Chapter 447

[ 1,085 words ]

Delia’s POV

When I came the second time, it hit harder than the first. My whole body locked up around him. He cursed and fucked me through it, never slowing, until I was whimpering and oversensitive and still somehow needing more.

He pulled out only long enough to flip me onto my stomach. I went willingly, pushing up onto my knees. He entered me again from behind in one smooth thrust and immediately set a harder pace. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room. His hand came around to rub my clit while he fucked me, and I almost collapsed from the dual sensation.

“Say my name again,” he ordered, his voice rough.

“Noah p>

“Louder p>

“Noah p>

He kept going until I came a third time with my face pressed into the pillow and his name broken on my tongue. Only then did he let himself follow, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a low, gutted sound.

We stayed locked together, breathing hard. Sweat cooled on my back. His hand stroked slowly up and down my side.

After a minute he pulled out carefully. I felt the warm slide of him leaving me and the mess that followed. He rolled onto his side and pulled me against his chest, one heavy arm draped over my waist.

I thought that would be it.

It wasn’t.

Ten minutes later his hand started moving again, over my hip, between my legs, two fingers sliding through the wetness he had left inside me. I was still sensitive. It didn’t matter. I pushed back against his hand, and he kissed the back of my neck while he fingered me open again.

When he was hard, he lifted my leg and slid back into me from behind, slower this time but just as deep. We fucked like that for a long time, lazy, filthy, and unhurried until the pleasure built again and I came quietly with his fingers on my clit and his cock buried inside me.

We didn’t stop for long.

Sometime after midnight he put me on top of him. I sank down onto his cock and rode him while he watched me with dark, hungry eyes. His hands stayed on my hips, guiding but not controlling. I braced my palms on his chest and took him as deep as I could, grinding down every time I bottomed out. He sat up halfway and sucked one of my nipples into his mouth while I fucked him. The dual sensation made me moan so loud I would have been embarrassed if I still had room left for embarrassment.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Take what you need p>

I did. I used him until my thighs shook and I came again, clenching around him so hard he groaned and flipped us without pulling out. Then he fucked me properly, hard, deep, relentless, until he came with his face buried in my neck and my name in his mouth.

We slept in short, exhausted stretches and woke each other up again. Sometimes it was slow. Sometimes it was desperate. Once he held my wrists above my head and fucked me so deep I forgot how to breathe. Another time I pushed him onto his back and took him into my mouth until his thighs tensed and he had to pull me off so he could finish inside me instead.

By the time the sky started lightening outside the window, we were both wrecked. Sticky. Marked. Sore in places I had forgotten could feel that good.

Noah pulled me against him one last time, my back to his chest, his arm heavy around my waist. His mouth brushed the back of my shoulder.

“Still want to try?” he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep and everything we had done.

I stared at the faint light coming through the curtains. My body ached in the best way. My mind was quieter than it had been in weeks.

“Yes,” I said.

His arm tightened.

We didn’t talk after that. There was nothing left that needed saying. The roses were still downstairs. The dishes were still in the rack. The separate rooms we had been carefully maintaining felt like a joke now.

I closed my eyes and let myself fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and the solid heat of him behind me.

For the first time since we signed the marriage certificate, the house didn’t feel empty.

The doorbell rang just after eleven.

I was in the kitchen rinsing the last of the breakfast plates, still wearing one of Noah’s shirts because it was the first thing I had grabbed that morning. My hair was loose. No makeup. The kind of ordinary domestic mess that still felt new enough to be fragile. I dried my hands on a towel and went to answer it without thinking twice.

Elliot stood on the other side of the door.

He looked exactly the same as the last time I had seen him—expensive suit, cold eyes, that half-smile that never reached anywhere real. He took one look at me in Noah’s shirt, and the smirk deepened.

He walked past me into the house like he owned the floor under his feet.

“So,” he said, glancing around the entryway, “you are fucking this reject p>

My stomach dropped. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The words sat somewhere behind my teeth, stuck.

Noah came out of the hallway before I could find an answer. He must have heard the doorbell too. He stopped dead when he saw his father standing in the middle of our living room.

“You don’t get to call my wife that.” Noah’s voice was low. He pointed a finger straight at Elliot. “Not in this house. Not ever p>

Elliot’s eyebrows rose like he was watching something mildly entertaining.

“You talk back at me because of this cheap slut I asked you to marry p>

The word landed like a slap on its own. Cheap. Slut. He said it the way someone might comment on the weather. I felt heat rush up my neck and into my face. My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I still couldn’t speak. Every insult I had ever swallowed in the last two years seemed to rise up at once and choke me silent.

Noah took a step forward.

“You might have asked me to marry her,” he said, “but she is my wife now. State the reason for your visit p>

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