CHAPTER 5 : The Confession

==Delilah==

He didn't stop me.

His silence was permission. Invitation. Surrender.

I pressed another kiss to his palm. Then the inside of his wrist. His pulse hammered against my lips.

"Delilah." My name came out strangled. "I need to tell you something."

"Tell me."

"I don't. I haven't." He swallowed hard. "I'm not good at this."

"At what?"

"This. All of this. Flirting. Whatever we're doing."

I lowered our joined hands but didn't let go. "You seem pretty good at it to me."

"That's because you're doing most of the work."

"Is that a complaint?"

"No. It's a confession."

Something in his voice made me pause. Look up at him properly.

His face was flushed. Jaw tight. Eyes dark with want and something else.

Fear.

"What are you trying to tell me?" I asked gently.

"I don't do this," he said. "I don't meet women at lectures and follow them to balconies and. I'm not. I've never been good at reading signals or knowing what to say or."

"Elliot." I squeezed his hand. "Breathe."

He did. A long, shaky inhale.

"I'm not experienced," he said finally. "At any of this."

"Any of what?"

"Dating. Flirting. Physical intimacy."

My heart kicked. "Define not experienced."

"I mean I'm thirty years old and I've never. I haven't." Another breath. "I'm a virgin."

Silence.

The word hung between us.

Virgin.

Dr. Elliot Hayes. Brilliant physicist. Gorgeous man who'd verbally sparred with me like a champion. Who'd looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever studied.

Virgin.

I should probably say something.

But my brain had short circuited. And my body was having a very different reaction than my brain.

Heat flooded through me. Sudden. Intense.

My thighs clenched.

Oh god.

I was turned on. More turned on than I'd been in years.

Because he was a virgin.

What did that say about me?

"I understand if that changes things," Elliot said quietly. He started to pull his hand away. "I shouldn't have. This was a mistake."

"Don't." I held on. "Don't pull away."

"But I just told you I'm completely inexperienced and you've gone quiet and I can see you processing and."

"I'm processing," I admitted. "But not the way you think."

"Then what way?"

I stepped closer. Close enough that our bodies almost touched.

"I'm processing," I said slowly, "how incredibly attractive I find that."

His eyes widened. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You're. You're attracted to the fact that I'm a virgin?"

"I'm attracted to your honesty. Your vulnerability. The fact that you just confessed something terrifying because you didn't want to mislead me."

"But surely you'd prefer someone who actually knows what they're doing."

"Would I?" I reached up. Traced my fingers along his jaw. He shivered. "Someone who's already decided they know everything? Who doesn't ask questions or pay attention because they think technique is universal?"

"That's. That's the argument from your lecture."

"Because it's true." My hand slid to the back of his neck. "I'd rather be with someone curious than someone overconfident."

"Even if they have no idea what they're doing?"

"Especially then."

His breathing had gone ragged. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" I leaned in. Close enough that my lips almost brushed his throat. "You said you thought about me tonight. After the lecture."

"Yes."

"Did you touch yourself?"

"Delilah."

"Did you?"

"Yes." Barely a whisper.

"What did you imagine?"

"I. I can't."

"Tell me." My lips grazed his pulse point. He made a sound. "What did you imagine I would do to you?"

"Everything," he breathed. "I imagined you teaching me. Showing me. Being patient and thorough and. God."

I kissed his throat. Soft. Deliberate.

He groaned.

"Like that?" I murmured against his skin.

"Yes."

I kissed higher. Just below his ear.

"And this?"

"Yes."

His hands came to my waist. Tentative. Like he wasn't sure he was allowed.

I pressed closer. Encouraging.

"You can touch me," I said.

"I don't know how."

"However feels right."

His fingers tightened on my waist. Not pulling me closer. Just holding on. Like I was an anchor.

I kissed along his jaw. Learned the taste of his skin. Salt and something uniquely him.

"Delilah." My name was ragged. Desperate. "What are we doing?"

"What do you want to be doing?"

"I don't know. Everything. Nothing that might make you stop."

I pulled back enough to look at him. His pupils were blown. Lips parted. Chest rising and falling rapidly.

Beautiful.

"I should tell you something," I said.

"What?"

"I'm wet."

He blinked. "What?"

"Right now. From this. From you." I watched his face. "From knowing you've never done this before and trusting me enough to tell me."

"That turns you on?" He sounded genuinely baffled.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it means you're a clean slate. No bad habits. No assumptions. No ego telling you that you already know everything."

"I know nothing."

"You know more than you think." I traced his bottom lip with my thumb. "You asked good questions. Challenged me. Made me think. That's more than most experienced men manage."

"That's just talking."

"Talking is half of good sex."

"And the other half?"

"Paying attention. Which you're clearly good at."

His hands slid around to my lower back. Still tentative but gaining confidence.

"I want to pay attention to you," he said quietly.

"You are."

"No. I mean. Really pay attention. Learn you. Figure out what makes you respond."

Heat pooled between my thighs. I was soaked. Actually soaked.

This was insane.

"That's. That's a very appealing offer."

"Is it?" He searched my face. "You're not just being nice?"

"Do I seem like someone who's just being nice?"

"No. You seem like someone who's very wet."

The bluntness shocked a laugh out of me. "Did you just?"

"You said it first."

"I did."

"So is it true?"

I took his hand. The one I'd been holding. Brought it to my hip.

"Want to find out?"

His breath stopped.

"I can't just. We're on a balcony."

"There's no one here."

"Someone could come out."

"Then we'll stop."

"Delilah."

"Tell me you don't want to touch me and I'll stop."

Silence.

His hand trembled against my hip.

"I want to touch you," he admitted. "I've wanted to touch you since the moment I saw you. But I don't know how. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Then let me teach you."

The words came out before I could think them through.

But I meant them.

God, I meant them.

"Teach me," he repeated slowly.

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"As much as you want to learn."

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

"I want to learn everything," he said. "I want you to teach me how to touch you. How to kiss you. How to make you come. I want to know what you like and what you need and how to give it to you."

My core clenched. Hard.

I was going to come just from his words.

"Elliot."

"I'm serious." His grip on my back tightened. "I know I'm inexperienced. I know I'll probably be terrible at first. But I'm a fast learner. And I'll pay attention. I promise I'll pay attention to everything."

"I believe you."

"So will you? Teach me?"

This was crazy. Completely insane.

I didn't do this. I didn't proposition strangers. I had boundaries. Professional standards.

But when I looked at him, none of that mattered.

"Do you understand what you're asking?" I said.

"Yes."

"You're asking me to take you home. To show you how to touch me. How to please me."

"Yes."

"You're asking me to be your first."

"Yes." No hesitation. "Teach me how to touch you. How to make you lose control."