by Eva Charles
The possibility consumes me as I yank the nightshirt over my head like a madwoman, and step into the shower. The drive of arousal propels me forward, and I don’t stop until I’m under the spray, inches from him.
His sure hands slide into my hair, splaying flat against my scalp while his mouth ravages mine, until we’re both gasping for air. “You were spying on me. In my own house.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think you are,” he drawls.
It’s a warning, and anyone with good sense would run.
I tip my head back and stare into his hooded eyes. “Punish me.” It’s a simple, yet potent invitation, each syllable enunciated carefully. Not a dare or a challenge, but a plea, and it’s rewarded with a low growl.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he demands, the words raspy through the rushing water. “If I grabbed my belt and welted your ass?”
“Yes,” I say without a moment’s hesitation, or a drop of shame.
His cock jumps against my belly, prodding for an entry point. “You do need to learn a lesson.”
“I do.”
He steps away and presses some buttons inside an enclosed case. A glass door descends from the ceiling and seals the shower entrance. The main waterfall stops, and jets emerge from the stone, filling the cave with warm steam and a woodsy scent, like a lush forest after a good rain.
Gray stalks toward me, backing me into the wall. His eyes are wild, and I’m exhilarated by the primal energy filling the enclosure. I want him. I want the rough edges, and all the unyielding demands he’ll make on my body. I want it all.
“Keep your hands on the stone,” he commands, lifting my arms over my head and guiding them to the spot where he wants them to remain.
Before I can form a coherent thought, his mouth is on mine. He’s ruthless and unapologetic as his tongue explores freely, leaving lingering traces of costly bourbon behind.
Every nerve ending is dancing on the surface, and even the warm droplets of water prickle when they land on my sensitive skin.
Gray palms my breasts without a whiff of gentleness. And his impatient cock nudges my flesh, as though it’s already waited much too long. There’s no pretense between us, only unfiltered lust.
I’m on overload. The steam has taken over the cave, with gurgling bursts fanning the stone. It’s as though we’ve ventured into the canopy of an Amazon jungle, deep in the rain forest, enveloped by dense fog.
I need to touch him. But when I lower my arms, he captures them in one swoop and pins them securely above my head. “Please,” I beg. I don’t know what I want, or what I need. My senses are intoxicated and there’s no clarity to be found.
I feel the brush of his fingers against my pussy, confirming what he already knows. “You’re soaked, Delilah. You need it bad, don’t you?” I nod, and he slides his cock across my wet flesh, again and again, rubbing the thick crown over the swollen nub. My legs quiver with each swipe. It’s merciless—too much, yet not enough.
“You want me to fuck you?” he murmurs near my ear.
“Yes.” I whimper.
“That’s why you came into the shower, isn’t it? Even after I told you no.”
“Yes.”
He turns me around, and pulls my hips well away from the stone. “Keep your hands flat on the wall to buttress yourself. This is going to be hard. Harder than you can imagine,” he adds in a whisper, running his tongue along my spine. “I don’t want your beautiful body scraped by the stone. Although a scrape or two might teach you a lasting lesson.”
I want that lesson. God forgive me, but I want it.
He holds me steady, and notches at the opening of my cunt, pausing briefly before pushing inside. It’s a long, brutal slide, and I groan at the invasion, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he ruts harder, and deeper, biting my neck and shoulders. He’s marking you, a voice inside me cautions. But I’m so close, I don’t give a damn.
Gray’s panting, and bucking erratically. He’s close too, with his cock hot and hard inside me, nudging me closer to the edge, then wrenching me back.
I’m struggling to keep my face away from the stone, while I chase my own orgasm. It coils tighter and tighter with each thrust. Just as I give in to a few scratches for the pleasure, I hear the roar of his release.
His body trembles against mine as he ruthlessly pounds out every drop of seed. It takes all my energy to brace myself so that I’m not ground into the unforgiving stone.
After a final brutal thrust, he pulls out and lets go of my hips. I reach to drag him back as the semen runs down my inner thigh. For a split-second I panic. I’m on birth control. I decided no condoms. I put it on the form.
I’m so unsteady without him, that I almost collapse, limp on the floor.
“You still need to come, Delilah, don’t you?” He’s towering over me. His upper lip curls cruelly. “How bad do you need it?”
Enough to beg as much as necessary. “Please,” I plead, not grasping that his words are merely a taunt. But when he walks away, it hits me. “That’s it?” I pant. “It was just for you?”
He presses a few buttons and the steam begins to dissipate before the door slowly rises. His back is to me. He doesn’t have the courage, or even the minimal respect, to face me. “You can use your fingers to get off, or hump anything in the room that suits you. Next time when I say no sex, you’ll listen. Consider it merciful that I’m not binding you to the bed with your legs spread so that you’ll have nothing but an ache to keep you company tonight. When I say no, that’s what I mean.”
Some people are fueled by anger. It ignites a fuse that launches them into action. I’m one of those people. But here and now, naked and spurned, that fury has a heightened dimension. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see fire coming out of my mouth as I fight to breathe.
I pull myself up straight, with my back supported by the wall. My insides are shaking, but I will not be silenced by this arrogant sonofabitch. “I might be forced to my knees before this is all over,” I shout from the safety of the shower wall, “but I will never kneel for you. I will never go to that calm head space that kneeling provides. I will never get on my knees as a sign of respect for you. Yes, I might kneel, but it will be nothing more than a charade.” My heart is beating so hard, I’m certain he would see it if he bothered to turn around. But he’s done with me.
The door continues its maddeningly slow ascension. It’s such a contrast from the energy ricocheting inside me.
“If you think the voices inside your head are important to me, then you’re a foolish little girl,” he says over one shoulder, without turning his head enough to glance at me. “I don’t care about your intent. And I don’t give a damn if you respect me, as long as your throat can handle my cock.”
He ducks under the door, and I pause to catch my breath. By the time I get to the bedroom, he’s gone.
17
Gray
Damn woman. We haven’t even officially started preparing for the mission, and I’m already regretting reading her in. I knew the risk, but I was confident I could put firm boundaries in place.
So much for that.
The sun’s peeking over the horizon, as I grind fresh coffee beans, trying not to make too much noise. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean she shouldn’t. Although, after the meltdown last night, I doubt she slept much either.
Sex wasn’t supposed to be on the table—not yet. I took it off so it wouldn’t weigh on her—so that she could relax for a couple of days without the elephant in the room. The problem is, whenever we’re together, the goddamn elephant’s always in the room, trumpeting loudly in shiny, bright colors neither of us can ignore.
No more excuses. I fucked up last night. Big time. Plain and simple.
I hear her on the stairs, and before I can figure out what to say to her, she’s in the kitchen, dressed for a run. “Good morning,” I say cautiously. It seems like a reasonable place to start.
“Mornin’. I thought yo
u’d be out by now—jumpin’ in the waves or whatever it is you like to do.”
“I decided to run this morning. I waited for you.”
“I run alone,” she tosses over her shoulder on the way out the door.
“Not today.” I’m not giving her a chance to work this out alone with a punishing run. She can pound the ground, but I’ll be alongside her.
“Don’t expect chitchat,” she huffs.
It’s impossible to explain the effect her spurious contempt and sass have on me. It’s not how I normally interact with women. I don’t even like it—unless it’s from her. Unless it’s her smart mouth telling me to go fuck myself, in that Mississippi drawl that I feel deep in my balls every time I hear it.
We hit the sand at the same time. “You didn’t expect there to be consequences when you interrupted my shower? Even after I had made it clear there would be no sex.”
“I expected—”
“Me to slap your ass and give you a nice big orgasm. Is that how it worked in your relationship with Kyle?” Douchebag move. The very second I say it, I regret it.
“The relationship I had with my husband is out of bounds. It’s a hard limit. So if you need me to stroke your ego and tell you how much better you are than any other lover I’ve ever had, or that your dick is bigger, then you’ll be disappointed. Because it would be a lie—and even if it weren’t, I would never sully any past relationship with the likes of you.”
Just because I deserve being notched a few pegs below an abusive asshole doesn’t make it sting less.
Delilah lengthens her stride and takes off ahead of me. I let her go, staying just a few steps behind. She pushes harder and harder as we run up the beach. I’m in excellent shape, but I’m struggling to keep pace. This needs to end. Now.
I pick up my stride and grab her arm, forcing her to stop.
“Let go of me,” she cries, trying to shake her arm free.
But I don’t let go. “If you want to finish the run, you need to talk to me first. Say what’s on your mind. Go ahead.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“That’s a start. Now tell me why.”
“There aren’t enough hours left in my lifetime for me to fully answer that.”
I squeeze her arm tighter. “You have a voice. You’ll always have a voice with me.”
“Like last night, you mean? Or this morning when I told you I run alone?”
“I said you have a voice. I didn’t say you’ll always get what you want. I need to hear your words,” I say softly. “I care about how you feel. And if you don’t talk to me, it will be hard to meet your needs.”
She lowers her eyes, and some of the pent-up energy dissipates. I drop her arm, but not before rubbing the spot where I clutched it.
“I’m confused, Gray. I like the waters clear. It’s how I work best. This—between us—it’s murky. I don’t navigate murky very well.”
“I can navigate for both of us, but you need to let me.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I fucked up last night. I should have sent you back to bed when you came into the shower. That’s what you needed—what the moment required—consistent, firm boundaries that we could both respect.” She gazes up at me. The anger is mostly gone but the pain from last night is all over her face. “But I wanted you. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I acted without self-control or discipline.”
As much as I want to look away, I force myself to stare into her sad face. To memorize every furrow and line. To commit the lifeless color in her eyes to memory. I want the vulnerability that’s surrounding her to be tattooed on my brain. All of it. So that the next time I’m tempted to be reckless, it’ll all come flooding back. “I should have never let it happen.”
She regards me quietly, her chest rising and falling. I expect her to say something. I want her to say something. But instead, she reaches for my hand, squeezes my fingers in a quick, easy move, and takes off running down the beach.
“I suppose that’s how rich boys from Charleston apologize,” she calls over her shoulder. “Apology accepted.” The last part is carried by the wind, but it reaches me. Her grace is not lost on me either.
She’s much too quick to forgive an asshole. But I’ll take the peace…while it lasts.
When we get back to the house, I hand Delilah a water and pour some coffee. I keep half an eye on her while I scroll through a barrage of messages.
While these moments seem insignificant, the routine interactions are vitally important. It’s the way a trained eye will assess our relationship. Even strangers can play kissy games. It’s the other stuff, the small stuff, that’s the real test of whether a relationship is authentic or bullshit. That’s why we’re spending the next two weeks together, day and night. It should be enough time for us to fall into a comfortable rhythm.
After Delilah finishes her water, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out the cobbler we didn’t eat last night. “I’m going to warm this. Do you want some?”
I shake my head. “I’m all set.” She spoons a generous portion into a glass bowl and shoves it into the microwave. Chef Renaud at Wildflower would have a heart attack if he knew she was microwaving his precious cobbler. “You’re really going to have that for breakfast? There’s yogurt, eggs, and some fresh fruit.”
“I like something sweet in the morning. I usually have a Pop-Tart.”
“A Pop-Tart?”
“Yeah. You know, the toaster pastries.”
“The breakfast of champions.”
She whacks me on the arm playfully. “Don’t be a snob. We can’t all enjoy foie gras on toast points. Not enough ducks and geese in the world for that.” She grimaces, sticking out her tongue. “I like strawberry Pop-Tarts with icing and rainbow sugar crystals. If I’m going to stay at your place, you better put it on the shopping list.”
Delilah takes the ice cream out of the freezer and puts a scoop on the warm cobbler. She glances my way and catches me watching her.
“You want a taste, don’t you?” she teases, taking a bite. “Oh. My. God. This is so good.”
I’m sure it’s tasty, but mainly she’s putting on a show for my benefit. “You have the eating habits of a teenage boy.”
“I get a ton of exercise. Besides, if I would rather eat cobbler and tacos than have a flat stomach, that’s none of your damn business. I didn’t hear you complaining about my body when you were using it last night.” She turns toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.”
“No food upstairs.”
“What?”
“No food upstairs, here, or in the bedroom at Wildflower. It’s a non-negotiable rule. Finish your dessert. I’ll shower first and leave you to enjoy some quiet time, unless you want to join me.”
She stares at me, not as though she’s contemplating the shower, but like she wants to smash the cobbler in my face but doesn’t want to waste any of it. “I’m good. But you go, and take care of yourself, darlin’.” Her voice has more sugar in it than her breakfast. She flashes me a sweet little smile before taking another bite.
I should just go upstairs, but she needs to hear this before we get back to the city. “That voice I said that you have, it’s to be used privately. Say what you want when we’re alone, but if you question me publicly, especially while we’re in Amidane, or undermine me with your sarcasm, or in any other way, you won’t like the consequences.”
Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t say anything. Although it’s apparent from her expression that the small truce we forged on the beach is on shaky ground. It was fragile, anyway.
“There’s one more briefing book for you to study before we leave. I’ll leave it on the porch.” I know she’s pissed, but my job isn’t to make her happy. My job is to get her mission ready. To give her the tools she needs to be successful. Happiness will follow.
18
Delilah
When we arrived at the apartment, Gray
went directly downstairs to the club after instructing me to order dinner and make myself at home.
He sent me up a slice of cheesecake, but once it was gone, I was still alone.
It’s after midnight when he comes upstairs. I’m already in my pajamas, rereading the section of the briefing book on Princess Saher, and wondering how I’m going to make nice with her.
I’m well-trained, but I’ve had little practice with this kind of mission. Sure, I can subdue a suspect and force them to talk. I have all sorts of tried-and-true methods for that. And I’m not afraid to maim or kill. Archbishop Darden can attest to that from the fires of Hell. But I left the CIA with little field experience in high-stakes spy games. Maybe because I’m exhausted, but right now the possibility of an Amadi princess befriending me seems highly unlikely.
“Sorry,” Gray says somewhat sheepishly, when he comes into the living room. “I hadn’t planned on being so late tonight. Did you eat?”
“I did. And I would be asleep right now, but I wasn’t sure if it was okay to get comfy in the room at the end of the hall. I didn’t want to break any non-negotiable rules.”
“You’ll sleep in my bed—our bed, for now. We need to get comfortable with the sleeping arrangements.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “But we can start tomorrow if that suits you better.”
Honestly, I’m not sure anymore what suits me. Sleeping in the same bed with Gray, especially if touching is off the table, is likely to be as comfortable as sleeping at the edge of the swamp after a rainstorm. But he has a point about getting accustomed to one another.
It’s not like he’s asking you to storm the beaches of Normandy. That’s Smith’s favorite saying to silence a whiner. I wonder how he’s doing? I miss him. Miss the whole team, but especially Smith. I was on top of my game with them, rarely second-guessed myself. Not like this. But that’s precisely why I’m here—to stretch and challenge myself in new ways.
“We’ll likely be assigned separate bedrooms in the palace,” Gray adds, “but there will be an expectation that we’ll share a bed, at least for some portion of the night. They’ll make it easy for us, but we need to be discreet.”
