Page 72 of Delirium
And I did.
I pressed my lips against hers, slowly at first, gently, savoring her, drinking in the little moans and whimpers escaping from her. My fingers snuck to the back of her head, holding her neck, keeping her in place, while my lips bruised hers, taking and taking and taking, until the soft and gentle kiss turned into the savage need to own her, to have her, to feel her against me.
My cock hardened in my pants, pushing against the zipper, wanting to be free, but it wasn’t about him right now. Her barely there stomach pressed against my lower abs, and the pride over her, over these two miracles she was carrying, washed over me, making it harder to breathe.
Our tongues danced, fought and caressed, until I pulled back with force, breathing heavily, my body rebelling against the idea to stop.
“Fuck,” I murmured, dazed, and filled with a need only she could quench.
“Wow,” she mumbled, pressing her fingers to her lips, as if she was replaying the kiss in her head. “That was… Wow,” she whispered, looking up at me. Wide irises and eyes filled with need rivaling mine stared back at me, and I knew we had to get the fuck out of here and go eat.
“We should get going,” I said, fighting against the urge to take her to the closest alley, and fuck her against the wall. “We really should get going.”
“Yeah,” she stammered, drunk with lust. “We really should.”
“Come.” I extended my hand to her. As soon as she placed her much smaller hand in mine, I moved us toward the bike, straddling it first, before she sat behind me, wrapping her arms around my middle.
“Hold tight,” I said, revving the engine up, and shooting down the street, determined to take her to eat and not to fuck her.
We needed time. She asked for space.
I repeated those two sentences over and over in my head as we drove, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped because I knew… My mind, my soul, my body, they all knew—she was always meant to be mine, and I’d do everything to get through this period of distrust and separation.
* * *
Santa Monica was always beautiful,but there was something special about it during these colder months, when all the tourists went to their homes, leaving our beaches mostly empty and peaceful. I knew Ophelia loved the ocean, she always had.
That first time I saw her with Ava, she took me to the cliffside, where we sealed our fates, binding ourselves forever. We didn’t need to say the words back then. We didn’t need to hold hands, kiss, or fuck, we just knew.
We always knew that this was it.
Or at least I did. I knew this woman was made for me and only me. I knew that I would do anything to kill the sadness shining in her eyes, and that I would do anything to make the lives of those who wronged her as miserable as possible.
I didn’t have a cliffside right now, but we had a beautiful beach. In all this time that she was in Santa Monica, we only came here once, to the Pier, after I had just brought her to the Clubhouse for the first time.
She was the first one to get off of the bike as we stopped at the parking lot close to Venice Beach, and I followed a second after her. Ophelia removed her helmet, turning toward me with a smile.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said, beaming. The sun shone brightly today, white, puffy clouds covering the sky, playing hide and seek with the sunrays.
“It really is,” I said, walking toward her and taking the helmet from her. “Let’s go. There’s an amazing stand a minute from here with the world’s best burgers.”
“The best?” she asked, following after me, taking my hand in hers. “Are you sure about that?”
“The best,” I repeated. “My old president brought me here when I first came to the Club. I was a skinny kid, angry, and I was constantly getting into fights with the other members. I just… I don’t know, I just didn’t know what to do with this anger living in me, you know?”
“I kinda do,” Ophelia said, looking at me. “It’s like, you want to scream and scream and scream, because you’re angry. You’re fucking devastated. You see all these other people living their lives, having a peaceful life, and you’re drowning. You think it’s unfair that this happened to you. Why you, right? Why not somebody else? And then you start thinking that you must have done something in one of your past lives and this one is the punishment for the previous crimes. I know, Storm. I know what it feels like being angry at the entire world.”
“I know you do,” I murmured. “I know you understand better than anyone else what it feels like being trapped in a life you don’t want to have. No matter what, there’s no way out. There’s nothing you can do but push forward.”
“Yeah. And then all that pain, all that anger morphs into violence, because why should other people live their lives freely when they did this to you. The only problem is that more often than not, you don’t know when to stop. You feel comfortable in your misery. You feel as if this is the only thing that feels like home, because you know nothing else.”
“Until that same misery starts destroying the good things happening in your life,” I said, looking down at her. “But sometimes there’s light, you know? Sometimes you meet a girl who changes your life, who makes you feel as if everything you ever did, everything that happened to you has happened for a reason, and that reason is to bring you to her. To put the two of you together.”
“Even when she’s an asshole who doesn’t know how to trust?” she asked, smiling softly.
“Even then. Especially then because you understand why. Even when you’re angry and you think you want to strangle her, you understand why she did certain things. Because if the roles were reversed, you would’ve done the same.”
“Oh,” she murmured, her eyes widening at my statement. “Really?”
