Depraved (The Devil's Duet Book 1)

by Eva Charles

  “Sir,” he says, his chest still heaving. "That’s too damn funny. No, don’t call me sir. I can’t imagine that word ever rolling off your tongue in a way that would arouse anyone.”

  “How about master?” I play along, hoping to keep the sullen look from reappearing.

  He shakes his head, grinning. “Just call me Julian."

  The room stills eerily before it quakes. Just call me Julian. I cling to my fork. His is suspended midair. My heart beats so hard, I can hear it in my ears. He didn’t mean to say it. The word slipped out when he was—being Julian.

  “Julian,” I repeat softly. “You want me to call you Julian.”

  His hand still holds the fork, frozen, inches above the plate.

  “Look at me,” I demand softly. He turns his head. Everything is happening in slow motion. At least that’s how it’s registering inside my brain. There’s something in his face. Something I can’t read and don’t understand.

  “Julian,” I say again. “I’ll call you Julian.”

  JD—Julian nods once. “Only if you want to. During sex. Like you used to.” His voice is low and rough. His eyes blazing, so hot, I look away before the fire consumes me.

  He begins to eat again, and I shove a small piece of meat into my mouth, too. Chewing and chewing, hoping the repetitive motion will calm me. That it will distract from all the craziness of tonight.

  My mind begins to churn again. Our arrangement doesn’t need to include sex. I can have control over that part. I speak only when I’ve fully formed the idea, and have organized the feelings into meaningful sentences. It’s imperative that I make my case strongly without hesitancy.

  “I want to change the parameters of our arrangement. We sort of did earlier. But I want it to be clear.”

  “I’m listening.” His voice is firm, and I’m sure he is listening, but will he hear me? Will he acquiesce? He won’t have a choice.

  “I’ll play along with your little game, since it’s so important to you. I’ll o . . .o—”

  “Obey? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

  I glare at him. “I’ll do as you ask regarding the things that involve my safety, and in exchange, when it’s over, you will tell me everything I want to know. I mean everything, JD. And your access to my body is no longer part of the agreement.”

  “I can live with that. I’ll miss tormenting your gorgeous little body, but I can live without the sex.”

  I adjust my bottom on the stool. “I never said there’d be no sex. Only that it wasn’t part of the arrangement.”

  He shifts toward me, his breath tickling my ear. “I never intended to give up the sex. I was playing you. Your body is mine. Always has been.”

  I pull back, and raise a brow at him. “I’m teasing,” he says. He doesn’t even try to make it sound sincere.

  “No, you’re not.”

  JD smirks, that knowing, crooked little smirk that makes women’s panties wet. “How’s the steak?” he asks. “Did they cook it enough for you?”

  “Perfectly cooked meat is not getting you out of trouble, JD. The steak’s delicious, but the onion rings are addictive.” I snatch one off his plate, and he pinches my side, playfully. “Next time, I’m ordering a double batch all for myself.” Next time. Will there be a next time? Who knows? The words reverberate in my head, until his voice stills them.

  “Before we got on the subject of contracts and safe words,” he nudges me with his elbow, “I planned on talking to you about birth control. Are you using anything?”

  Ahhh, we’re back to the nitty gritty. “I’m on the pill.” He nods. “And Dean and I always used condoms.”

  “I guess you really didn’t want to get pregnant.”

  Condoms and the pill, Gabrielle—you knew he was cheating, even if you won’t admit it. You’re always lying to yourself when it comes to men. And you’re doing it again, now. “I want babies,” I say defensively. “It just wasn’t the right time.”

  “Or the right man.” He’s arrogant and smug. So smug. And the worst part is, he’s right.

  JD drops the last onion ring on my plate and gets up, sauntering over to a column of drawers at the edge of the room. He pulls out a manila envelope from the top drawer and slides it across the stone countertop to me. The return address is a doctor’s office downtown. “I’m clean,” he announces, leaning over the counter.

  I nod. I suppose this is the place where I lay out my lab results. “I haven’t been tested since my last appointment, six months ago. And even then, not for everything. I was in a monogamous relationship. At least I—”

  JD touches a finger to my mouth to quiet me. I bite down on the pad. It’s unexpected, and his eyes are molten. “I’ll take my chances. But you really should take a look at what’s in the envelope.”

  He watches me undo the clasp and pull out the papers. My eyes glaze over the small print. This is important to JD, that much is clear. It’s an offering of sorts. A small gift. His way of reassuring me that I can trust him. The funny thing about all of it is that I would have taken his word about being clean. It’s not the kind of thing he would ever lie about. I would be surprised if that’s changed, although there have been so many lies now, who knows anymore?

  In many ways, I still understand him so well. His moody eyes, his quirky habits, every ragged breath. My brain interprets the signals as though no time has passed. But in other ways, we’re still addressing birth control and HIV status.

  Once the appropriate amount of time passes, I slip the paperwork back inside. He studies me carefully. “Any questions?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  His brow crinkles. “Ask me.”

  “I can’t believe how much you weigh. Where do you put it all?”

  The crease at his forehead eases, and he lunges at me. “I’ll show you.”

  I push him away, both hands on his solid chest. “I’ve seen it. It’s not that big.” He tickles me until I’m laughing uncontrollably.

  “I missed that laugh.”

  “Hmmm.” I don’t want to ruminate about the past. Not now. I want more of the light fun. More smiles and tickles. “Now that we got all of the sexy foreplay out of the way, can I have a cookie?”

  He shakes his head and grins. “The only reason you’re not getting a spanking right now, is because I’ve always loved your sassiness. Still do.” His nose touches mine. “It makes the surrender so much sweeter.”

  He pulls something from his back pocket, and lets it brush against my arm. It’s soft. I look down. There’s a long silky tie of some kind in his hand. A blindfold.

  “Let’s play a little game,” he murmurs, moving behind me and securing the fabric around my eyes. When he’s done, he pulls my hair aside, and touches his warm lips to the nape of my neck. I shiver.

  “What kind of game?” My voice is breathy. I’m nervous. And excited. As much as I always loved gazing at JD during sex, as arousing and satisfying as it was to watch him wrestle with control—I always loved being blindfolded, too. It meant sensory play. I hope that’s what it means now, too. My pussy is throbbing just imagining it.

  “Can you see?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “We’re going to play a guessing game,” he whispers near my ear. I shudder. Now that my sight is gone, the tingling of his warm breath on my skin is magnified.

  I hear paper crinkling and sense something under my nose. Lime. And maybe coconut. “What is it?”

  “That’s what you’re going to tell me. I have a half-dozen cookies and you’re going to use your mouth and nose to guess what kind.”

  “What happens if I guess wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Oh. I’m a little disappointed, until he nuzzles my throat. “I’m warming you up for a different kind of guessing game. Tonight is all about pleasure.”

  I squeeze my legs together, and a small moan escapes. I can’t see a thing but I know he’s smirking.

  JD slides a thin cookie along the seam of my mouth, much like a lover
would use his tongue. “Open.” I part my lips slightly. “Wider. That’s it. Now take a bite.”

  I do everything he asks, and let the small morsel sit on my tongue before I begin to chew.

  “What kind of cookie is it?”

  “Coconut and lime. It’s a buttery shortbread. I think.”

  “Good girl.” He lifts a glass to my mouth. “It’s just water. Take a sip. Easy.”

  I swallow the water, and feel another cookie near my lips. “This one won’t be so easy to guess,” he says.

  I chew the cookie carefully, focusing on the taste. It reminds me of caramelized sugar. But I’m not sure. “Can I have one more bite?”

  He puts the cookie to my lips again, but this time I feel him near my face—it’s not just his fingers. At least I think it’s not. I lift my hand to check, but he grabs it gently and lowers it, securing both my hands in my lap.

  My breathing quickens. The throb between my legs is stronger. I open my mouth and bite down. The crisp cookie crumbles, and pieces fall onto my lap. I feel his breath on my mouth, his lips nearly touching mine. He’s feeding me with his mouth. Letting me nibble the treat from his lips, like a little bird.

  We repeat the sensual exercise again, and again, until I’ve guessed five different cookies. JD is patient and reassuring. Stroking my skin gently. Letting me feed from him. Rewarding me with unexpected kisses at every opportunity. Every kiss is its own heated event, making me wetter, needier.

  “We’re done with this,” he murmurs, sliding his warm hands under my shirt, and unhooking my bra. He palms my breasts, thumbs circling the hard nipples, until he can’t resist giving them a small, sharp pinch.

  “Ahhhhh.” The pleasure mounts, and I can’t sit still for a second longer—but I can’t see to move. “I thought there were six cookies?”

  He pinches the furled nipples again, twisting until I cry out. Then he laves them with his tongue until I’m gasping for air, begging for more. “Julian,” I plead. But he won’t be rushed. And when I squeeze my legs together for a little friction, he pushes them apart with a tsk tsk.

  “Do you really want the last cookie?” he asks, his hot breath on my neck. I shake my head. “I didn’t think so.” As soon as I answer, he scoops me off the stool in one easy motion.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere you won’t fall off a stool and end up in the emergency room.”

  “But where?”

  “No more questions.”

  It’s dark, and I’m not accustomed to being carried. Breathe, Gabrielle. Breathe. He lays me on what I’m quite sure is a mattress, and I quickly feel it dip beside me. His hands are on me, undressing me with impatient tugs and pulls. His mouth is everywhere.

  Smooth lips.

  Wet tongue.

  Sharp teeth.

  I writhe against the bed, the cool air waltzing over my burning skin. It’s been so long since I felt this way—since he made me feel this way. He’s the only one who has ever had this effect on me.

  “You’re mine,” he says, grazing the sensitive skin on my inner thigh.

  When I’m naked, he takes hold of my wrist. “I’m cuffing you to the bed.” Before I process any of it, I hear a snap, and my left wrist is encased in something wide and soft, like velvet. Within seconds, my ankles are shackled too, my legs spread wide, completely open to him, the charged air teasing my needy cunt. I pull on the restraints to test them. I’ve been bound before, but it feels new and scary—just a little scary. You don’t need to be afraid. He won’t hurt you. You like being tied. Remember?

  I do.

  Erotic images from the stable flood my mind. We didn’t have a bed, but Julian would tie my hands to a post, or sometimes behind my back, while he ate me from behind, or fucked me until my legs shook.

  My pulse is racing out of control.

  “I didn’t bind you tightly. There’s some slack for you to tug on.” His fingers skirt between my ribs, down below my navel. The sensations ripple outward, and I arch off the mattress in response.

  “We won’t keep the blindfold on too much longer. Too soon for blinding and binding,” he tells me. “Too long since we last played like this. But you’ll need to be bound for what I have planned.”

  I whimper in anticipation, and his lips are on mine, quieting me. “Shhhh. Just relax until I’m ready for you. It won’t be too long.” And then he’s gone.

  Relax? He doesn’t want me to relax. He wants me to lay here and wonder what he’s doing. Wonder when he’ll touch me. Wonder if he’s still in the room. Time moves slowly for those who wait, the adage goes. Yes, it does. And as the time ticks away, I begin to work myself into a nervous frenzy, until an inexplicable terror builds and stakes a hold in my chest. I can’t breathe. “JD. JD!” I scream. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

  The mattress shifts, and a sure hand strokes me, while the other unties the blindfold. “Shhh. Gabrielle. It’s okay. I’m right here. I would never leave you alone tied to the bed. Not even for a minute. It’s too dangerous, darlin’.”

  I manage to regain some sense of composure from his soothing. I can feel my breathing steady. I open my eyes, and blink. Once. Twice. His shirt is off, and I see the ink on his chest, and more peeking along his left hip. It appears to be a serpent of some kind, that snakes deep into his jeans.

  They’re new. New since he was nineteen. I want to run my fingers over them, trace the contours, ask him what they each mean. But my hands are bound.

  “I’m going over to the dresser. You’ll be able to see me the entire time.”

  I nod. It’s such a relief to have the blindfold off—it was too soon to have so much control stripped away.

  My eyes track him across the room. He opens the top drawer, and after a few minutes, he comes back with a deep tray, laying it beside me on the bed. I turn my head to peek inside, but I can’t make out what’s inside.

  “Remember how much you liked sensation play?”

  “Yes.” Oh God, yes, I remember. I remember all the little tools—the feathers and puffs. The sharp wheels and the velvet ribbons. Smooth and bristly. Soft and hard. Hot and cold.

  “Me too.” He smirks. “I’m going to groom you tonight, brush and comb every inch of your skin until it’s rosy and glowing. Work out every knot and tangle until you’re purring.”

  I feel the rush of pleasure between my legs, and close my eyes to ride the wave.

  “You were straining to see what’s on the tray. Open your eyes and I’ll show you the brushes. Would you like to see them?”

  I open my eyes, and nod. Yes, I want to see them—and feel them, too. My toes curl imagining the sweet torment.

  He lifts each instrument, each toy, one at a time, so I can take a good look, then skims it over my breasts. The powder puff is first. It looks like something a pampered woman might use to spread scented talc over her skin. It’s fluffy, with gauzy layers, like a billowy cloud skimming the sky on a spring day. Julian brushes it over my right breast. “Mmmm.”

  “It’s made of silk,” he says. “Soft, isn’t it?

  I nod, but I’m not fooled. It’s soft now, but soon, even the softest puff will be too much. He lets the silken fibers float over my pebbled nipple, once, twice, and again. It’s more sensitive than the breast itself, and I moan.

  “Oh, Gabrielle. Baby. It’s going to be harder for me to stay in control than it is for you.”

  He takes each implement from the tray, alternating rough and smooth, a hairbrush with natural boar bristles, a feather duster without the stick, a comb with spiny teeth, and a synthetic pastry brush with a long, wooden handle. When he slaps my breasts with the floppy silicone bristles, they sing.

  “Are you wet, Gabrielle?”

  I avert my eyes modestly. “Yes.” Yes, I’m wet because each time he touches my skin with the brushes and feathers, I feel the sensation rip through my core, as though all my nerve endings share a direct connection that ends there, between my legs.

  “This is the last thing
,” he says, displaying what looks to be an artist’s brush. It’s round and about a half inch thick. I know there’s something special about it, because he saved it for last.

  He twirls the brush directly over my nipple. It’s sinister and delicious, just like I knew it would be, and my cunt is pulsing with need.

  “I’m not going to blindfold you, but I want you to close your eyes and feel. Just feel.”

  And I do.

  I shutter my eyes as he begins the sensuous assault. He starts with the comb, raking the thorny tines over my scalp and cheeks, moving methodically down my throat, lingering on each breast, before sliding it over my belly, and across my freshly waxed mound. I writhe and pull on the restraints, my mind blank to everything but sensation. He combs lower and lower still, down the sensitive skin between my thighs, to the soles of my feet—no splash of skin is spared. I don’t think I can withstand too much more—but it’s only the beginning.

  “Which brush am I using?” he asks each time he picks up a new one. My eyes are closed, and after only a short while, my skin is screaming, and I can’t distinguish one from the other.

  He eventually has mercy, adjusting the cuffs and flipping me onto my stomach, where he starts with a fresh canvas. The brushes, his mouth, my flesh. “Julian,” I plead, rubbing my body against the sheets. They feel cool and coarse, and I moan and shiver as the sensations swirl into my skin, delving deeper and deeper below the surface.

  “This will be cold,” he warns, as an icy liquid drips onto the small of my back, pooling in the concave. He dips his fingers into the slippery liquid, dragging it through my slit, to the back entrance, pressing his fingertip against the puckered hole. And like before, there’s pressure. So much pressure.

  “It’s just lube,” he assures me. “Lots and lots of lube, darlin’.” His voice is low and reassuring, as his fingers slip into my pussy. I moan and squirm at the welcome intrusion, all while another finger, one that seems longer and thicker works its way into the pleated bud. The sensation is unfamiliar. My body is confused, and I start to flail as soon as he breaches the first ring of muscle. “Push out. That’s it. Let me in.” He strums my clit and I began to relax, while his finger works its way inside my ass.