by Eva Charles
“Let’s get you on the lounge,” he says gently, helping me stand. “There are three steps to the top.” He wraps his arm around my waist so that I don’t fall.
I count the steps in my head, trying to block out the noise from the other room, and reminding myself over and over that this is a test.
But it’s impossible to silence the ugly chatter from the next room or the one happening inside my head. I’m fully on display, like a sex slave being sold at auction. That’s how he wants you to feel.
Gray secures my wrists and attaches the rope to something above my head. There’s enough play so I can move my arms as they rest on the platform, but not enough to escape my fate. You have a safe word. That’s your escape. He will respect it. He will. But I’m not safing out. I will not let a bunch of faceless, nameless freaks beat me.
With little effort, he has me in a loose frogtie, with my thighs spread open. “Pound the whore,” someone calls as Gray’s fingers dip into me. My walls embrace him. It’s not a conscious act, just a reaction.
“You’re wet, Delilah,” he murmurs, and then his sensuous purr is gone, replaced by the vulgar taunts and whistles.
Hours seem to pass while I wait with only the mocking from the other room.
My mind eventually wanders to the beach house, where there was so much peace and serenity. I focus on the majestic views, and soon the crash of the waves drowns out the impatient catcalls from the other room and I feel myself relax. Just a bit—until the first jolt of electricity hits my naked flesh. My body jerks from the exquisite tingling, and for a short moment, I relish it. But then the crass shouts come flooding back—a stark reminder that we’re not alone.
Gray plays on my skin, rousing the nerves in a way that makes my core clench. It feels amazing, but I try not to move, and just focus on staying quiet. I don’t want to add to the pleasure for those bastards in the other room. But when Gray pulls off the clamps, I wince and whimper. And the men cheer.
He soothes each nipple with his tongue, until the sting is nearly gone. I’m still catching my breath when the glass ball grazes my nipple. “Ahhh!” His warm mouth wasn’t to ease the ache. It was meant to prepare the nipple for the wand.
I’m in an inky cave. There’s nothing but black—not even a shadow to guide me as I wait for the next jolt. Will it be to my thigh? My nipple? My belly? The uncertainty adds a heightened awareness that is unsettling and delectable at the same time.
The wand touches my almost bare mound, and I arch my back and squirm. I can’t stay still any longer, and the sounds from the other room dim as the pleasure increases. There’s no pain, just thrilling charges that skitter through my body.
Before the bliss subsides, the current licks my clit. The first wave has all the excitement of a sparkler, with its beautiful glow. But there is a reason children are taught to hold the sparkler away from their bodies. The second wave comes with the power of a thunderbolt. I jerk and bounce off the platform. Not in pain, but with a heavenly sensation I’ve never felt before. It’s almost too much. But he does it again. And again.
My body absorbs every bit of the hedonistic indulgence, writhing and pulling at my bindings as I thrash. All I see and hear, all I feel, is my own pleasure. There’s nothing else.
I feel Gray’s soothing hands pet my prickly skin. “Give me a color,” he murmurs through the headphones.
“Green.” My voice is hoarse, but the word is clear, and not a second passes before Gray’s hot mouth is on my cunt. Licking and lapping, tracing circles with a pointed tongue, finding my clit hiding under the hood. He sucks gently, coaxing it out.
I whimper. “Please.”
The voices are loud again. “Slut. Whore. Fuck her in the ass until she screams.” They’re indistinguishable.
“They want to see you come, Delilah,” Gray drawls. “You want that too, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for my response before his tongue is back on my pussy, his mouth and hands plucking the screaming orgasm from me, as I twist beneath him.
“Good girl,” he soothes in a gentle, reassuring tone.
I can’t stop whimpering. It’s an incoherent babble, dwarfing all other sounds.
Gray unties my legs and massages them with strong fingers. It feels so good that I don’t want him to stop. But he turns me over and hoists my hips, adjusting my body on the chair until I’m on my knees, draped over the highest curve. My ass is exposed. But I don’t give a damn who sees me.
“I need this,” he says, gently removing the plug. “I have something better for you.”
The anal beads. The climax will be earth-shattering. I picture the amethyst beads, the long strand, with the glass globes graduating in size. How many will he push into me?
The crowd erupts each time he forces a bead inside. But it’s a muffled blur. Nothing more than scratchy background music. I barely hear them.
“I’m going to fuck you, Blue Eyes. And they’re going to watch while I own your pussy.”
Gray pushes his cock into me. It feels enormous, and I groan at the tight fit. But he doesn’t stop. He moves in and out, teasing my clit, unhurried, while I loll in a dreamy state. Higher and higher he drags me, and as I approach the peak he begins to pull out the beads one at a time.
I gasp and shudder as he removes the balls slowly, deliberately, each small pop nudging me higher. I’m lost, struggling for breath.
His cock and my cunt. There’s nothing else when he pinches my clit, yanking out the final beads while I clamp down around him, screaming my release.
He doesn’t slow, and I tremble while he ruts deeply. He’s close. I want the headphones off. I want to hear the roar of his release. I twist my head to dislodge the damn things, but it’s too late. I don’t hear his pleasure.
But I feel it. I feel him empty himself inside me, and I squeeze my walls, milking each precious drop.
He presses his lips to my spine. Resting his forehead there for a moment.
It’s quiet. I must have knocked off the headphones.
Gray eases out of me, and the semen begins to find its way out. He pulls me onto his body, nestling us into the welcoming slope of the chair. “Are you okay?” he asks, caressing me gently.
I nod. “Yes.”
He pulls the velvet coverlet from the platform and lays it over us, taking great pains to make sure that every inch of my skin is covered. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes.” I don’t have the energy for anything more. I close my eyes, and the voices return. I’m not sure if they’re real or if they just live in my head now—maybe forever. I clutch him tighter as the anxiety starts to burrow its way in again. “Are they still watching?”
Gray is quiet for a moment, before his lips graze my head. “They were never watching.”
I’m not sure I understand what he means. I lift my head off his chest, and slowly turn toward the curtain. It’s dark. There’s nothing there. I don’t understand. I saw them. The show’s over. Maybe they left.
“It was a trick,” he says cautiously.
“A trick?” No. I saw them with my own eyes.
“I blindfolded you to help with the deception. Once the initial shock wore off, you’d figure out there was no one there. It was basically a high-tech hologram.”
“But the voices?”
“A recording.”
My body that had been so relaxed is now on edge. The limp muscle is rigid and I’m not sure what to think.
“You’ll be watched constantly at the palace. We’ll be watched having sex. I didn’t want your first experience with exhibitionism to be while you were jet-lagged, in unfamiliar surroundings. I want you to feel prepared when you’re there. To be confident, that even if you’re experiencing something that feels dreadful, you can get through it.”
It’s not an apology. But I hear the remorse in the clinical words. Somewhere inside me, buried under layers of exhaustion and confusion, I know this game we’re playing is hard for him too. But I can’t find any empathy right now.
I�
��m emotionally overwhelmed, and I need an escape, so I allow myself to be dragged over a jagged path toward sleep. My brain has had enough. “I need to sleep. Just for a few minutes.”
“Close your eyes,” he says with a tinge of regret in his voice. “Sleep as long as you need to. I won’t leave you.”
I passed the test. I did it. It doesn’t matter that they weren’t there. I believed they were, and I pushed through and drowned them out. The realization swamps me, and I cry out softly.
“You’re safe with me, Blue Eyes—always.” Gray rubs small circles on my back. “I promise.”
27
Delilah
We leave for Amidane the day after tomorrow. It’s been almost three weeks since the beach. It feels like a lifetime on a merry-go-round. Days poring over briefing material, picking Mira’s brain about tiny details that might help me befriend the princess. How I’ll actually pull it off is still a bit of a mystery.
I’ve also had countless meetings with Trippi and with Baz, Gray’s new driver, and Gray himself. Then there’s yoga with Mel, hours at the range with Gray, and the white-hot nights we spend sealing the relationship. Neither of us will have trouble convincing anyone that part is real. It is real.
Although it doesn’t mean that what we’ve rekindled will last beyond the mission. I try not to kid myself too much, but late at night when I’m falling asleep with his body wrapped around mine, it hurts to imagine that it won’t be long before I’ll be lying in my own bed, alone.
I glance across the seat at Gray, who’s banging away on his laptop. Baz is driving us to Sweetgrass so Gray can work a little longer. I offered to drive, but that earned me a snicker and a hell no.
Baz has been on the job since Gray assigned Trippi to my protection. That was a knockout, drag-out fight that I clearly didn’t win. Like Trippi, Baz is a former SEAL, and though they’re often behind the wheel, that’s not their primary skill.
“What’s eating you, Blue Eyes?” he asks, reaching over to pinch my thigh.
“Nothing a cocktail can’t cure.”
He smiles and is back to business without another word.
I stare out the car window as we cross the Battery. The ocean is like glass, but the heat and humidity have kept the early evening walkers and runners away. I ran along these sidewalks every morning less than a month ago. Rain or shine. I miss the early morning run, but I’m beginning to learn that spreading my wings is not a bad thing. Plus, I love Mel. I’ll miss him when it’s over.
The sun is shining, but a small bolt of heat lightning flashes in the distance. It reminds me of the brilliantly evil violet wand. I squirm, remembering the pleasing jolts. That was some prep work.
Much to Gray’s surprise, I quickly put that evening behind me. There was no malice on his part—none—and that made it easy to compartmentalize. I simply stuffed it in the box marked training and closed the lid.
I never shared all my concerns about being watched during sex. But somehow Gray knew it was weighing on me. Thanks to his efforts, I made it through the experience without falling apart, and whatever I encounter in Amadi will be easier because of it.
But tonight is the biggest test. My biggest test.
I’ve been a bundle of nerves since Gray suggested supper at Gabby and JD’s house. Gabby is my closest friend, and there are few secrets between us. “It’s a good test,” he coaxed when I took refuge inside my head. “Gabby will know immediately if something doesn’t smell right. And she won’t hesitate to mention it to either of us. If we can fool my brothers and Gabby, especially Gabby, we can fool anyone.”
He’s right, of course. But I don’t want to fool Gabby. I might be a killer and a spy, but I hate the idea of lying to someone I love. It was bad enough talking to Smith—although I didn’t lie to him. I just stayed clear of the truth.
Before we left the apartment, Gray and I had words about my outfit. I insisted on wearing my own things so Gabby wouldn’t think I was being bought. That would be too much for me to bear. Gray, on the other hand, was adamant that I get used to my new clothes—the clothes he paid for, because there’s no way the government ponied up for a closet full of designer clothes. Gray can say whatever he wants, but I don’t believe for one second that Uncle Sam bought two dozen thongs and matching bras from Agent Provocateur. If that’s where our tax dollars are going, we should all be pissed.
Gabby knows my wardrobe, and while she would never judge me, wearing things bought and paid for by a man makes me feel like my mother, with every inch of me aching to rebel. In the end we compromised—although it wasn’t much of a compromise.
I have on my own jewelry and undergarments, but the sundress and sandals are things the shopper sent over. The jewelry was a hard no for me, and the underwear also made me a bit queasy. Too much like a kept woman. In exchange for those concessions, I gave in to the rest.
Baz lets us off in the horseshoe at the front of the house. I fidget with my dress as we climb the steps to the front door without a word. At the top, Gray pulls me into his arms for a kiss, but I jerk away before his lips get anywhere near mine.
“What if someone’s looking out the window?”
Gray chuckles. “That’s why we’re here. Relax. These are your friends. Gabby loves you. Besides, if I had a nickel for every time I caught her and my brother sucking face, and more, over the years,” he shakes his head, “we could pay for college for every child in South Carolina.”
“I don’t like lying to people I love.”
He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze before ringing the bell. “Anybody home?” His voice booms through the screen door.
In seconds, Gabby appears, with JD behind her carrying Gracie.
I shake JD’s hand because my relationship with him doesn’t involve hugging.
Gray kisses Gabby on the cheek and steals Gracie out of her father’s arms, plopping a big smooch on her head. “I brought you a piece of chocolate from Chef Renaud,” he says to the little girl, in a loud stage whisper. “Don’t tell your parents. What’s that? You prefer cigarettes and whiskey? That can be arranged too. Just come see Uncle Gray.”
“Give me my daughter back,” JD barks. “She’s too young for chocolate. You ever give her cigarettes or liquor, you’ll be dealing with me and my shotgun.”
Watching Gray with Gracie would make most women’s ovaries explode. But not mine. I have no interest in children, and seeing him so charmed by his niece is just a burning reminder that our compatibility begins and ends at the bedroom door.
Gabby rolls her eyes at her husband, and touches my wrist. “Any chance I could impose on you to make a pitcher of margaritas?”
Gabby and I bonded over margaritas, and we haven’t stopped drinking them since. “If you want a mean cocktail, I’m your woman.”
“A pitcher?” JD teases. Although with him, it’s hard to tell for sure if he’s teasing. “It’s just you two drinking them.”
“That’s right,” Gabby responds, “but we have to put up with the likes of you two all night. And Chase. Although he’s nowhere near as annoying.”
“Where is Chase?” Gray asks.
“He’s going to be a little late.” JD catches Gray’s eye and holds it steady. “I’m going up to put Gracie to sleep. Why don’t you go and read to Zack?”
The color drains from Gray’s face. It’s no secret that he avoids visiting with Zack. His brothers, especially JD, don’t like it. I don’t know what it’s about. A month ago, I might have said that he didn’t have the stomach for it. Not everyone has it in them to spend time with a loved one who has deteriorated beyond recognition. But Gray’s not a coward, and given his association with the EAD, he’s stared down death. No doubt about it. It’s something else.
Gray blows a raspberry on the bottom of Gracie’s foot until she’s giggling so hard the drool’s leaking out of her mouth. “I never have a chance to put this sweet little girl to bed. How about if I read to Gracie and you read to Zack?”
JD’s bri
ttle expression speaks volumes. He’s determined to force Gray to spend time with Zack, and he’s not budging. “If you want to put a baby to bed, get your own. They’re easy to make. I can recommend a video, if you don’t know how. But it’s not a do-it-yourself kind of thing.”
Gray doesn’t react to JD’s mocking. There’s anguish in his face. Real anguish. For a few seconds, I’m not sure what he’s going to do, but he relents, and lumbers toward the wing of the house were Zack stays. I want to wring JD’s neck.
“JD,” Gabby hisses. “That was an unfair ambush.”
Her husband pinches her arm playfully, as he heads to the stairs. “He’s my brother,” JD says over his shoulder. “Zack is on borrowed time, and I don’t want Gray to have any regrets. He barely lives with the ones he has.”
JD is heavy-handed and often misguided, although he means well here, I’m sure. But I have an overwhelming impulse to defend Gray. “He’s a successful man, and he lives his life just fine,” I say with enough snark to halt JD in his tracks.
He turns and scowls at me, but swallows whatever is on the tip of his tongue, and disappears up the stairs.
“I would tell you to ignore him,” Gabby assures me, “but you already know that. You also know I’m dying for a cocktail.”
If I were married to JD, I’d be dying for a cocktail all the time too. Not my business. I smile. “Then let’s go juice some limes.”
When we get to the kitchen, I set up on the center island to make the drinks. My entire house could fit into this one room, but all of a sudden it seems too small, like the walls are closing in. It’s only a matter of time before Gabby begins the interrogation. I can feel it coming as I juice the limes into a glass measuring cup.
“All right, enough with all the secrecy.”
Oh God. Here we go.
“I can’t believe I had to hear about you and Gray from Lally.”
“There’s no big secret. I didn’t say anything because I don’t know where it’s going between us. We’re taking it slow.”
