by Eva Charles
I tighten my grip on the railing as I watch the sailboats bob in the distance. It’s my job to set her up for success. If she fails, she’ll blame herself. Instead of moving her forward, I’ll have dragged her back. That can’t happen. End of story.
While she’s showering, I call housekeeping to come up in forty-five minutes, text Mel to come by at 7:30 tomorrow instead of 5:30—Delilah’s going to need the time—and phone my sister-in-law Gabby, who I’ve known and loved my entire life.
“Hey.”
“Gray! How are you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you. I think a long lunch, just you and me, is in order.”
“I’m glad to hear you want to see me, because I was hoping JD, Chase, and I could have supper at your house this time?”
“Why? You expect the smell of catfish will still be stinkin’ up your place?”
I laugh. Gabby isn’t a busybody, but she’s never had any problem sticking her nose into my private life, and since Christmas when I showed up at Sweetgrass with Delilah, she’s been relentless. “I expect the smell to hang around for a bit, but that’s not why I’m asking. Although I guess you’ve heard that Delilah and I are trying each other on for size.”
“News travels fast around these parts. But I’m annoyed I had to hear it from Lally. I wouldn’t have expected you to say a peep, but Delilah and I are good friends.”
I had some misgivings about this conversation. Specifically about how much to share with Gabby, but this settles it. I don’t want her all over Delilah. It’s one thing to take the relationship out for a test drive at my brother’s, but it’s another to have Gabby adding to Delilah’s anxiety—even if she means well.
“I was hoping you and Delilah would join us for dinner.”
“Really?” Gabby hesitates. “Must be something pretty special if you’re letting us crash your boys’ night. Have some news you want to share with the family?”
She’s fishing, and I ignore it. “Delilah and I are taking a trip. The relationship’s new. We haven’t tried it out with company yet. The trip is a little out of her comfort zone. I was hoping maybe we could practice on you and my brothers.”
“You were hoping? What about Delilah?”
Gabby doesn’t let anything slide. She’s tough. I guess she has to be to handle my brother as artfully as she does. “Delilah knows I want to bring her to a family supper. But she’s—I bought her a few things to wear on the trip—she’s not comfortable with that idea. It makes her feel cheap.” This still bothers me a lot. It just does. “I’m going to encourage her to wear her new clothes to your house, but it would be helpful if you didn’t make a big fuss.”
“Delilah has a lot of pride. I can see how she’d hate you buying her things. It took me a long time to get comfortable spending JD’s money, and I’d been around it forever. I’ll think about how I can help make it easier for her.” Gabby’s fully on board. “I’m so glad Smith’s giving her some time off. She needs it. Where you going?”
“Visit the Amadi royal family.”
She whistles. “That’s out of anyone’s comfort zone. I can’t believe you’re friends with that guy—the Prince of Assholes. I’ll never understand it.”
When she says it, I cringe. I want to tell her that the prince and I aren’t really friends. But of course, I don’t. “Some relationships are hard to understand from the outside. Take you and JD, for example.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” She chuckles. “I would love to host supper. It makes me so happy that you guys get together every week. Your mother would be ecstatic.”
It’s true. Julia Wilder would be beside herself if she knew her sons looked out for one another—always—and broke bread once a week. We usually meet at the club on Monday nights when it’s quiet.
Gabby’s prattling on about something, but since I wasn’t really paying attention, I can’t respond. “Can I bring something?”
“Only if you want to insult Lally.”
“I’d like to live to see another day.”
“I’ve waited a long time for you two to come to your senses,” she says. “You’re perfect for each other.”
I scoff in response to her happily-ever-after talk. But a lifetime with Delilah doesn’t sound anywhere near as bad as I make it out to be.
After we say good-bye, I think about going inside to pour a bourbon, but decide against it. Tonight is going to be tough on Delilah, and I want to have the presence of mind to know when to stop, and how to support her when it’s over. Whiskey will only make those things more difficult.
The door opens, and I glance up at the gorgeous woman in the doorway. Delilah has on a white sleeveless dress with a zipper all the way down the front that I’m going to enjoy taking off. I’m sure she knew that when she chose it. She’s wearing casual sandals, and not a lick of makeup. Her hair is in a loose braid. She looks like a college kid.
My stomach rebels at the thought of what I have planned.
“You told me to be quick, so I didn’t bother getting fancy.”
I move slowly toward the doorway. “You don’t need to be fancy tonight. And for the record, I like you best when you’re dressed just the way you are right now. Although naked is my hands-down favorite.”
As her smile lights up the porch, it sends the guilt worming its way back into my conscience. We’ve come a long way in a short time. In large part because Delilah is open to doing whatever the mission requires.
I bring her hand to my mouth and put a small kiss on her inner palm. “The scene tonight will be challenging—for both of us. Will you follow my lead?”
Her thick lashes flutter on her cheeks, as she averts her eyes. “Yes.” She nods. “I’ll follow wherever you lead.”
The sincerity in her voice is alone remarkable. But when she lowers herself to her knees in a posture that is unequivocally submissive, her trust shakes me to the core. This might be her surrender, but she captured my soul as she quietly offered me her submission.
I know the precious gift is only for now. Delilah will expect me to earn it every day, as she damn well should. But she owns me. I can try to convince myself otherwise, but there’s no going back from here—not for me.
26
Delilah
The elevator ride to the lower level is quiet. Gray stands behind me, his arms wrapped tightly around my torso, his chin resting on my head. He doesn’t say a word, but he’s preoccupied and tense, and his sullen mood begins to make me wonder if kneeling for him was a mistake.
He’s not a man who would take the gesture lightly. He knows what it means, especially coming from me. Maybe it was more than he bargained for tonight. Brooding with dessert on the horizon is not at all like him.
When it comes to sex, whether in a scene or not, Gray’s fully present and in charge. Always. He doesn’t share the power, nor does he apologize for the way he wields it. This elevator ride would normally be a prelude, the beginning of a long, seductive tease. But it’s not, and the change in him has me unsettled.
The elevator door pings open, and Gray takes my hand and leads me down the grand hall. We pass rooms with plaques affixed to the doors, each one hinting at the fantasy inside. I remember all of it from Christmas. The only thing missing are the boughs of fragrant pine and spruce draping the doorways, and the gilded pinecones scattered on the elaborate consoles stationed up and down the wide hall.
The room we enter has no plaque. It’s a spacious suite, with a bathroom and a place for aftercare beyond, I’m sure. It’s done in rich golds and purples that complement the dark wood floor, and lush fabrics that remind me of the Sultan’s Palace, where we played on Christmas. There have been many memories since, but that night will always hold a special place for me, because it was our first time.
A luminous incense lightly perfumes the room—it’s luxurious and exotic, mixed with sweet orange and maybe vanilla. Not elixirs for religious ritual, but oils to anoint the body and awaken the senses.
Gray brushes my arm as he passes. His stride is
assured, and the stress I sensed earlier is gone. This is his domain. Whatever was weighing on his mind earlier, he must have left at the door.
I look around the room and begin to relax.
Gray observes quietly from several feet away, letting me soak up the ambiance with all its possibilities. The room is ripe for pleasure. Beckoning and cajoling us to add our bliss to the carnal screams of others, swirled into the plastered walls. It’s tantalizing foreplay, and he’s enjoying it as much as I am.
I smile shyly at him. His eyes flare, but he keeps his distance, letting me explore the Tantra chair on a raised platform in the center of the room. It doesn’t have the fragility of the antique at the beach, or the practical simplicity of the one in the apartment that he fucked me on last night. No, this is larger, sturdier, with rings disguised as an adornment, hanging from the carved edges at the bottom. The possibilities make my mouth water.
I glance from Gray to the purple velvet coverlet that is hiding something on the platform floor. It’s plush and decadent, meant for a king’s bedding, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find something similar at the palace. But there’s more. Something that I suspect is neither luxurious, nor soft.
“What’s your safe word?” Gray asks, approaching me.
“Red. Will you tell me more about the scene?” He always does. Not everything, but he hints at what I might expect from him, or what he expects of me.
“I’ll show you,” he says, leading me to the platform. We stand silently while he carefully pulls back the velvet topper to expose a long, mirrored tray filled with all sorts of delicious torments that excite me.
“I have jewels for you,” he murmurs, pointing to the nipple clamps and then to plugs adorned with purple stones. Nearby is a strand of amethyst glass beads, of varying sizes.
Anal beads. I shiver at the beautiful spheres and the pleasure they hold.
“We’re going to do a little rope play.” The rope is purple too—it looks to be of soft cotton. “Just some simple ties and knots that won’t take forever. Nothing elaborate. That’s not the objective tonight.”
“What is the objective?”
“Pleasure—ultimately, it’s always pleasure.”
Not the forthright answer I was hoping for. He’s illusive. I don’t believe for one second that he doesn’t know exactly where he’s taking me and how. He’s just not telling.
There is also a satin blindfold and a pair of headphones on the tray. Elaborate binding might be out, but sensory deprivation is clearly on the table.
I look up and smile coyly. Gray’s lips twitch at the corners, and his dark gaze scorches my skin until I look away.
My eye finds something unfamiliar. It looks like a wand with a glass end. Maybe a vibrator of some kind? Whatever the instrument is, there’s something about it that raises gooseflesh on my arms.
“What is this?” I ask, my fingertips cautiously grazing the object.
“It’s a violet wand.”
I stiffen. It might not look familiar, but I’ve read about it.
“For electric play,” he adds. “It’s special.”
For whom? Surely not for me. “I—”
He places his hand gently on my arm. “Just some light play. You’ll be highly aware of the sensations—but it won’t be painful. The wand won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
I love a good lightning storm. But electricity makes me nervous.
I’m not afraid of pain, but I don’t want to be electrocuted, especially in a sex club. Wouldn’t that be a fitting ending for my life? Jesus.
Gray reaches for the zipper on my dress and hooks a finger through the ring before beginning a long, slow, downward tug. His eyes never leave mine. “What’s your safe word?” he asks again.
I trust him, but I’m not ready to consent to electric play. “Red,” I say clearly, “but it won’t help if I’m being electrocuted.”
He stops, dropping his finger from the zipper, and takes the wand off the tray. “Let me see your arm.”
Like a trusting fool, I place my wrist in his hand. He touches the wand to my forearm, and I jump, not because it hurts—it doesn’t—but because the sensation comes as surprise. We both laugh—me out of nerves, and Gray because he knows I’m going to like the wand.
He zaps me again, on my upper arm. The purple sparks and rods that light up inside the glass ball are quite beautiful. The next time, the tingle is stronger but not at all unpleasant.
“I won’t turn the current up any more than that,” he assures me. “But on your nipples, and your wet pussy, where the skin is more sensitive, the zings will pack a more powerful punch.”
The anticipation of the pleasant sparks dancing on my skin is arousing. I nod, and feel the shift in my mind occur as the scene begins.
Gray turns me around, facing the brocade drapes that span the wall. They hang from a brass rod with polished finials, and pool gracefully on the wood floor. From the corner of my eye, I see him reach for something, and the curtain opens slowly to reveal a glass wall and a room filled with people—men—chatting in small groups. They’re seated in chairs set on risers, like at the theatre, so everyone can see the stage. There must be fifty or sixty men—maybe more.
My breathing is labored, and I feel lightheaded and weak as panic threatens. For the first time since I’ve been with Gray, I consider using my safe word.
Before I decide, Gray twirls me around to face him, hooking a thumb under my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes. My brain is still trying to make sense of the room behind me, but it’s slogging, struggling more than it should—maybe it doesn’t want to know what he has planned. Maybe it’s too much to bear.
“You have an audience tonight,” he says calmly. “Dozens and dozens of eyes on your luscious body. Probing and judging, but mostly enjoying you, helplessly bound, a servant to my cock.”
I’m beginning to sweat, and I’m sure he notices, but there are no reassurances to make me feel better.
“How long do you think it’ll take before they have their dicks in hand? Five minutes? Ten? Or will they wait until you’re writhing shamelessly, begging for release?”
He pulls the zipper on my dress lower and lower, until it falls open. I didn’t wear anything underneath—for him. But now—
Gray slides his fingers into my hair and kisses me. No, it’s not a kiss. It’s the demanding mark of ownership, and the unrepentant claim leaves me reeling. As I spiral, his words run through my mind on a continuous reel, not just those from tonight but from the last two weeks. You have an audience tonight. Dozens and dozens of eyes on your luscious body. Probing and judging… There’s surveillance everywhere in the palace. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’ll be on display, like an animal at the zoo. It can be unnerving, even for an experienced operative. I can’t protect you from that.
This is a test. A test to determine if I’m mission ready. If I can weather the storm or if I’ll fold when the first gust blows through. You can do this, Delilah. You can do this. I draw a breath and release it, and do it again. I will outrun my fear—my shame of being watched.
“Close your eyes,” Gray instructs, securing the blindfold. The darkness comes as a relief. But it’s a short-lived reprieve.
“These are noise-canceling headphones,” he explains matter-of-factly, as he fits them on my head. There’s not a smidgeon of judgment or sneer in his voice. “The room next door is mic’d.” He runs his tongue along my shoulder, biting when he reaches the tendon where it meets my neck. I tremble as he nips at my skin. “The sound will vary. I’ll set it to capture the ruckus of the entire room, and at other times I’ll turn on the individual areas, so you can hear the grunts of pleasure coming from your adoring audience. They’re going to love watching you, Blue Eyes.”
I push the bile down. This isn’t going to beat me. I won’t let it.
Gray’s voice disappears, and I hear murmurs and snickering. Someone laughs. Another comments on my ass, and yet another on my tits
. I’m not human to them.
The men are behind a wall, but it feels as though they’re here in this room, close enough to reach me—to touch me with their filthy hands. Although I know I’m physically safe, there is something terrifying about this—something bone-chilling.
He won’t let them hurt you. I repeat this over and over, but the men’s voices are deafening, drowning out any attempt to soothe myself. Being blindfolded only makes the catcalls seem louder, and more dangerous.
Gray’s voice cuts in as I feel something cool on my lips. “Open your mouth. They want to see you warm the plug, before I slide it in your ass. Good girl,” he murmurs, when I part my lips for him. The plug will feel more comfortable going in if it’s been warmed first. Normally it’s arousing to prepare, but today, there’s nothing but humiliation. The taunts and raucous laughter take away all the pleasure.
Gray’s mouth is on my nipple, coaxing it to a pointed peak, while his fingers tweak the other. “Ahhh.” He’s readying me for the clamps. I know it, but still, I gasp at the first pinch, and brace myself for the second bite.
He brushes some loose hair off my face. “You’re beautiful in purple. The color suits you. As do the jewels.” His voice is a welcome reprieve. When he speaks, the din from the other room falls silent, and it’s just us. “I need you to fold your body forward. Let it rest on the platform. I’ll help you.”
Unable to see, I move carefully, as he guides me to where he wants me.
“Just relax.”
I feel the lube collect in the hollow of my back, and Gray’s fingers work it between my cheeks and into the pleated hole. His touch feels good, but there’s a part of me that’s ashamed I feel pleasure in the middle of the spectacle.
“What a whore. She loves it,” a nasty voice jeers, and then others join the taunting. There’s more laughter as Gray takes the plug from my mouth and slides it into my most private place. I try to tune the noise out, but it’s a struggle.
