“I thought homes in the city were supposed to be small,” she says as she turns, taking my place in. I glance around, doing the same. The place is minimally decorated. My assistant had a decorator come in to do some work. She had dropped off some paperwork for me to sign one day and kept going on about how depressing and lonely my place looked. I knew she wouldn’t drop it anytime soon so I let her get someone in to do some basic decorating.
Charlotte said it was probably why I was always grumpy. She had the decorator do all of this work and yet the place still feels the same to me. If I am being honest, I haven’t paid attention to the changes that were made. In the blink of an eye that all changes once I see Delilah standing in my living room. She stands out from the gray walls and white furniture that no one even uses. Her red hair brings color into my life that I never even knew I needed, but now I couldn’t live without.
As if hearing my thoughts, she falls back onto the large sofa. Her hair is splayed along the cushion and the sofa looks like it’s gigantic with her tiny body stretched across it. I reach for the collar of my suit to pull off my tie, suddenly feeling like it’s getting tight around my neck. I’m on edge again thinking about her not liking it here. When I reach up I realize I have already taken my tie off and that maybe the tightness was me panicking a little. I see my suit coat on the edge of the sofa but I don’t remember taking that off either. I’m really starting to lose my shit. I’m so worked up that I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
“They are,” I tell her, dropping my hand and taking the chair across from her, wanting to watch her. My first thought is how red her hair looks against the sofa. My mind drifts to thoughts of her pussy. I wonder if she has the same color hair there or if she is bare. I want to see her legs spread with that red hair flowing down her breasts and her pussy open to me on that white sofa. Each time she moves or the light hits her hair I swear it looks a different color and, like her eyelashes, I have an odd fascination with looking at it. I itch to touch her. I dig my fingers into the arms of the chair that I planted myself in. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.
“This place is bigger than ours back home.” She sits up, that hair falling around her like a curtain.
“That’s because I’m more than rich and I like my space.”
Her mouth falls open and a look of mortification coats her face. I sit up straighter, wondering what it was that put that look there. The next words that come out of her mouth catch me off guard.
“You don’t talk about money,” she says in a hushed whisper. “It’s rude,” she adds with a scold to her voice. Her small button nose scrunches. Like she’s tasting something bad.
This is not the normal reaction you get from the women around here when you talk about how much money you have. I throw my head back and laugh, knowing I’ve never met a girl like Delilah. I have a feeling there isn’t another woman like her in this world. I am more than fucked because it’s clear she is one of a kind and I am all in.
5
Delilah
I have to fight a smile as his deep laughter rolls over my skin. I finally got my body under control and one laugh from him has it waking back up. His laugh is deep and rich. I get the feeling it isn’t something he does enough. I find that I want to make him laugh again almost as much as I want to be back sitting in his lap.
It didn’t take me long to get myself together once we arrived back at his place. It wasn’t hard when my Ma’s voice filled my ear the minute I walked in the door. Her concern acted like an ice cold bucket of water on whatever my body had going on. I knew she couldn’t wait to get me on the phone and say what she needed to say. I just listened to her concerns and assured her that I would be okay. Ma isn’t happy about me staying but she will get used to it.
I don’t think there is anyone that can get my kettle percolating more than my Ma. She just knows how to push all the right buttons either to make me mad or to hit my feels. She is an expert at both. I know moms aren’t supposed to be your best friend but most of the time she is mine. She and I can be thick as thieves until it comes to my safety or what she thinks is best for me. I know she always has my best interests at heart. I just need to start experiencing things for myself. I don’t want to live in a bubble and that’s what the trip out here to New York is about for me.