lock. I can’t stop myself from brushing her hair away from her neck, swiping my own thumb over the visible notch indicating the start of her spine. I want to kiss her there, breathe in the perfume dotted behind her ears and nibble at her jaw.

But I want to take her lips first. Brand myself on her as much as she’s already branded herself onto me.

All without even touching me yet.

When I follow Delilah into her flat, I don’t know what I’m expecting. But it’s distinctlyherfrom the moment I step over the threshold; clean lines, polished, tidy, a bookshelf overflowing standing in the corner beside a TV cabinet.

Inside the doorway, Delilah leans into me again, long enough for me to feel the race of her heartbeat.

Does she want me to kiss her? Does she want to kiss me?

I’m usually a happy go lucky guy, not putting much thought into the potential what-ifs of life and just happy to let the wave take me where it leads.

It’s a skill I’ve learnt to hone over my twenty-nine years of life, and so far it’s served me well.

Not tonight, though. I haven’t been happy to let the wave take me since Delilah walked – or should I say, doggy paddled – into my life, nearly drowned and had to sit in the medicine room with me resembling a wet rat.

A very attractive wet rat I must say.

Instead, I’ve found myself trying to bend the wave of life. Trying to control it so I can see her again.

It’s an unusual feeling for me. Atypical. But I get the feeling it’s Delilah’s preferred method of living.

She likes to be in control, she’s used to it, it’s her safety blanket. I would know because my eldest brother Noah is exactly the same. He only got worse after Mum got poorly.

It never left him even after Mum’s treatment turned out successful.

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