Behind the Veil

by Kathryn Nolan

  “What did your dads say?” I asked.

  “Well, they didn’t say I told you so, which made me love them even more. They were furious on my behalf and they let me cry a lot and stare out the window. After a few days of that, they put me to work.”

  Delilah actually smiled at that memory.

  “Tell me more,” I urged.

  “I was a tag-along ranger with them for two months,” she continued. “No running down criminals. No paperwork or bureaucracy. It was a simple job, but hard work. The kind that knocks you out at night so you sleep—makes it hard to lay awake thinking about the mistakes you’ve made.”

  “Ah,” I said, “that’s a very specific kind of insomnia I’m familiar with.”

  Delilah slid her fingers through my hair.

  “What work did you do with your dads?” I asked.

  “Checking in campers, cleaning up trails, filing licenses.” She tilted her head. “I saved a baby bear from a trash can.”

  “You didn’t,” I teased.

  “I did,” she promised. “It’s not uncommon. They get trapped in them all the time. The mama was up in the trees, watching us as I held the can and my dads shimmied her out.”

  “Did she bite you?”

  “Oh, no.” She grinned. “She was terrified. That day…” She trailed off for a second. “That day was a real turning point for me.”

  The fire crackled and roared, bathing us in a comforting heat.

  “The week I came back to Philadelphia, I allowed myself five minutes a day to read news about Mark, half-expecting it all to have blown over. It wasn’t. His next steps were painting the entire experience as his dedication to taking out the trash.”

  My jaw tightened with anger.

  “They promoted him after he rode the coattails of my dismissal. He’s been getting promoted ever since.” Delilah sat back so she could look at me. “I didn’t fight it, Henry, and I could have. I didn’t hire a lawyer. I didn’t call him a liar or find proof of our completely legitimate relationship. I was too stunned to attack. I just…” She held her palms out. “Sat there.”

  “You know what I did the night I discovered Bernard,” I said. “Sometimes our mind can’t leap to the right connections in the middle of our world tearing itself in two.”

  “That is true,” she murmured. “Although Freya was telling me about this case…”

  “What case?”

  “It’s nothing.” She shook her head. “Abe and Freya were pretty vital to this whole process too, as much as that day with the bear. When I was interviewing at Codex, I brought up Mark, put it all out there. I mean, any basic Google search would have told him, and I wanted my potential employer to hear my side of the story.” A smile ghosted over her lips. “I’ll always remember Abe telling me that he’d known Mark for years, they often showed up at the same political functions together when Abe was with the FBI.”

  I was already smiling. “What did he say?”

  “That anyone with half a brain could tell that man was a pathological liar.”

  My smile expanded—so did hers. “He said I didn’t have to explain myself at all. It’s why Abe and Freya, it’s why Codex has meant so much to me. When I first started at Codex, I was all fucked up. Doubting myself left and right. But with every case, I feel better. And tonight? Tonight it felt so good to be fucking right. It’s the best I’ve felt in a long, long time.”

  “Even with Abe being this angry?” I asked.

  She chewed her lip. “I know why he’s angry. And I do feel bad about that. You can probably already tell that Abe is the kind of boss who deserves loyalty and respect. But we made the right decision, Henry. No one can convince me otherwise.”

  I pressed our foreheads together until our breathing synced up: inhale, exhale. “I agree with you. And I want you to know how sorry I am that Mark used you like that.” The words felt paltry on my tongue, but her eyes softened and glowed with light.

  “It’s nice to feel like I’m not…broken, somehow.”

  “Nothing about you is broken, Delilah.” My voice was an urgent plea.

  She traced the outline of my cheeks, my jaw, with just her fingertips.

  “You know, I would stiletto Bernard in the face too if you wanted,” she said. “Free of charge.” She raised her fists to her face in a flash.

  “Slow down, Xena.” I kissed both hands. “Not necessary. Tonight made me believe for the first time in months that justice is coming his way. Maybe Mark’s too.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “And I can take Bernard.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and settled herself more firmly onto my lap. I squeezed her ankles, smoothed my hands up to her knees, over her thighs, beneath the sweatshirt. Gripped her slim hips.

  Her eyelids drooped as she leaned in to kiss me.

  “Delilah,” I said against her mouth, “you’re exhausted.”

  “I know,” she said, frustrated. “But you’re too sexy for your own good, newbie.”

  I stood straight up, holding her tight around my waist. “You should talk.” I nipped her jaw. “And we both need sleep.”

  When I’d wanted to take Delilah to bed, I hadn’t entirely pictured us actually going to bed. But after weeks of sleepless nights and the sudden evaporation of adrenaline from my bloodstream, I felt like a zombie. My warm, soft bed—with Delilah beneath the covers—was suddenly something I craved more than my next breath. I carried her up the stairs like that, and by the time I made it to my bedroom, she was already dozing softly against my neck.

  With control, I lowered her into my bed—like I expected, my body reacted strongly to the sight of her there, nestled between my covers. But all of it could wait until the morning.

  I reached behind me, pulled off my tee-shirt, and slipped beneath the covers. I wrapped myself around Delilah’s body and inhaled the scent of wildflowers in her hair.

  “We got the book back, Henry,” she said drowsily. “Not bad for your first job in the field, huh?”

  There was a long silence—and then we were both laughing again, delirious from lack of sleep and waning adrenaline.

  “Yeah,” I chuckled, kissing the back of her neck. “It was okay, I guess.”

  A warning beat a steady drum in the back of my mind—what are you going to do about all of this tomorrow?

  But it was drowned out by the comforting hum of city noise, the soft caress of covers, the perfect fit of Delilah’s body in mine.

  “We got the book back,” I repeated.

  46

  Delilah

  I woke up to a wall of solid muscle, to strong arms holding me like a cherished object as I slept.

  Henry.

  My eyelids fluttered open. The sun was rising over the skyline, shimmers of light beginning to invade Henry’s dark bedroom. I had no idea of the exact time and found I didn’t care. I’d slept so deeply last night my only memory was Henry pulling the covers around us both. The sleepy end of our conversation. And then nothing.

  Unburdening myself to him had brought me a relief I felt in my chest—a dancing lightness. I was used to feeling embarrassed—that awful shame—as I told the story. But I knew what Henry had experienced with Bernard, knew that he’d understand the way I’d been manipulated, blindly led from one mistake to the next. He wouldn’t judge me.

  And he didn’t.

  Instead, he fed me tea and massaged my feet and the words spilled from me easily. There was no fear in sharing a part of my past with this man I’d come to trust so fully. Only strength and a real acceptance; an understanding that I could only get better from here.

  In fact, the only feeling I could realistically tap into as my body awoke from its slumber was lust.

  Henry’s naked chest was at my back—I could feel the heat of his skin through the sweatshirt I wore. During the night, he’d kept the lower halves of our bodies a respectful distance apart. I shifted myself back six inches or so and was rewarded with his cock, p
ressed against my ass. A cock that was hard and thick, even at this early hour.

  I gripped the pillow and allowed myself to indulge in the memory of Henry fucking me like a wild animal on the floor of that limo; the way his cock had stretched and filled me so deliciously; the nerve endings that sprang to life beneath his skilled thrusts. Before I could stop, I gave a circular grind against his lap and moaned softly.

  My eyes popped open, afraid I’d woken him.

  And I had—because in the next second, Henry’s arm around my waist was tucking me snugly against him. His fingers sifted the hair from my ear as he kissed me.

  “Good morning, Warrior Princess,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”

  And then he thrust his cock between my ass cheeks. It was not a movement with sleepy, early-morning intentions. It had purpose.

  “Ye—yes,” I sighed. He did it again, holding my hips steady as he rolled against me. I pushed back shamelessly, and he scraped his teeth down my neck. “How about…how about…you?”

  “I was dreaming about you.”

  He continued to roll his hips as his palm slipped beneath the sweatshirt and traveled up my stomach. Henry cupped one of my breasts, and we both made a raw, guttural sound. My nipple pebbled against his skin; his thumb teased it, over and over.

  “What about?” I panted. I was working my ass against his cock as firmly as he was dry-fucking it—half my mouth pressed into the pillow.

  “Fucking you with my mouth.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Henry pinched my nipple lightly, and I almost tore the pillow in half.

  “In my dream, I ate your pussy for hours on end.” His cock was sliding in and out through my ass cheeks—and even separated by barriers of fabric, it was igniting sparks of pleasure everywhere. “I couldn’t get enough of your taste.”

  Henry stopped his ministrations, and I pleaded for him to continue. But he was only pausing to shove me onto my back. He sat back on his knees in front of me—nothing but sweatpants and the incredible outline of his cock through the thin material. His chest was lean muscle, stomach strong, brown skin and dark hair. His shoulders seemed even broader like this, arms roped with strength.

  “Take that off,” he commanded, eyes as predatory as I’d ever seen them.

  I did, even as my fingers trembled, then lay back against the warm, soft sheets in nothing but my underwear.

  Henry’s eyes closed for a second, like he was in physical pain. When they opened, his expression was primal, body vibrating. I could see the effort it was taking for him to restrain himself.

  I was getting off on it. I was getting off on the fact that I’d pushed this brilliant, respectful academic past his breaking point—that he was pure sexual need, and nothing else.

  “Delilah, are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I promised. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “If you give me this, I’ll take it all,” he said, voice low. “I’ll take everything.”

  I didn’t give a single fucking thought to our jobs, Codex, or anything past fucking this godlike man who sat in front me.

  I sat up, gripped his cock. Gave him a rough stroke that had him shuddering for breath. “Good,” I said, voice silky. “Because I want it all.”

  His palm landed on my chest. He shoved me back, prowled up my body with obvious focus. His mouth captured mine in a hot, hungry kiss that had me arching off the bed. His lips moved down my jaw, licked along my throat. Henry kissed the edges of my collarbone, worshipped the valley between my breasts. With a strangled sigh, he took the entirety of my breast in his mouth, and covered the other with his palm, rolling the nipple around and around. His tongue flattened, sucking and pulling as I gripped the back of his head and held him in place.

  The beginning of an orgasm was already fluttering deep inside of me—I could feel my internal walls clenching as Henry caressed and licked my nipples like we had all the time in the world. He tongued the swell of my breast, scraped his teeth along my ribcage.

  Then his teeth traveled to my other breast, tugging the nipple gently.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said, hips thrusting brutally. The pinch of pain and swirl of pleasure had me half out of my mind.

  “Do you like that, beautiful?” he murmured against my skin.

  “I fucking love it.”

  He responded with a harder bite, using his teeth with devious intent, alternating with cooling breaths and gentle laps of his tongue. He took long, hard pulls of the greedy peaks, again and again, and I was grinding myself against his cock mindlessly, driven by friction and his talented mouth.

  I caught him staring up at me as he fluttered his tongue against the tip, lapped at it.

  I wasn’t going to make it. Ten minutes in and Henry was destroying me. My moans were already bordering on a wail—it felt extra illicit not having to mute my obvious pleasure from security guards or bodyguards or limo drivers. Henry wasn’t quiet either—his deep, rough groans were sending goosebumps ricocheting up my spine.

  When he began shifting his mouth down my body, my hips went wild. Henry’s laugh was almost menacing—a dark tease. Wet, open-mouthed kisses moved down my stomach, my hips, my thighs. When he dragged my underwear down my legs, he growled so loudly he had to bite my inner thigh. Henry gripped my knees, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. He pushed them roughly to the bed, exposing me. Even Henry couldn’t seem to tease any longer—his head descended between my legs and he inhaled me like a man consumed with lust.

  Henry’s head was between my thighs.

  Every semi-coherent thought felt like it took three seconds to penetrate the rational part of my brain. And I’d been right. Having his focused intensity on my body evoked a deeply satisfying pleasure that seemed to only heighten by the minute. I felt deeply cherished by his thoughtful attention to my every desire.

  I also felt deeply debauched. A panting, hungry woman who’d do anything to get fucked.

  His rough palm scraped up my stomach until he reached my nipple, pinching it hard, a delicious cut of pain that had me arching again. His breath feathered over my clit in short bursts, then he rubbed just his lips, up and down. Mimicking the motion with his fingers at my nipple. I cupped my other breast, watched our hands working together to pinch and tweak as he caressed my clit with his closed mouth.

  Henry’s tongue landed on my clit.

  Light exploded across my vision. But I kept my eyes open, locked on his. He held my gaze, dipped his finger inside my pussy and lapped his tongue against my clit like it was a dish he wanted to slowly, sweetly lick clean.

  We were made for each other, primed to respond only to each other. Every time I neared the edge, he backed off, lightened his strokes. I’d never had a man stare so soulfully into my eyes as he licked me, never had a man beg me to come this way. But his tongue was a devil, never letting me get close, fluttering in light, intricate circles. I was a gasping, pleading mess of raw nerves—a writhing body, slick with sweat and arousal.

  A second finger hooked inside me, and I wailed Henry’s name. I needed more. More pressure, more tongue, more everything.

  I reached down and wrapped my fingers around the back of his head, stilling him. And dragged my pussy against his tongue, fucking his face for one shameless second.

  “You want harder, Delilah?” he said in that sinful voice.

  I rotated my hips again, sliding his tongue up the length of my folds. Henry groaned and sat back on his knees and lifted the entire lower half of my body clear off the bed. My legs wrapped around his shoulders, arms thrown back over my head—and I was fucking floating. Floating through a sea of sensations that kept climbing…climbing…climbing. I was outright screaming now as he lashed my clit with deliberate movements, thrust his fingers with brutal efficiency. My eyes filled with tears, my core tightened, my pussy clenched and clenched and then…

  Euphoria.

  I soared somewhere I’d never been before—a place I never wanted to leave. Henry’s talented, focus
ed ministrations took me to a blinding climax that sent tears streaking down my cheeks.

  And instead of letting me down gently, he curled his tongue against my clit and ignited a second orgasm that electrified my senses. It took me ages to come back into my body; ages before Henry lowered me down softly; ages before I realized Henry was holding me to his chest and stroking my hair.

  I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with such a satisfying blend of carnal hunger and tenderness. I beamed up at him like a lovesick fool.

  “You’re beautiful when you come,” he whispered.

  I responded by sliding my hands up the hard ridges of his stomach. Dragged my tongue up the center of his body and his breathing hitched. Between my legs, his cock was hard as steel. When I reached his nipple, I flattened my tongue, and he fisted his fingers in my hair.

  “I want you to feel what I just felt,” I murmured.

  Henry had a lean, beautiful musculature that looked carved, sculpted—like a statue in the museums he loved to study. I flipped him over, snagged the waistband of his sweatpants between my teeth, and pulled them all the way down. His cock jutted up and out like the filthiest dream. My mouth watered, fingers moving up his thighs. My tongue landed at the base, and I licked it all the way up.

  His fingers tightened in my hair, yanking my mouth back before I could suck.

  “Delilah.” He was up on his elbows, abs flexing.

  “Yes, Henry?” I teased, hand gliding up his shaft. So silky, so smooth, so big.

  “Your mouth…it’s too…too fucking good.”

  Henry Finch was coming undone, and it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Just a taste,” I pleaded. “Just one.”

  I swirled my tongue at the tip, and his hips flexed off the bed, took him between my lips and lowered them as far as I could. Henry let out a strangled, desperate groan that had another orgasm calling my name from the sounds alone, the masculine taste of him, his fingers in my hair. He was out of control, head back, chanting, “Delilah.” The syllables had never sounded so filthy and depraved. I let Henry fuck my mouth, let him use my wet tongue the way he needed. My movements grew more frantic, pace frenzied—the closer he crept toward climax, the closer I got to my own.