Page 134 of Damsel in Disguise

Satisfied, she begins peeling off her bodysuit, each piece stiff with drying blood. They hit the floor one by one. Shirt. Pants. Underwear. Nothing left.

I move toward her without urgency, letting my steps drag to feel intentional. My fingers hook into the waistband of whatever I threw on after the shower, tugging it loose while closing the distance.

She ignores me at first, crouched slightly, gathering the discarded fabric, her focus annoyingly intact.

When she finally looks up, she finds me already watching her. Curated hunger sits in my eyes.

“What now?” the tone is clipped.

I let my gaze travel over her body, pretending I’m savoring it—taking in every line, every curve, making the illusion seem almost convincing.

“No, Alistair, not now. You should be thankful I’m not reporting this to the Triarchs as I was initially programmed.”

Your mistake.

“That’s exactly why I’d let you take the lead tonight,” I murmur, pushing my sweatpants down, letting them fall.

Her eyes flick once over my erection.

That’s all it takes. They darken instantly.

One last time… I tell myself. For one last time, I’ll force my way through this.

I lower myself onto the couch.

“C’mon, Delilah,” my voice dips, coaxing. “Ride me like it’s the last time you’ll ever get to fuck me.”

It isn’t a lie. She just doesn’t hear it for what it truly is.

It shows in the way she drops the bloodied leather at once, letting it spill back onto the floor as she steps toward me with no suspicion.

I reach for her the second she’s close enough, dragging her into my lap. My hands slide up her spine while her knees bracket my hips.

Not bothering to take off my glasses, I crash my mouth into hers, swallowing the sound she makes just as her fingers wrap around my length and guide me inside her in one smooth, unbroken motion. All the way to the hilt.

She’s already soaked. Too ready. Heat slick and immediate, letting her take me effortlessly.

Hips begin to move. Slow at first, then rolling with growing rhythm, grinding down against me, keeping her mouth fused to mine.

I don’t pull away immediately. I let it linger—let her breath mix with mine, her body moving against me in that steady, hungry rhythm for one final time—before I slide my hand up to her jaw and angle her face just slightly off to the side.

As usual, my eyes open mid-kiss.

My gaze cuts past her shoulder and straight through the glass. Right where I felt it—Ariella, watching me now.

I hold her there for a second longer than necessary, letting the implication settle.

Is she jealous? Shocked? Or better yet, has this already burned itself into something ugly and permanent inside her?

I can’t tell. I don’t care to.

Not when I’ve something far more interesting to break.

I drag my mouth away from Delilah’s lips and trail downward, reaching her throat. My tongue traces the line where the wound had been, tasting the faint metallic ghost of it.

Her body reacts instantly.

A soft moan spills from her lips. Hands tighten on me, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there as she needs it.