by Belle Brooks
“It looks amazing,” I compliment.
“Thank you.” Arlie picks up the basket containing the bread rolls and holds it in my direction. “Bread?”
“Please.” I take one and place it on the small plate to my right as Arlie nicks one for himself.
“I’m starving.” He licks his lips as he did in the Chinese restaurant, and immediately I’m overcome by ravaging heat once more.
I turn my eyes down and stare at polished cutlery, watching the candlelight dance across the knife blades, hoping I can find composure in a moment when my mind is busy creating images of hot, sweaty, and satisfying sex.
Arlie is going to be my undoing. He has me exploring possibilities I’d never normally find myself contemplating, and I want nothing more than to tear his clothes off as desperately as he tears into a bread roll with his teeth. Why is he so goddamn good looking? Is this a test of self-control? Am I being tested?
“No. Stop it. You will not sleep with him. He’s all sorts of fine wrapped in a bow. Oh, is he good looking, but you placed a ‘no access’ pass on Miss Priscilla before you even stepped foot onto this patio. Sex is off the table, Mindy. There’ll be no side dish of lady taco for Mr Gorgeous tonight.” I swallow hard, as hard as I press my thighs together, then slowly compose myself so as I can get through our dinner conversation without any more impure thoughts.
Arlie clears his throat before slipping his finger under his collar. Our eyes connect until I see him press his lips together as one would when stifling laughter.
“Is something funny?” I want nothing more than to race my hand to my nose to ensure there’s no boogers hanging out of it. My insecurities hammer me in one fell swoop.
“No, not at all.” I can hear humour laced in his tone. “But …”
There’s always a but.
“At least I know where you stand, and I promise I’ll make no advances when dropping you to your bedroom door. I won't even request a side dish of lady taco.” His smile touches his eyes. “I believe that’s what you called it.”
“Oh, dear God. I said all of that out loud?” I leap from my seat. I bump the table. A napkin falls to the floor. “I need to go.”
I take two steps before his hand wraps around my arm. Warmth travels through my fingers in the same way it spreads across my cheeks.
“It’s okay. I'm glad you were honest. I appreciate honesty.”
I can’t look at him.
I need to leave.
I’m such an idiot.
“I’m sorry.” There’s humiliation in my apology.
“It’s okay.” His tender gaze confirms his sentiment. “How about we sit back down and enjoy the rest of our dinner?” There’s a long pause. “I’m sure you’re hungry, and I’m curious whether Miss Priscilla means what I think a KFC box does.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
Laughter explodes through his lips. It takes me a moment to comprehend what’s happening before I find myself laughing too.
***
It’s a warm night; so warm I choose a pair of cotton summer pyjamas to wear after I shed my dress, shower, then head back downstairs. I plonk on the couch with my book in hand as a puff of air is expelled forcefully through my pinched lips.
Arlie steps from out of nowhere into my line of sight. He too has changed. No longer is Arlie wearing a business shirt and perfectly fitted slacks. Instead, he’s shirtless and sporting a pair of blue jeans which hangs low off his hips, low enough that I can see his black boxer briefs peeking out from underneath.
“Did you have a lovely night?” He seems genuine as he places the vase of flowers from our dinner for two onto a coffee table he drags into the centre of the room.
“I did. Thank you.”
Dinner conversation with Arlie was never lagging, and even in the silent moments, there was still an air of comfortability surrounding us. I like being around this guy in the same way I enjoy being around Chris. So why am I fighting so goddamn hard to ward off my feelings for him?
I am fighting it. I know me well enough to know I am. I’m trying to control and rein in my needs and desires so I can keep the protective bubble around myself intact. Arlie Blight is threatening to pop my bubble, and I’m not sure if this will result in something rewarding for me or something terribly disastrous.
“What you said at dinner …” Arlie curiously eyes me. One hand pistol grips his chin while the other hangs by his side.
I take my book from my chest and hold it in the air, then open it.
“What you said about …” He clears his throat as if he’s uncomfortable. “The sex stuff …”
I gulp, then open to the page in my book where the bookmark resides.
“I have no expectations from you. We don’t need … you know, there’s no …” He pauses and seems to take a moment to think. “There’s no pressure, is what I’m trying to say.” Arlie takes a shaky breath. “I’m not one of those guys, you know.” He steps towards me. “I’m not a player. I don’t see you as a sex object. In fact, it’s the opposite, because I think sex is something that happens naturally and is an evolutionary thing that comes naturally when two people like each other, not something just to get your rocks off.” He scrunches his face, and even with a scrunched-up face, he looks as handsome as hell. “Am I making any sense?”
I nod before shifting my eyes to the page.
“I want you to know I’m not expecting anything like that from you. That’s all.”
My heart grows heavy. My top lip tucks under my bottom one, and I’m suddenly pouting. Is Arlie saying that although he has previously stated he finds me hot, he’s not interested in me sexually? Or is he saying he’s not in a hurry to have sex with me, but it might happen as things evolve? Or is he stating he’s not some horn dog who slips his Peter Pecker into every girl who has a landing strip? What the hell is he saying?
“Okay.” I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say.
Arlie exhales a loud breath. “Okay, that clears that up then.” His lips make a horse type sound before he resumes speaking. “The fact you were thinking sex must be what I want … it rattled me. I’m glad you spoke your truth instead of keeping it in even though it’s obvious you hadn’t intended to.”
“Me too.” That’s a lie. Now I wish my stupid brain-to-mouth function hadn’t faltered so epically because Arlie is skirting around the situation like a frigid teenager who can’t sort his thoughts out, and he has said the word sex far too many times in a matter of minutes for me to handle.
When Arlie leaves the room, I breathe in and out, slow and steady.
Hang on. I think I just got rejected in the politest way possible.
Turning my eyes to page three hundred and twenty-four, I drown out my sudden feelings of sadness and instead focus on Hugh and Delilah. I hope these two get their shit together.
I read the first line.
The rain pours so heavily, and its force blinds me.
I’m losing hope Delilah and Hugh will work this out. My gut says Hugh will crash and die in the storm. My brain agrees. My heart? My heart holds on to the hope that Delilah will find a way to save him.
I continue reading until I make it through the next chapter, then bolt upright into a seated position, holding the book to my chest. A single tear leaks from behind my eyelashes when I come to close my eyes. Hugh did precisely what he told himself he wouldn’t do. He scarred Delilah. “No fucking way,” I breathe.
“Are you okay?” Arlie’s voice is distant. “Melinda, are you okay?” he says again, worry lifting the pitch of his voice.
“Fine,” I mutter as I lie back down and try to compose myself. This book is killing me. I must know how it ends.
I flip the page, engrossed in the words rushing across them. I hiss. I scowl. Adrenaline has my pulse beating. I’m enthralled and reacting to what I’m reading.
Arlie clears his throat, and for a split second, I glimpse in his direction. He’s sitting in the chair across from me with a book of
his own in front of his face.
Arlie reads? A gym-owning, hot-as-fuck guy such as Arlie reads?
I turn to the next page.
God, Arlie is even more sexy than he was only moments before. A guy who reads is beyond hot.
“You look like you’re enjoying your book?” Arlie suddenly says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes.”
He lowers his novel until it stops below his chin. He gifts me a toothy smile. “What are you reading anyway?”
“Um. Just a story.”
“Okay.” His smile grows. “It must be action-packed, because you’re tensing and flinching nonstop.”
“I am?”
“Let me have a gander.” Arlie stands.
“You probably wouldn’t like this type of story.”
“Why?”
“Romance.” I smile awkwardly.
“Are you always so single-minded, Melinda?”
My lips curl upwards. “Sometimes.” I don’t lie this time.
“Here.” Arlie rushes towards me with his hand extended. “Let me read.” He plucks the book from my fingertips, causing me to sit upright and cradle my knees. Arlie drops down beside me. He turns his eyes to the page and reads aloud.
“Delilah said not two words to me as I drove her to my penthouse ...” Arlie reads with a tender tone. He dips the cover down. His eyes find mine as I tilt my head to the side, resting my cheek against my kneecaps. “Can I keep reading?”
“Sure,” I gulp, hugging my knees tighter.
He swiftly returns his sight to the page. “I can’t believe I’ve hurt her so harshly, so unthinkably. Tonight, the woman I loved threw herself at the mercy of God in a bustling street, in front of cars who would have struggled to see her if some man had not screamed out her presence …”
Arlie pauses. He takes a deep breath, then continues. “I did the one thing I said I wouldn’t: I scarred Delilah, and now she’s soaked through, shivering and staring out the windshield of my car. What have I done to her?”
I bite my lower lip in hopes I stop it from quivering.
Arlie continues reading. “I carry Delilah from the car to the elevator. She’s wet, cold, but looking at me like I’m her saviour.”
Arlie suddenly clears his throat, and my breath hitches in mine. He reads beautifully and with emotion, and I’m heating up in places I shouldn’t be. “Once inside the penthouse, Delilah presses her cheek against my chest over my heart. ‘Put me down please,’ she says quietly.
“I lower her to the floor. Water drips from her dress to the marble flooring below, and when she shakes her head, her mangled hair disperses more water. ‘Why did you bring me here, Hugh? Why did it have to be you who saved me?’”
Suddenly, I’m overcome with a sense of hope that these two frustrating idiots will finally work this out. “Keep reading,” I whisper.
“I’m not sure what to say to Delilah. I gaze at her in the same way I would a wounded puppy seeking safety, guidance, care, shelter, and love.
“‘Because I love you, Delilah,’ I declare with full conviction. ‘I love you. I’ve only ever truly loved you, and I did so from the very first moment I laid eyes on your perfect face.’
“Delilah's eyes find mine, and the look she delivers is tender and forgiving. ‘You love me,’ she says softly.
“‘I do. I always have. I-I-I just wanted to protect you.’
“‘From what?’ she asks forcefully.
“‘From me ...” Arlie seems to search me in the same way I picture Hugh looking at Delilah—like I’m a wounded puppy. “This is some heavy shit,” he mumbles.
“It’s frustrating and powerful and heartbreaking,” I confess.
“Should I keep going?”
I nod as the corners of my lips raise. Arlie continues to read tenderly, and I’m so taken by him I know I could listen to him read every day of my life.
“Okay,” he says as he turns the page. “Delilah rushes towards me. Her arms fling around my neck, and she squeezes tightly, like if she didn’t hold me in such a way, I might disappear and abandon her again. Her lips hover an inch from mine. I want nothing more than to kiss her, but I won’t because I don’t think it’s what she truly needs from me at this moment …” Arlie seems as engrossed as I am. “He needs to kiss her, right?”
“Uh-huh. Like, right now.”
“Well, let’s see if he does.” Arlie turns his eyes back to the page. “‘You love me?’ she asks in a way that tells me she doesn’t believe my initial confession of love for her.
“‘I do,’ I whisper.
“Delilah's lips move even closer, to the point where they’re almost touching mine. I can’t hold back. I must taste her. I must devour her mouth with my love. I must have Delilah again. I’m going to fuck her like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to ...”
I flick my head upwards; my knees fall until my feet thump against the floor. “Okay, and that’s the end of the story. Thank you for reading it to me.”
I reach out my hand to claim the book back. I know I’m blushing because I understand, given the previous scenes in this story, that a very descriptive sex scene is about to play out, and I can’t have Arlie speaking it out loud. I’m already twitching in my seat from the smooth way in which his voice speaks these words.
“Oh, no, no, no. This story is just getting good.”
“Arlie.” I grit my teeth at the same time I press my thighs together and swipe for the novel once more.
He draws his arm back. “I want to know what happens.”
“I’ll tell you the end when I get there.”
“How about I read you the end?” His tone is filled with desire.
I graze my teeth against my bottom lip as I pray for the sudden throbbing between my legs to halt from its current whorey state.
Arlie moves the pages in front of his face before continuing. “She tastes like lemonade on a hot summer’s afternoon, yet her skin is as cold as a chill brought on by a winter snowstorm. I need to have Delilah right here on this floor. It’s been five long months since I’ve been inside her … since I’ve felt her tight grip and warmth around my cock…”
I gulp. I reach out my hands. “Give it to me.”
Arlie chuckles.
I scowl.
Arlie continues. “‘I want you, Delilah,’ I groan as my cock rises in my trousers.
“Delilah steps away from me. Her arms fold across her chest as if she’s protecting her heart.
“‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘What am I thinking, asking this of you after all I’ve done?’
“One of Delilah’s arms falls from her chest. The other hand moves to her shoulder blade. Slowly, sensually, Delilah peels one of the straps from her dress away, allowing it to slide freely down her arm. She repeats the same movement on the other side. I hold my breath as the material once covering her drops to the ground below. Her waistline is so small. Her breasts heave. She’s more beautiful than I remembered her to be …”
I shuffle in the seat. Heat rips through my veins. I need Arlie to stop reading. I can’t take it.
He doesn’t stop. Instead, he softens his tone further as he reads. “‘You’re beautiful, Delilah,’ I whisper as she undoes her bra and then slips her panties away. She’s naked in front of me. Exposed, and wanting me to own her like I once did.
“This time, I can’t run away. This time, I must claim her as my love, my forever love. Delilah is mine from this day forth, and nobody will ever hurt her again, especially not me ...” Arlie turns the page.
“Okay, so now they’ll have sex and live happily ever after. The end.”
“Hang on.”
I lift my hand in a final attempt to take the chance of him continuing away.
Arlie bats my hand. “Not so fast.”
“Please don’t.” I can hear the pleading in my tone.
Arlie shuffles until he faces me. “Please don’t read? Or please don’t do this?”
The novel flies through the air. Arlie tucks
his arm behind my back. One pull against my waistline has my body close to his. He dips his chin. His lips move quickly towards mine, and at the precise moment our mouths connect, I wrap my hands around his neck and kiss him with every ounce of passion thumping through my veins.
Arlie perches between my legs, hovering above me. His erection pushes against Miss Priscilla, causing my knees to fall farther apart. I want him, all of him, but the more I think about what’s happening, the more I remember we’re on a television show and cameras are filming us.
I can’t have sex on television. Hell, I’ve never had sex sober.
When Arlie’s lips leave a trail of kisses from my neck to my cleavage, I scream, “Stop! I can’t do this. Get off.”
Arlie does. He throws himself away from me.
I leap to my feet. One step, two steps, three steps back create a more considerable distance between us.
“I’m sorry,” he rushes in saying.
“I’ve never had sex sober.” It flies out of my mouth so fast I can’t reel it back in. I can’t believe I just said that to him, and on television.
“You haven’t had sex sober?”
“No!” I shout.
“Okay. It’s okay.” His tone is compassionate and reassuring.
“I’m an idiot,” I spit out before turning on my heel and running towards the staircase. “Just leave me.”
***
Tomorrow is my thirtieth birthday. I’m not sure if Arlie even realises I’m facing the next decade of my life and hitting the start of digits beginning with three, but if he knew about my doctor status from my submission form, then I’m sure he saw my date of birth.
The thing is, I can’t stay here with him and turn another year older, even though throughout the night, the night that dragged on forever, I heard Arlie’s footsteps going up and down the hallway between our two bedrooms.
Today, I’ll go home. Tomorrow, I’ll turn the dirty thirty, clean and without his bodily fluids forever staining my heart, and with Chris and Fletcher by my side, just how it was supposed to happen.
I’m nervous as I retrieve my suitcase from the wardrobe. My stomach twists and turns as acid creeps up my oesophagus every time I find myself bending over.
