Delilah's Tears

Chapter Four

Delilah

Being in love—total, all-consuming love—makes even the simple things in life come alive and shine brighter. A sunny day is more brilliant. Chocolate cake is richer. Holding hands makes your heart beat faster.

In the year John and I have been blissfully married, we've shared those extremes. Sure, not every single day or with every single experience, because that's unrealistic at best. Overall, though? Yeah, that we share a special connection, seeing how he looks at me as if the sun and moon rise and set with my every breath, experiencing an inexplicable rush of desire and deep passion when we're near each other, and missing it like a limb when we're apart—this is love at it's finest.

I'm a lucky girl. I haven't had to bear the flip side of that coin, thankfully. Oh, sure, John and I have our rows. There've been a few days where we didn't speak to each other except to grunt an angry yes or no until we were ready to set it aside and make up. Any couple who believes there won't be disagreements and arguments is living in a bigger fairy tale land than me. If arguing over which color to paint the living room or which restaurant to go to for dinner is our worst conflict, I definitely am a lucky girl.

All of this tumbles through my brain as I warm myself under the Maui sun. John reaches over from his lounge chair and takes hold of my hand, threading his fingers with mine.

"Hey, babe. Can I get you a drink?" He's rolled his toned, tan, rock-hard body to the side, propping his head up in his free hand, and smiling happily. Thank goodness he's finally de-stressed from that awful case. It took three days of our vacation to unknit the furrowed brow and eliminate the tension headaches which have plagued him nearly every day for the past month. My John is back.

"Sure. One of those rum punch things sounds pretty good right about now."

"Anything for the prettiest girl on this beach." His blue eyes graze over my bikini clad body. I can tell where his thoughts have roamed, and it's not to cocktails on the beach. A quick peek at the growing bulge in his board shorts confirms it. "Or, we can head up to the room where I can help you out of that extremely sexy bathing suit." He swings his legs to the ground as he sits up. The sun has bleached his blond hair a few shades lighter, setting off his golden tan. Honestly, the man in front of me could have been ripped out of magazine ad.

"How about grabbing the drinks and taking them up with us?" Teasing, I roll onto my side, which plumps my breasts in the strappy top. Desired effect accomplished. John squeezes his eyes shut and my hand, simultaneously.

"Delilah, that's the best idea you've had all day. C'mon, before my dick pokes a hole in these shorts." Standing, he grabs his towel and holds it in front of him, making me giggle. I hop up and throw my arms around him, popping a quick kiss on his lips. Then, I decide to be a little naughty and allow my hand to slide down his side and slip beneath the towel. Yep. My man's got a steel pylon in there. I run my palm firmly up and down the length and listen for the tell-tale moan he lets loose when I grip his hard-ons. "Jesus, babe. Don't do that here. Forget the damned drink. We're going upstairs. Now. Grab your stuff." I've earned a sharp smack on the butt for feeling him up, making me squeal and laugh at the same time. John's playfulness is one of the best things about him, outside his more than considerable bedroom talents, that is.

Scooping up our things, we race across the hot sand, impatient for the elevator to arrive and cart us up to the sixth floor. While we're waiting, John pulls me in close, kissing my shoulder, neck and jaw before taking a quick nip on my earlobe, which makes me shudder and draws out a rash of goosebumps. Fortunately the elevator door opens before he can stir things up any further. Unfortunately, as the door begins to shut, another couple slips in and joins us. We grin and say hi, but I can tell John had plans for the ride up which just got quashed. Instead, he rests his hand on my ass, getting in a firm grip of flesh. Bastard. He looks very proud of himself.