Delilah
After the interview. Be ready.
His message burned into my brain.
Two more days. Forty-eight hours.
I could survive forty-eight hours.
Except I was dying. Slowly. Aching for him constantly.
Work was torture. Every client session. Every lecture. All I could think about was him.
My phone buzzed during an afternoon session.
Elliot.
Thinking about you.
I shouldn't respond. Had a client sitting across from me.
But I did anyway. Under the desk. Discreet.
Thinking about you too.
What specifically?
Your hands. Your mouth. How you feel inside me.
Delilah. I'm in a faculty meeting.
Sorry.
Don't be sorry. Keep going.
Can't. Client session.
Tonight then. Call me.
Okay.
I put my phone away. Tried to focus.
Failed miserably.
That night. Nine PM. I called.
He answered immed
