Dalton unlocked the door to his room and flicked the switch in the entranceway. Sleek, modern lighting illuminated the large space he occupied and he took a step backwards, permitting Delilah to enter. She’d seemed incredibly nervous since the elevator, her emotions pinballing from sex siren to afraid little kitten in a matter of moments. On the one hand, it troubled him. Something was wrong with Delilah—every instinct he had told Dalton that. He sensed she was in some sort of trouble and this Jacob was the architect of it, but still, he couldn’t shake the other feeling he had that Delilah was being duplicitous. She may well be a victim of some sort, but she could also be trying to garner information about him, or his friends. So far, she’d been reticent to answer any questions about herself, and the ones she had responded to were evidently a crock of shit, but as he gazed down at her, Dalton still couldn’t decide why.
What did she really want?
Who was she working for?
Who was Delilah protecting?
“Nice place you have here.”
Dalton turned at the sound of her voice to find Delilah at the huge panoramic window. “This view is truly something. I’ve never seen the city from this high up before.”
Dalton locked the door before he wandered over to where she was standing. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
His arms snaked around her middle. “But it pales into insignificance when you’re in the room, Delilah.”
She snorted, twisting in his arms to face him. “Oh come on,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not expecting me to fall for that old line, are you?”
Dalton’s lips curled at her answer. There she went again, flitting from one emotional state to the next faster than he could take a breath. Being with Delilah was like experiencing whiplash. “Actually, I meant what I said,” he assured her. “You’ll find I rarely say things I don’t mean.”
Delilah bit her lip at that, as if considering his words, perhaps registering the accusation he was making about her honesty, though she never vocalized the understanding. “I see.”
He cocked his eyebrow at her, revelling in the way she physically squirmed at the sight. “Still want me to fuck you, little firecracker?”
In a way, Dalton didn’t know why he asked. She’d already told him how excited she was at the prospect, and hell, she’d travelled all the way up here to his room, but still, there was going to be something mesmerizing about hearing the admission from her pouty little lips, right here, with London as the backdrop.
Delilah’s chest rose and fell, her breathing increasing becoming laboured. “You know I do.”
The look of her was scintillating.
“I want to hear you say it.” Dalton’s hand rose to her hair, fisting the beautiful auburn bob that had first caught his attention in the line at Diablo. “Tell me what you want. Tell me if you need my ropes again. Did you dream about them last night? Have you been craving the sting of my palm?”
His voice was ardent all of a sudden, a frenzy of desire stirring in him as she writhed under his palm. Delilah gasped, her lips parting as though she was going to speak, though no words came. In her mind though, Dalton was privy to all those private thoughts. The things she couldn’t say. The ones she was too afraid to admit.
Oh God… Oh my God, he’s right! How can he be right? How can he know what stuff?
“Dalton.”
His fingers tightened in her silky locks. “Sir.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Dalton glowered down at her. “Don’t be a fool, little firecracker. Of course you do. You always do. Where’s that smart mouth now? The one that always has an answer for me? The one that can’t help itself?”
Delilah’s lashes fluttered at him.
Bloody hell, I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve never seen any man like this…
“I want you, sir,” she rasped. “You know I do.”
That was a start. “And the rest?” Dalton’s voice was demanding.
“I don’t know,” she repeated in a desperate tone. “And that’s the truth, sir.”
“You know how you felt yesterday.” He edged closer toward her wide eyes. “You know how the ropes and the spanking made you feel.”
Delilah gulped at his proximity, but she steeled herself. He actually saw the moment she began to push back. “Yeah, I know.”
“Tell me.” Dalton was only a few inches from her now. Close enough to swoop and steal a kiss if he wanted to.
“They made me wet.” Fire burned in her pale gaze at the admission. “Is that what you want to hear? I was wetter than I’ve been for years, sir, and it was all due to you.”
Dalton’s cock strained against his suit pants at her words.
Fuck, yes. That was precisely what he wanted to hear.
“You want more of that?” He tilted his head and leaned in to skim his mouth over hers.
Delilah groaned as their lips grazed, rolling her hips toward him in what seemed like a primal reflex.
“You want more of my bondage, Delilah?”
“Yes.”
Dalton drew away, but still the full intensity of his stare seared into her. “Say it.”
“I want it.” She practically spat the words at him. “I want your bondage, sir.”
His eyes widened at the abrupt confession. “And my palm?” he continued, seizing whatever advantage the privacy of his own room had afforded him. “Shall I spank you again?”
Delilah jerked her head away from his hand, but Dalton’s fingers gripped harder, holding her in place.
“Answer me!”
“Yes!” she cried out, emotion flashing in her eyes, though Dalton wasn’t sure if it was passion or anger that radiated with the fiercest influence.
Dalton could sympathize. He’d rarely been affected by the force of intensity that was coursing around his body, and it had never been inspired by a woman before. He had no idea what it was about Delilah, but there was something.
There had always been something. Right from that first petulant word through to this moment. He’d never been able to get her out of his thoughts.
Dalton had always sensed it.
“Yes what?” he only whispered the words, but the way Delilah’s eyes blinked suggested she heard the power in the command.
Leaning toward him, Delilah grazed her lips against his chin. Dalton’s fingers relaxed in her hair, permitting the movement. Her caresses were so good, the heat of her breath tantalizing him.
“Yes, sir.”
He tipped his head down toward his chest, catching the salacious look in her eyes, and that was it. Dalton couldn’t wait a moment later to possess her. Pushing her backward, they descended onto his expensive couch by the window. Dalton caught Delilah in his arms before she fell, but oddly there seemed no panic in her as they hit the soft cushions. Her attention was entirely on him, her arms locked behind his neck as he pressed forward until their mouths touched. Delilah’s knees splayed around him, her heels wrapping around his back while his tongue explored her hot, wet mouth. Delilah moaned, eliciting a new surge of arousal from his desperate cock which was already frantic at the recent escalation of their passion.
Dalton drew away from her, catching his breath while he gazed down at the firecracker beneath him. Delilah was as sexy as hell—smoking hot—but he had a feeling if he wasn’t careful, he’d be the one getting burned.
Arousal soared through his body as he lined up the crop for the next strike. Raising the implement, he landed a further two spanks to her reddening cheeks. Dalton’s hunch that Delilah might be receptive to the implement had been proven correct, but in his wildest dreams, he could never have foreseen this. She wasn’t just welcoming, she was wild. In all his years, Dalton had rarely seen a woman so turned on by the crop. Or maybe it wasn’t just the crop? Perhaps his little firecracker liked the pain, or the bondage, or her inability to take control like she usually did? He couldn’t be sure which factor inspired the greatest arousal, and yet the look of her plump, drenched lips told him it didn’t truly matter. Against all odds, Delilah was absolutely revelling in the treatment, and that was what counted.
“Oh, twenty-one and two! Sir.”
Dalton grinned. He hadn’t even had to prompt Delilah to respond this time. “Very good, firecracker,” he purred, swatting the other cheek twice. “You’re doing well at this.”
Delilah groaned, pushing her tempting cunt back as though she was searching for the next strike. “Thank you, sir. That was twenty-three and four.”
His heart raced at Delilah’s wanton display. She had always seemed like a sexual woman, but seeing her this way was sending Dalton into a hedonistic spin of his own. He desired Delilah more than he cared to admit—more than was logical. And as he gazed down at her panting form, the idea of just keeping her for himself seemed all too plausible.
But, Dalton couldn’t do that.
He didn’t just take women—that wasn’t him.
Abduction was so much more Connor’s style, and yet as he struck Delilah’s prone backside once more, nothing had ever seemed so alluring to Dalton before. He could do it. He could just keep her tied up and horny for him. Who cared about Delilah’s true motivations for coming to Diablo that night? Who cared if none of it made sense? And as she numbered the strike for him, he was suddenly overwhelmed with the possibility.
Maybe it was Dalton’s time to live a little?
His turn to do something irrational.
His chance to fall in love.
The notion filled his head, and he smiled as he continued to rain the crop down against Delilah’s breathtaking arse. Her thoughts were quiet now, no longer speaking of the pain, but consumed only with the burgeoning desire coursing through her veins, and Dalton agreed wholeheartedly. He landed strike after strike, pausing only to allow Delilah to name the swat, until, finally, there was only one more remaining.
“How many more, Delle?” There was really no need to demand the answer from her delightful lips, especially as she had only just informed him that the prior strike was number thirty-nine, yet still he asked, unable to contain the craving he felt to hear Delilah’s raspy little tone again.
“One more, sir,” she breathed and glancing over her shoulder at him, Delilah flashed him a wicked smile. “Thank you.”
Their gazes locked for a second before he landed the final strike. Dalton saw the hurt flicker through her eyes, but it was over almost before it started, her thoughts confirming what her body so ably demonstrated. She fucking loved the pain.
My name is Amadeo Amato, but you… you will only call me Father.
