Page 65 of Damsel in Disguise

A flicker of disappointment slides beneath the surface before she smoothes it away.

I almost smirk, while bringing it to my mouth and taking a bite. The perfect level of sweetness floods my mouth as I take my time savoring it, humming in approval.

Then out of nowhere I say. “Kiss me, Delilah,” swallowing it down.

Delilah has no fucking idea why I asked for it on my own after so many days. She simply sets the dish aside and rises onto her toes to press her lips to mine.

The kiss should feel alive, but there’s a faint coolness to it, something that doesn’t quite settle under my skin.

It’s not as warm as it should be for a human. Even so, I take her face in my hand, fingers tightening at her nape just enough to control.

A pleased sound slips past her lips at the taste of me.

I pivot her without breaking the kiss, guiding her body until her back faces the curtains.

That’s when my eyes open mid-kiss, and I’m staring into the hazel eyes of my stalker.

Just as I assumed, Ariella never left.

She’s lingering behind the curtain, peeking through with enough care to pass unnoticed by anyone else. But not me. I feel her gaze as much as I can see it—now she knows I know.

And instead of panicking, she keeps watching me, deepening the kiss.

I kiss her like I’d kiss Ariella. Fuck.

The thought alone shifts something dark and electric through me.

Delilah melts into it instantly, a breathy moan spilling against my mouth as she clings closer.

In three years of marriage, I’ve never touched her like this—never kissed her with this kind of feral hunger, this unrestrained collision of want and control.

I didn’t even know I was capable of it.

And all it does is make me think of Ariella. Of what I’d do to her if it were really her lips clashing against mine.

We end up on the bed in a blur of movement—hands, fabric, heat. I position us instinctively, so I don’t need to turn my head to see Ariella.

All it takes is the slightest flick of my eyes upward to watch her watching me.

Clothes disappear between touches, growing rougher.

My gaze keeps drifting back to the curtains, pulled like a magnet I’ve no intention of resisting at all.

Delilah doesn’t notice. Even if she does, I don’t care.

I just need to see if Ariella stepped out to watch me fucking my wife.

The thought alone drives something brutal through me. My cock hardens to a point that borders on being painful, every nerve hypersensitive to the thrill of being seen like this—of performing for her without ever touching her.

In one swift motion, I flip Delilah onto her stomach. Her body yields easily, hips lifting, ass pressing back into me with a reflex she’s been conditioned into.

My hand comes down against the back of her neck, forcing her face into the mattress, holding her there. The other wraps around my cock, stroking just a couple of times before I push forward into her.

I never check if she’s wet.

She’s trained for this. Conditioned to respond, to be ready, to take whatever I decide to give. And I take advantage of it every single time.

Just like now.