Delilah's Diary #3: Sexy Surrender (Erotic Romance)

  Delilah's Diary #3 - Sexy Surrender (Erotic Romance)

  © 2012 Jasinda Wilder

  www.jasindawilder.com

  October 24, 2012

  This story you're ogling on your hot little digital device is 17,900 words, or 72 book pages long.

  WARNING: This story contains super-hot sex, M/F. For adults, 18+ only.

  JUNE 21

  My heart pounded in my chest as I twisted the knob and opened the door of my hotel room in Paris. Luca stood outside in the hallway, with one hand in the pocket of his dark blue jeans, and his black hair sweeping across his brow and in front of his eye. He brushed the stray strands aside with a calloused thumb, his coal-dark eyes blazing with anger and hurt. For a long, tense moment, neither of us spoke, neither of us moved.

  I clasped my hands in front of me to conceal their shaking. "Luca, I..." I stepped back, not quite able to meet his eyes. "Come in?"

  Luca stepped past me and sat down in the chair near the window, arms crossed over his broad chest. His gaze was hard and inscrutable.

  "Why did you leave me, Delilah?"

  I shook my head. "It's...I'm sorry. I don't know."

  "I think you do know."

  I crossed the room and stood in front of him. "You read the note. That's why."

  Luca snorted. "That was a childish excuse. Nothing more. It did not explain anything whatsoever."

  "Well then, what is it you want to hear?" I finally met his eyes, but they were still hard, angry, and, above all, hurt.

  "I would like to hear the truth. No more excusing it behind nonsense and merda."

  I felt a rush of irritation. "It's not shit, Luca. It is the truth. I don't know what this is between us, or how to deal with it. You make me feel things I've never felt before. It's frightening. It's all so soon after—after Harry. I'm not running from you, exactly, more from us."

  "You think I will betray you as your husband Harry did?" Luca scratched at the knee of his jeans.

  "Ex-husband. And no, not really. You've been betrayed before, and I don't think you'd do that to someone else. Besides which, I don't think you're like that anyway."

  "But still you run away whenever things become too much between us."

  I could only nod. Eventually, I was able to speak again. "You...you deserve better, Luca. You're just so amazing. And I'm—I don't even know who I am."

  "I know who you are," Luca said, leaning forward. "You are Delilah Flores. You are beautiful, and brave, and so very complex, like a diamond with a million faces always changing and showing the world something new."

  I shook my head. "We must see different people when we look at me." I frowned. "That didn't make any sense."

  Luca laughed. "No, it did not, but I understood your meaning." He stood up, and his eyes were softening. I could still see the hurt and anger in the lines of his face, the crow's feet and the pinching of his eyebrows. "Nevertheless, that is what I see when I look at you. That is who I know when I speak to you. You must see it as well."

  "I don't know how."

  "I will teach you." Luca stepped near me, standing a mere inch away from me, his dark eyes piercing into me, the heat of his body radiating in palpable waves. "But you must decide if you want be with me or not. This is not a proposal of permanence, please know. I am only suggesting we spend more time together. But if you are going to run like a colt every time we experience an intimate moment together, it will not work."

  I nodded, and opened my mouth to speak, but Luca kept going.

  "If you are afraid, only tell me. If you feel you need some time alone to sort out your emotions, tell me. I can give you space to think without you having to go all the way to Paris. I will understand, if you will share your thoughts with me. I promise you this." Luca put his hands on my arms, just below my shoulders. "If you run away again, I will not chase you. I will take it as your choice to not be with me any longer."

  "I understand."

  He closed the gap between us, our bodies pressing together. His arms wrapped around my waist and his breath was warm on my face, smelling faintly of spearmint. I couldn't believe he'd be able to be with me again, to want me still, after all I'd done to push him away. François's face and fingers rose up in my memory, sending bile into my throat.

  I pushed away from Luca.

  "What is it?" Luca's eyes narrowed. "There is something, isn't there? You did something, or something happened to you."

  I turned away and stared out the window. Paris was slicked with rain and blanketed with gray. Umbrellas bloomed on the sidewalks like geometric flowers, bobbing and nodding with flashes of damp legs and shoes.

  "I got drunk the other night. Too drunk. I'm not used to that, you know? I've never really gotten drunk a lot before, so I guess I don't handle it well—"

  "What happened?" Luca's voice was tight and hard, prepared for the worst.

  "Well this guy started talking to me. I didn't really like him, and I just wanted him to leave me alone, you know? But he was persistent, and—the drunker I got, the more persistent he was. I know now that I should have just left, but then, it didn't occur to me. Well, he kept feeding me drinks, and then I just wasn't able to think straight, and I found myself in a cab with him—"

  "Did you sleep with him?"

  "I—no, but listen, he—we were in his apartment, and I remember not liking it, and he was touching me, and I didn't like that even more. He was...he was rough. I couldn't get the word out, I was thinking 'no' in my head, as loud as I could, but it wouldn't come out of my mouth. Finally, he touched me down there, and it hurt. That unlocked me somehow, I mean, I could suddenly talk again, and I hit him. I mean, I knocked him straight on his ass and ran out."

  "Would you know him again, if you saw him?" Luca asked.

  "I suppose—yes, I would. Definitely." I shuddered, his face burned into my mind. "Why?"

  "Because we're going to find him and I'm going to shove his head up his asshole."

  I shook my head. "No, Luca. Don't. It's not worth it. Besides, it's one man, in all of Paris. How are we supposed to find him?"

  "You went to his apartment, didn't you? And you came back here from there?"

  "Well, yeah, but I don't remember much. I mean, I'm not even sure what bar I was at. I just walked around until I found somewhere kind of busy, and when we left, I was pretty hazy. When I left François's apartment, I just gave the driver the card for the hotel." I turned to Luca and put my forehead to his chest. "I just want to forget him, forget it happened. I want to go back to Italy."

  Luca smoothed the hair at the back of my head. His breathing was a loud rush in his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm. "Very well, then. Come home with me, and let us start again."

  I nodded into his shirt, then looked up at him through my eyelashes. My arms went around his torso, my palms flat on the backs of his shoulders. "Luca? I'm sorry. So sorry. Do you forgive me?"

  Luca smiled down at me. His fingers traced the line of my jaw, touched my chin, and then his palms cupped my face. "Of course I do, mia bella Delilah. Of course I do. You have been hurt, and betrayed. It is hard to trust again when this has happened. But you must trust me. And when it is impossible to trust, only tell me what you are thinking, and we can find a way past it, together, hmmm?"

  Our eyes locked, and our lips neared, but he didn't kiss me. I needed, with sudden desperation, to kiss him, to touch him, to feel his hands on me. I needed the physical, tangible reminder of his desire for me.

  His love for me. He hadn't spoken the words, but the emotion was there between us, waiting and unspoken. I knew it, he knew it. That, perhaps, was what truly frightened me. It
wasn't that I didn't trust Luca; I did. I knew, instinctively and through his constant demonstrations, that he wouldn't hurt me or betray me. I was afraid of his love. I was afraid of needing him. I'd just found my independence, found my self as a woman alone, and suddenly here was I man I wanted, I needed. I loved.

  And that, more than anything else, scared the living shit out of me. No matter how far away from him I ran, how I tried to push him away or pretend it wasn't so, I couldn't get away from his presence in my heart, my soul. I couldn't ignore the fact that I wasn't happy away from him.

  Even Paris, a place I think every girl dreams of going, was empty and dull without him.

  I felt something crack in my heart, some piece of my resistance breaking off. I leaned up and kissed him, a ferocious slamming of my lips to his, a tiny demonstration of my desperation for him.

  He responded exactly as I needed: I felt myself lifted in his impossibly strong arms and carried to the bed. I was wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, my comfort clothes. He curled his long fingers under the elastic of my pants and panties, stripped them off, then peeled my shirt off, along with the sports bra. In a matter of seconds I was completely nude before him.

  I felt a rush of desire pulse through me, soaking the folds of my pussy even before he lowered his mouth to my skin. For a long moment, he merely stood and looked at me, as he had the first time he saw me naked. He had seen me many times since then, but the raw admiration and naked desire for my body hadn't dissipated, hadn't changed. If anything, the knowledge of the pleasure he could find inside me seemed to fan the flames of passion in his eyes even hotter.

  I lay on my back on the bed, bare flesh pebbling in the cool air of the hotel room, nipples beading into hard nubs under Luca's fierce gaze. I waited for him, knees up and pressed together, arms crossed over my belly, my gaze heavy-lidded and fixed on his. Luca's lips pressed together and his hands clawed against the dark blue denim of his jeans, his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared.

  I spread my knees apart, just an inch at first, and Luca's fingers knotted in the jeans near his knees. His head tipped back and he watched me through lowered eyelashes, the tip of his tongue tasting the corner of his mouth and across his lower lip.

  My knees split apart even farther now, and the damp petals of my pussy were presented to his gaze. My fingers trailed down my belly, paused on top of my mound, and then drifted down to the crease, paused again at the folds hiding my aching, waiting clit.

  My mouth parted and my breath puffed out as I dipped a single finger between my folds to touch the hard, sensitive nub. The pad of my middle finger brushed across my clit and I couldn't stifle the gasp as it emerged.

  That was all it took.

  Luca grasped my ankles and drew me effortlessly down the bed so my ass was at the edge, my legs on his shoulders as he knelt down. The collar of his white, short sleeve button-down shirt scraped the soft silk of my inner thighs, and his stubble was like sandpaper against the crease where pussy met thigh. His fingers pulled my lips apart and his tongue speared inside me to taste the dew of my essence. I heard his breath hiss in delight as he lapped at me. I quivered against him, arching my back. Two fingers slid into my channel, curled upward to find with unerring accuracy the patch of hypersensitive skin and caress it to the rhythm of his questing, circling tongue.

  His other hand now slipped up along my side, following the curve of my hip, the padded ridge of my ribs, and cupped my breast, plumped its heavy weight, squeezed the soft globe. I moaned when a rough finger found my nipple and rolled it with exquisite gentility, whimpered when he pinched it.

  Colors exploded across my vision, my skin tightened and my muscles trembled. My mouth opened in a silent scream as he licked the juices around my clit, then dragged his tongue across the bead of nerves and made me come, and come, and come again, his fingers inside me, his fingers on my nipple.

  I wanted something he'd done before, but I was too shy to say the words. I grabbed the hand playing with my breast and guided it downward, between my legs. I lifted my hips and spread my knees farther apart, pushed his fingers tangled with mine against the rosebud knot of muscle beneath my pussy. Luca didn't hesitate. He dipped his finger inside my folds to lubricate it with my own moisture and then pressed it in tight circles against my anus. I forced myself to relax against the instinctive urge to tighten. His fingers and mouth continued to work my pussy, and I felt another orgasm rising up within me.

  His long, slick middle finger worked into me, a slow centimeter at a time. I ground my hips into him, driving him deeper, breathless, coming again. Every muscle in my body clamped down, and now I was writhing helplessly, pinned in place by his fingers inside me.

  "I want you, all of you, now," I gasped.

  Luca pulled out of me, leaving me whimpering at the sudden absence. I watched him strip, sat up and reached for him when he was naked, his huge cock standing straight up and straining, the veins visible and throbbing. I wrapped both hands around his girth and before I even knew what I was planning, I had him in my mouth, his satin skin rubbing against my lips. He tasted so good, felt so good, and I sucked on him, glided my hands on him, greedy for him.

  He pulled me away from his cock and crawled onto the bed with me. He kissed me, slow and thorough, his tongue tasting of my essence exploring my mouth, his hands roving my body and mine his. We lay down together, bodies twining and tangling, tongues touching and tasting, heat merging.

  Abruptly, Luca pulled away, a mischievous grin on his lips. He rolled me onto my stomach. Thinking I knew what he wanted, I slid my knees beneath me, presenting my ass to him.

  "Take me, Luca," I said. "Take me like this."

  He laughed, a low rumble. "Oh, I will. But, you know, you were a very bad girl, my Delilah. Very bad indeed. I think first you must be punished. And this is the perfect position for it."

  "Punished?" Fear tinged my voice. What was he going to do?

  "Yes. I think you must be spanked."

  I panicked. My dad had spanked me as a little girl, under the Biblical principle that sparing the rod spoiled the child. He'd used the dowel from a wooden hanger, a thin rod of wood that stung like a bitch but didn't really leave marks or hurt for more than a few seconds. I know if anyone else was to read this, they'd probably call it child abuse by today's standards, but he loved me, and it was his way of guiding me.

  But Luca's word, spanking, had incited that same sudden spark of fear within me. I moved to roll onto my ass, but Luca held my hips in place.

  "What is it? I would not hurt you, you must surely know this. Only a little slap," he tapped one cheek with the palm of his hand, and I relaxed a little. "You were perhaps punished thus as a child? It is not the same. I know, for I was too. Nowadays, parents are afraid to punish their children, but we survived it, no?"

  I held still, afraid to breathe or move, much less speak. I didn't know what I wanted. My arousal had been rather suddenly doused, and part of me wanted to pull Luca close to me and just be held by him. But another part of me knew Luca wouldn't do anything I didn't like, and if I told him I didn't like it, he would stop. And, in truth, the gentle pat of his hand on my bottom had felt kind of okay.

  It would be fine, right? I kept myself still, fighting the reflex to close up and roll away. Trust took effort, didn't it? Risk and vulnerability weren't things that just happened. You had to make them happen, let them happen. I wasn't a person who found any pleasure in pain, though. But then again, Luca hadn't led me astray so far...

  I nodded, a jerky sideways bob of my head as I craned my neck to watch him. He smiled, caressed my spine down from my shoulders to the swell of my tailbone. At first, he only rested his hand on the half moon of my right ass cheek, then he moved his hand in small circles. I felt myself tensing, waiting. His other hand curved up my foot and my calf and my thigh, turning sideways to knife between my legs. His finger brushed my labia, which were dry now. He stroked me with a finger, rubbing the skin of my buttocks with his other. He touched his lips
to my hip, then my back, and then, yes, he kissed my ass, a hot, moist caress. I felt my juices begin to flow again, and now his finger delved inside my pussy, just up to one knuckle at first.

  I relaxed, realizing he didn't intend to just haul off and start smacking me willy-nilly. I felt silly, suddenly, for having doubted his ability to give me pleasure, even if I didn't know what I wanted or liked.

  I let my hips begin to undulate as he dipped his finger deeper inside me, his other hand moving in broader circles on my ass, alternating between both sides until I was used to his touch there. And then, without warning, he drew his hand back and gave me a resounding slap on the left cheek. My entire backside burst into flames and I shrieked and jerked forward. The shriek turned into a moan, however, when he thrust his fingers against my clit at the very instant that he slapped my ass, and then he rubbed the spot that he had spanked, smoothing and soothing the reddened skin. He moved to the other side, now, circling, small circles, broad circles, his fingers in my pussy again, exploring the walls, brushing my G-spot, not establishing a rhythm but merely touching, keeping me wet and trembling with anticipation.

  I was gasping now, waiting for the next slap. When it came, I shrieked again, and once more the sound of protest turned into a drawn-out whimper of pleasure as he pressed the button of my clit in time with the spank. His palm soothed the skin again, then resumed his patternless circling.

  The next spank came sooner, and it didn't sting as much, so consumed was I with the rising fires of climax. He had two fingers in my pussy now, swirling around my clit, not quite touching. When he spanked me a third time, he let his fingers brush my clit, as if by accident, and I nearly came. He smoothed the skin, kneeling behind me, one hand between my thighs, the other on my ass, his cock brushing against the outside of my leg.

  He spanked me again, and this time he smacked both sides in quick succession, the tips of his fingers flicking my clit with each slap. I was moaning nonstop now, and he started to spank me more frequently, one side and then the other, a brush of my nub with each sting of his hand, and now the stinging was changing, spreading a flush throughout me, the slight pain morphing into something else, merging with the fire of orgasm. I rocked my hips back into his hand now, into the fingers on my clit as well as the palm striking my ass.