Page 59 of Deviant Illusions

A soft hum brushes my neck and it’s so quiet that I can only hear it in the ear that Delilah is next to. She used to do it when she was younger, while working out a piece that was stuck in her head. Her fingers gently tap between my shoulder blades. Each one softly pressing down as though she has the keys in front of her while she continues humming like a child, clinging to me with the same vulnerability.

I keep her covered and cross my hands under her ass. The butler doesn’t turn around when we reach a winding staircase.He simply walks ahead without any recognition that we’re following him. Just because he’s had his words taken from him doesn’t mean that we can’t communicate in another way, the rude fuck.

Our combined weight rattles the metal staircase. It’s discombobulating as each step of the butler’s gets more purposeful. I leave one arm wrapped around Delilah to hold the wrought-iron railing, paint flaking off the trim and the sharp edges getting caught on my shirt sleeve.

When we reach the top, it’s even more desolate than the atrium. The walls are constructed of thick stone that don’t allow any light through. A large arched window sits at the end of the hallway, covering the full length of the wall. The glass is filthy and old, allowing a steady stream of cold air to roll across the floor. Delilah tightens her legs around me.

We’re taken to an unlocked room with scratches on the wooden door. That doesn’t inspire any confidence and the butler abruptly turns, walking back out the way we came. I choose the safety of a closed door over standing in an open hallway, even if we have to contend with whatever the last person was attempting to escape.

The room is better than the outside. The scratches on the door are still there, but it’s warm with a large four-poster bed sitting against the wall surrounded by heavy, red drapes that bring out the richness of the mahogany frame.

Delilah continues humming, the vibrations mixing together while her fingers do the same against my back. The tempo gets faster as I carry her into the adjoining bathroom, which is dark and suffocating even though the floor space is huge. The black tiles make it seem smaller and reflect the gold claw feet of the tub perfectly. Each foot has the same chimera design as Helene’s stick. She really needs to get a new logo for her fucked up life.

I keep Delilah attached to me as I turn on the shower. The pipes groan and rattle before the orange-tinged water drips from the brass shower head. There’s more energy in her limbs as she abruptly stops humming, kisses my neck, then moans, “We have to be quick.” She pushes her hips down and fucking destroys me. “Asher’s going to be wondering where I am.”

Letting go of my neck, she reaches down, but I grab her wrist before she can touch my dick. “Stop.”

The old Delilah is in front of me as she drops down to her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. She stares off to the side as she snaps, “Fuck you. Just say that you don’t want me or that there’s someone else. Is it Bethany?”

She’s actually crazy, reliving a conversation we had when we were sixteen. But just like then, I get pissed at the double standard.

“Why do you care?” I step closer to her and cup her cheek so she can’t look away from me. “You have him, remember? So why do you care about what I do?”

This version isn’t an exact replica of who Delilah was as a teenager. Now she’s broken and the truth slips through the cracks in her personality.

“Because it’s you,” she whispers. “I don’t want him, and I never did, but it’s you and it will always be you and you’ll find someone better than me with your eyes closed.”

The water heats as I unbutton her shirt so she can have something to cover herself with once we’re as clean as we’ll be able to get. Using the tip of my finger, I turn her head to me. “Delilah, why didn’t you choose me then?”

Tears line up on her lashes and she slowly undresses me as she whispers, “I’m not allowed to choose.”

I brush her shirt off her shoulders and ask, “Why?”

If this is the only way she’ll drop her shield and give me answers, then so be it. I’ve spent too many years going throughhistory, trying to work out why she ruined everything. My feelings for her wouldn’t have died if she didn’t crawl into my bed, but she gave them hope for something more.

Rather than answering, she pushes her hand into my boxers and wraps her fingers around my dick. My hand flexes on her face as I grit, “Don’t.”

She pulls her hand out, scoffing. “See, you don’t want me anymore. Fuck you, Kane.”

My hand tightens around her fucking face, and I walk her backwards under the spray. Her feet slip against the wet tile, but she manages to catch herself with both hands on my chest.

I want to fucking choke her and that’s evident in my tone.

“I always wanted you, even when I shouldn’t. But I wanted more than fucking you. Are you that much of a whore that you only care about being fucked?”

Delilah laughs, and it’s the saddest, most self-deprecating sound in the world. “That’s the only use I have. You don’t want me for anything else and I’m okay with that because with you, I like it. With you, it doesn’t make me want to die, and I get to keep that good feeling for the times I have to put up with someone else’s hands.”

I’ve been giving her what she needed and only fucking her because I’ve never touched anyone else. Plus, it was our pattern. We’d fuck and watch the sun the come up. But she’s just crushed me. When I’m not supposed to feel anything for her.

28

DELILAH

Islowly blink through my foggy head. It’s like I’ve been asleep, but I’m standing with Kane supporting my weight. He has both arms wrapped around me as warm water cascades over us. There’s no malice on his face either. That’s new and comforting.

“Kane?” I whisper, preparing myself for him to change. “Please, can you hug me?”

He nods, then slowly lifts me with his arm banded behind my thighs. Exhaustion weighs me down, leaving me only enough energy to be able to throw my arms over his shoulders and lay my cheek on his collarbone. There are images all over his chest and arms. Different dark sceneries. His inner bicep looks like the skin has been ripped away to reveal wires. My eyes close as I ask myself, “Is this real?”

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