Page 64 of Coldhearted King

It’s late and she’s probably tired, but I think I can drag another orgasm out of her before I send her home. I exit the bathroom, only to stop when I see Delilah standing by the side of the bed, pulling her skirt over the curve of her ass.

She already has her bra on, and as I watch, she reaches for her blouse.

I cross my arms and lean my shoulder against the doorframe. “Going somewhere?”

She glances at me over her shoulder, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “I think five is probably my limit. And I didn’t want to...”

“What?” I ask.

She turns away. “Overstay my welcome.”

I want to go to her, strip her naked again, and throw her back on my bed. But I don’t. Because it is late. And she’s right. I should have had enough of her by now. The goal might be for me to fuck her out of my system, but it obviously won’t happen all in one night.

So instead of doing what I want to do, I just nod and go to my dresser to fish out a pair of pajama pants.

We dress in silence. While I usually don’t have a problem with the part of the night which involves sending a woman home, something about this feels off, and not knowing what it is or why I’m feeling it is irritating.

“Okay,” Delilah says, breaking me from my reverie. “Is it still all right to get a ride home, or would it be better to call for an Uber? It’s pretty late. I’d hate to wake Jonathan.”

“Don’t worry about Jonathan. I pay him a hefty salary to be available whenever I need him. And besides,” I add, “I wouldn’t trust a rideshare with you. Particularly at this time of night.”

A soft smile curves her lips. She walks over to me, goes up on her toes, and brushes her lips over my jaw. “Thank you.”

Something hot and potent rushes through my veins, and I band my arm around her waist and haul her into me, molding her body to mine. I want to kiss her, but I don’t. The emotions Delilah brings out in me are unfamiliar. They make me feel out of control, and I don’t like feeling out of control. So I drop my head and breathe in her scent—the faint aroma of the wildflower perfume that still lingers on her skin. Then I let her go. “I’ll call Jonathan and tell him to meet you outside.”

“All right. I’ll wait down there for him.”

I reach for a shirt, but Delilah stops me. “You don’t have to come down with me. I’m okay waiting on my own.” She turns away and walks out of the bedroom.

After a moment’s hesitation, I toss my shirt back in the drawer and follow her out. We walk through my huge apartment until we get to the foyer and my private elevator.

I press the button for her, and the doors sweep soundlessly apart. She faces me and gives me a slightly wonky smile. “Thank you. For tonight. I had...um...fun.”

An honest to god laugh slips past my lips. “I think you need more practice at this part.”

She groans and covers her face with her hands, then laughs too. “You might be right.”

I cave to the urge that’s clawing at my chest and grab her by the waist, pressing her backward until she’s against the wall next to the elevator. Then I curve my hand around her slender neck and use my thumb on the angle of her jaw to tilt her face to mine. I take her mouth the way I wanted to before. The doors of the elevator whoosh shut beside us, but I ignore it.

Her taste is intoxicating. Like the finest vintage in my wine cellar, and if I could, I’d spend the rest of the night getting drunk on her. But before I can do something I’m bound to regret in the morning, I tear my mouth from hers and smack the button next to us, causing the doors to open again.

I step back, eyeing her as she stands with her back pressed against the wall, chest rising and falling, mouth swollen from the intensity of my kiss. Then she blinks, licks those swollen lips, and lets out a shuddery breath before peeling herself off the wall and stepping into the elevator.

Her gaze holds mine. “Good night, Cole.”

“Good night, Delilah.” My voice comes out gruff.

And then she’s gone, and my apartment is suddenly empty.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

DELILAH

“What are you doing this weekend?” I tuck my phone between my cheek and shoulder as I drop the tea bag into my cup and pour in the hot water. It’s Friday night, and with Cole having plans, I decided to leave the office at a normal hour, relax at home, and give Mom a call. Considering how distracted I’ve been with work and Cole over the last two weeks, we haven’t spoken as often as usual.

“A book I’ve had on hold for weeks at the library has finally come in, so I’m going to pick it up tomorrow morning and spend all weekend devouring it,” Mom says.

I laugh. “Sounds perfect.”

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