Page 44 of Wicked Roses
I’m careful, keeping my approach as stealthy as possible as I come up on the room and peer inside.
The blood in my veins roars to life. At once it’s surging through my body, on a mission straight to my dick. I might be setting the record for the world’s fastest hard-on. It wouldn’t surprise me—having Delphine under my roof has never been easy. That was the case when I was twenty-one and she stayed over at my apartment the summer we dated, and it’s the case as I stumble upon this scene.
The sight that greets me can only be described as torture.
She’s folding laundry and dancing to the music.
In that satiny floral-print robe of hers she insists on wearing when she thinks I’m not around.
She picks up a pair of socks and rolls them together, swaying her hips along to the slow beat. Doing laundry has never been sexier.
I almost groan watching the provocative way her body moves. The tiny robe lifts slightly, revealing another inch of her bare thighs. My dick twitches remembering the silky feel of them. How is it possible she’s not even trying to be sexy yet I’m hard enough to come just watching her like this?
She begins singing off-key to the lyrics and grabs a pair of her panties from the basket. She’s so into the song, she has no clue she isn’t alone.
Fuck.
I need to get out of here or she’ll look up any second and catch me in the doorway with a giant fucking hard-on, looking like the perverted psycho I am. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit, but Delphine’s been through hell the past few weeks. The last thing she needs is to feel uncomfortable under my roof.
I tear myself away from the doorway before she can notice and escape into the most isolated room in the loft.
My home office. I keep it locked at all times because it contains things I’d prefer no one else sees. Weapons. Fast cash. A database of essential info on my enemies. Even information and souvenirs of Delphine I’ve collected over the years. Stuff I never want her to know about.
The door snicks shut behind me. She’ll hear it, but hopefully that’s where it ends. It’ll tell her I’m home and she’ll stop dancing and driving me crazy.
I husk out a breath and run a hand through my slicked hair. Delphine is the only woman who has ever made me need moments like these—a few seconds away in order to compose myself.
The dozens of other women I’ve fucked might get me hard, but it’s nothing like this. Nothing so damn powerful it’s like I’m being consumed by the rawest, most primitive urges.
When I’ve cooled down enough, I turn toward the door, but stop when I notice two bright, judging eyes staring at me from my office chair.
I’d rushed in here and hadn’t even noticed Salt was hiding away. I haven’t adjusted to Delphine’s cats being anywhere in the loft at any time. Salt in particular likes to pop up in the most unexpected places. I have no clue how he got in here. He must’ve snuck in the last time I opened the door.
He’s been here the whole time, watching me deal with the lust I have for his owner.
I stand up straighter and raise a brow at him. “This stays between us.”
He blinks and then meows in answer.
“Good cat. You might not be so bad after all.”
13. delphine
“My daughter.More beautiful and intelligent every time I see her.” Dad’s smile is restrained if not a little sad. These days it’s the best I can expect out of him given everything. He puts his arms around me and envelops me in a warm hug.
I don’t return to Westoria often, but when I do, it’s to see Dad. Post-retirement, he spends most of his days golfing at the local country club, reading at the library, or attending meetings for the American Bar Association’s Westoria chapter. He prefers to spend as little time as possible at the house. It’s more museum than home since Mom’s passing.
When our hug ends, he stands back and appraises me, head to toe. Pride gleams in his eyes.
We take our seats and the server drifts over to our table with iced water and the menus. Lunch at the Westoria Country Club was his idea.
“How are you, Dad?”
“I just won a round on the green. I’d say pretty damn good all things considered.”
A small smile touches my face. “I don’t know how you’re not tired of golfing by now.”
“Easy. Competitive edge. I’ll never get tired of winning. I beat Steve 40 to 55. He’s not living this one down for a while.”