“I should go.”
Claire froze, her mouth open. She stepped closer to Delilah, twisting her fingers together. “Yeah, I guess you probably should.”
Except neither of them moved, and Delilah didn’t know what to say. Sex had never made things so . . . awkward before. And she sure as hell had never been a secret. Attached women occasionally came on to her in bars, one too many glasses of Chablis running through their veins, but Delilah had a strict policy that she never slept with anyone else’s monogamous partner. She knew what it was like to be on the other end of that raw deal, and no orgasm was worth inflicting that kind of pain.
That overwhelming feeling of not being enough.
She rubbed her forehead, that same feeling—from all her years in Wisteria House and again from Jax—creeping up on her now. How the fuck had this happened?
“You can stay for a few more hours if you want,” Claire said. “Get some sleep.”
“But be gone by first light, right?” Delilah looked up at her, a bitter smile on her mouth.
“Delilah. That’s not fair.”
“No, I guess it’s not.”
“I’m careful about who I bring around Ruby, that’s all. The last person I dated, she never even met Ruby. Not once. And I dated her for over a month.”
“But I’m already around her.”
“Not like this.” Claire motioned to Delilah’s topless state, the bed in disarray. “Not like someone who means—” She cut herself off and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her voice was quiet, low. “Again, why do you care? This is just sex, isn’t it?”
Delilah frowned at her. She’d never told Claire it was just sex. She’d never hinted that she was only looking for a hookup, even though she absolutely was. It couldn’t be more than that. They lived three thousand miles away from each other, she had the Whitney and her art, and hell if Delilah was ever going to put herself in the position again to be heartbroken by a woman who wasn’t over her ex. She didn’t know what Josh meant to Claire, but he had to mean something. He was the father of her kid. He was hot. And he’d always be in her life.
“Yeah,” Delilah said, standing and starting for the door. “It is.”
Claire blocked her path. “Okay, then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Something is. I can tell.”
“You can’t tell shit, Claire. You don’t know anything about me. You want to stuff me in a closet—”
“A closet? What?”
“—and oh, I assume I’ve got to keep all this sex a secret from Astrid, right? Wouldn’t want to upset Princess Perfect. Now, if you’d kindly move, I need to get my shirt and go back to my floral hell of a hotel room.”
Claire didn’t budge. In fact, she seemed to dig in, brow furrowing as she reached out and grabbed Delilah’s arms.
“Hey. Stop for a second, okay? Just slow down.”
Delilah chewed on her bottom lip, but she stopped. Her chest was tight, and pressure built behind her eyes, like they needed to release something. God, she hadn’t felt like this in so long, like she was shrinking, like everyone around her was more important than she was. She was just tired. Exhausted and tired and, okay, maybe a little overwhelmed by the fact that she may have just had the greatest sex of her life. One didn’t just walk away from the greatest sex of one’s life.
“I don’t want you to go,” Claire said. “Okay?”
“Why not?”
Claire’s eyes searched hers. She searched back.
“Because I need this,” Claire finally said, sliding her hands down Delilah’s arms to tangle with her fingers. “And it was . . . fun.”
Delilah smirked.
“And I get that you’re into casual,” Claire went on. “That’s fine with me. Totally fine. After Astrid’s wedding, you’ll go back to New York and I’ll stay here and that’ll be that. But we’re here now. And I . . . well . . . I want to see you again.”
“You want to fuck me again, you mean,” Delilah said, but she was smiling. This she knew. This she understood. She’d had lovers she’d seen for multiple days, even weeks, before one of them broke it off for some amiable and practical reason.
Pink spilled into Claire’s cheeks. “Okay, fine. Yes. Don’t you?”
“Want to fuck me?”
“Delilah.”
She laughed, then moved their entwined hands around Claire’s waist, pulling the other woman closer. When their mouths touched, she whispered, “Yes. I want to fuck you again.”