Profane (Devout Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  I even find myself hanging out at the office that day long after I’d planned to leave, just so I’m still there when he’s finished with the congressman.

  Maybe I’d halfway convinced myself he would forget about our chat and leave after their meeting ended, but he didn’t. When I heard footsteps at the end of the hallway approaching my office, I forced myself to keep looking at my laptop instead of jumping up to rush to the door to see if it was him.

  It was.

  And…

  From that point on, I know I’m a goner for him if he stays a man of his word and doesn’t screw me over.

  See, I know that one of the reasons I want a power-exchange kind of relationship is rooted in the shit I went through as a kid.

  Daddy issues, all right? Yeah, label them that. Fine. In this case, that’s totally accurate. I had to be an adult when I was a damned kid. I want someone solid and reliable, dependable. Someone I can put my trust in and let go to.

  Plus, I like kinky shit. I want to be taken in hand and spanked. I want to be tied up and fucked.

  Unfortunately, all of that still requires a partner who I can trust.

  The very first night that Liam and I have dinner, I take a chance and open up to the man a little, now that he’s already received a couple of hints from me about what I’m looking for and he apparently reciprocates.

  “I can overlook and even forgive a multitude of sins,” I tell him as I use my chopsticks to dredge a piece of California roll through soy sauce with a healthy amount of wasabi in it. “But cheating isn’t one of them.” This isn’t exactly a romantic discussion. It’s still raw and painful in my heart and memory and it triggers me on several levels.

  But it’s a conversation I can’t duck simply because it’s hard and I don’t wanna.

  I also refuse to leave it undiscussed and risk getting hurt later because I didn’t make myself clear now.

  I feel Liam watching me from across the table with those warm brown eyes of his. Flecks of amber and coffee and wheat in them. “He hurt you pretty badly, I take it?”

  I meet his gaze. “That’s one way to describe it.”

  He slowly nods and whatever public mask he has completely drops away. I see it in the weary shadows limning his gorgeous eyes as well as hear it in his voice. “This all stays between us, both ways, regardless of how our future plays out.”

  I nod.

  His gaze focuses on his sashimi. “In college, I fell in love with my roommate. We lived together all through undergrad and during law school. Seven years, in total. We became an item our first month together. But he was deep in the closet and not out to his family. Terrified of them.

  “On the day we were supposed to graduate from law school, he completely ghosted before the ceremony, left me a note that just said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and returned home. Never responded to my texts, calls, or e-mails. Seven years we spent together—living together, sleeping together, and him calling me Master—and apparently I wasn’t worth so much as a discussion when he left.

  “I haven’t had a ‘relationship’ since then, and that was seven years ago. I’ve fooled around with some guys but never really dated anyone. I’ve spent those seven years second-guessing myself and wondering if I fucked up so badly that he was too scared of me to tell me, or if I just misread him and the situation, or what. I don’t know. All I know is that it haunts me, even now.”

  “Holy shit,” I mutter. “You win.”

  He snorts. “It’s not a competition.”

  “No, but you’d win if it were.”

  “I think losing your parents would earn you the gold.”

  We eat in silence for a moment. “What are you wanting out of this?” I ask. “Honestly. Because I’m not into casual fucks or play.”

  Liam sets his chopsticks down. “I’m lonely. I’m kinky. I’m very dominant, if you haven’t guessed, and I need a strong partner who can handle that side of me. I have no interest in a doormat. I need communication. I need to trust. I need someone who understands I have a fuckton of pain that colors every part of my world, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over it. I need someone who understands I don’t hold them responsible for my pain, but who can make allowances for me and my need to be reassured, at least in the beginning, that what we have is real.

  “I also need someone who promises not to ghost me. I get that, sometimes, relationships end. But do me a solid and tell me to my face. Better yet, please give me a chance to fix it, if it’s something I did and not simply us realizing we’re incompatible and agreeing it’s not going to work.”

  “You sound like an emotional DIY project.”

  Belatedly, I realize that was the absolutely wrong thing to say, because his whole body language shifts, changes.

  Locks down.

  “It’s okay to tell me you’re not interested in me,” he quietly says.

  “Whoa. I didn’t say I’m not interested. I’m very interested. But I’m not going to stroke your ego just because. You want honesty? You’ll get that from me. Maybe more than you bargained for. You can’t get pissy with me when I do what you ask, either.”

  His jaw tightens, then the weariness returns and his posture relaxes. “You’re right,” he says. “I guess I am a DIY project.”

  “Never said I wasn’t.” I laugh. “It’s always easier to work on someone else’s shit instead of your own, right?”

  He finally laughs with me, a gentle chuff that stirs something deep inside me. “I suppose you’re right. Again.”

  “I’m usually right.” He arches an eyebrow at me and I shrug. “Hey, it’s not being cocky if it’s true. It’s one of my strengths as an analyst. You don’t think the brokerage would keep me on if my success odds were in the shitter, do you?

  “The question is, are you prepared for a lifetime of annoyingly pointed observations? You want a guy to lick your taint while blowing smoke up your ass and telling you you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, that’s not me, unless we’re in a scene. You want a guy who will tell you the truth? I’m your guy. And no, I wouldn’t ghost you. That’s a dick move.” I pause and then ask it. “Unless you did something to make him afraid of you?”

  It takes him a moment to reply. “I didn’t think I did. We discussed everything, negotiated. He asked me for many of the things we did together, the limits we had. But I’m not going to say I’m positive he wasn’t afraid of me. Before that happened, I would have said no, he wasn’t. Now? Who knows.”

  “Is there any reason he would want to ghost you?”

  “I mean, I know he was afraid to admit to his family he was gay. That’s the most obvious thing I can think of. His parents paid for his college and all his expenses, and he felt beholden to them. He was also deep in the closet to them. Evangelicals.”

  I shudder. “I’ll hard-pass that. I’m a Methodist, thank you very much.”

  He laughs, but he sounds amused.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Raised Episcopal but I’m attending a UU church now that I really love.”

  Of all the twists and turns I thought this conversation might take, this wasn’t one I anticipated. I must be slipping. “Isn’t that one of those hippy-dippy churches? New-Agey?” I say that with a playful tone and smile I hope he knows means I’m joking.

  “It’s very inclusive. Sort of a mix between Methodist and Episcopal, but the pastor sometimes blends in things from other faiths.” He pauses. “Want to go with me tomorrow?”

  I need a second to process that. I’ve been asked out on dates to a lot of places in the past, but never to church. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Seriously.”

  Actually, I’d been planning on sleeping in. I’ve attended church the last several Sundays, but I thought I’d catch up on my rest tomorrow.

  Except how many times do I have a really hot guy I gel with so nicely…wanting to take me to church?

  Put me on my knees and make me say Oh, God, sure, I’ve had that. Not a literal church,
though. “You have to come pick me up. And I want coffee on the way, please.”

  He smiles. “Sure. Where do you live?”

  “About ten minutes from here.”

  “We can attend the second service instead of the early one. I’d need to pick you up by ten, to make sure we’re not late.”

  “Okay. Deal.” Now he’s done more than perk up my cock—he’s caught my interest on a deeper level, and that can be a dangerous thing.

  Within twenty-four hours, though, not only am I happily spanked and well-fucked, I also know I’m already falling hard for the sad, hottie attorney.

  Despite my soul wanting me to take things slow, I understand I can’t control who I fall in love with. I can control what I do in response to those feelings, absolutely, and I make it clear that marriage isn’t in the cards for me.

  He says he’s okay with that.

  Liam Michael Davis soon becomes the center of my world, the keeper of my trust, and the owner of my heart and soul.

  Not to mention my body.

  While I give him all I am, no matter how hard I try I know it’ll never be enough to heal those deeply embedded shards of pain within him. I even let him have access to a tracker app on my phone, in hopes that might help ease his mind and reassure him I’m in this for the long-haul.

  Giving up my privacy like that is not anything I ever thought I’d willingly do, but there you have it. Love will make you do crazy things sometimes.

  By four years into this, I realize I do trust Liam in every way. I cannot speak to what he feels for me, other than what my eyes see in his actions.

  Everything he does declares his love for me, his patience with me.

  I guess that’s why I say yes when he proposes after my years of swearing I’d never get married, but only after laying down the hall-pass fuck exception.

  I want him to understand that I know pain and I know loss, and I understand them on an intimate level that many do not. I don’t devalue what he suffered, because it fucked his life and dreams in one of the cruelest ways possible.

  He needs to name his ghost, metaphorically speaking. If he can acknowledge there’s still space in his heart for that mystery man, maybe it’ll help him heal.

  Besides, there’s no fucking way I’d turn down a chance to fuck Ryan Reynolds, should he cross my path and be willing and able to be DTF.

  The day Liam and I get married, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, and spending my life with the perfect man for me. On that day, Liam vowed to love, honor, cherish, protect, and care for me. By default, I assumed that would mean he’d follow the rules laid out through the hall-pass fuck exception.

  What I didn’t count on was how much deeper his pain ran than even I realized at the time.

  Now look where we are.

  Chapter Five

  Now

  Ward winces as I slowly increase the pressure of my grip on his junk but his hands remain behind his back.

  Obviously, I don’t crank down as hard on him as I could, because I don’t want to hurt him so badly that he can’t perform in a little while.

  No, I need him fully functioning, so he can help me put on a show for my dumb-ass husband, who’s probably straining to listen to every noise from down here.

  And who’s probably still sporting one hell of an erection, the kinky bastard.

  I tell Ward in excruciating detail about my first date with Liam, going out for sushi and talking. I want him to keenly ache over his loss, and the damage he did.

  “That night, even though I’d just met him, I could see the pain in his eyes despite it having been seven years since you left him. He hadn’t even started the process of trying to work through it. Not really. He slapped a bandage over the wound and let it scab over without actually cleaning it out. He was functioning, but far from emotionally or even spiritually healthy. I’ve spent the last fourteen years with him. I have lived with him twice as long as you had with him, and I’m not giving him up without a fight.

  “What I’m going to put you through will be part retribution for knowing he was married now and yet still jumping into the sack with him without at least talking to me first, and part retribution for the pain you caused him when you left him. He literally mourned you, but it’s like losing someone in a shipwreck, or they disappear into the wilderness, and they never find a body. The family will always hold out hope, right?

  “And even though most everyone says look, stop hoping, because you’re only killing yourself, there’s always some other asshole. That asshole will point to the one fucking miracle, like that plane crash a few years back with all the governors on it. Where weeks later, they rescued a few survivors off this tiny damn rock in the middle of the ocean. The world had given up hope of finding anyone else alive, and not only did they find a survivor, they found several. If any of those survivors had died after being rescued, do you know how much more tragic that would be?

  “I tell you all of this because I need you to understand how damned serious this is to me. How if this doesn’t work, and you can’t nut up and do the work this time and stand tall, it will quite possibly kill my husband. Maybe not physically, but it definitely will spiritually.”

  I lean in close, in his face. “And if that happens, there isn’t a single place on the face of this earth where you’ll be able to hide from me where I won’t absolutely ruin everything you even think of caring about.”

  He swallows but nods. “Y-yes, Sir.”

  “I hope you’re terrified right now.”

  “I am, Sir.”

  “Good.” I give his cock and balls one more warning squeeze before releasing him. Then I point in the direction of our downstairs bathroom. “Go use it.”

  He hurries to do it.

  When he returns, I put him on his knees in front of the couch, have him clasp his hands behind his head, and I use the plastic wrap as impromptu bondage tape to bind his wrists together, including one turn around his neck, so he’s forced to keep his hands behind his head.

  Next, I sit on the couch and spread my thighs. I’m certain he’s feeling vulnerable right now, because I’m well familiar with this particular scenario and the emotions and reactions it can trigger. Liam, clothed, and me kneeling, naked, and bound.

  Normally.

  I grab the clothespins and immediately attach one to each of his nipples, making sure to grab a good amount of skin, not just his tit. I watch him wince and gauge his pain tolerance as I add more clothespins to the sensitive skin under his arms, three along each pit.

  Then I sit back, unfasten my trousers, and pull out my cock. I’m not exactly sporting wood right now but I have a feeling I soon will be. I circle the base with my thumb and forefinger and shake it at him. “Suck it.”

  He awkwardly shuffles forward on his knees, wincing because every movement jostles the clothes pins.

  Yeah, those will be coming off him before I take him upstairs. I don’t want to give Liam any ideas. He’s a creative enough sadist without my input.

  Ward also can’t brace himself with his hands bound behind his head like they are. As he starts to lean in, from his expression I know he realizes the other part of this equation—he won’t be able to keep from brushing his nipples, and the clothespins clamped to them, against the couch or my legs.

  I can see the tipping point in his brain where he accepts he’s going to feel pain no matter what he does, and he finally decides to fully throw himself into it. His lips part and he’s moving slowly as he engulfs my erection with his mouth.

  That’s when I grab the back of his head with my free hand and choke him on my cock.

  Which, hellooo, hardens.

  There we go.

  “You can deep-throat him, you damn sure can take me, because we both know I’m not as hung as he is.”

  His muffled yelp around my cock as the clothespins cause him extra torment only makes me harder.

  Yeeeaaah, now I get why Liam enjoys doing things like this to me. It’s an additional sensory
experience, feeling Ward’s mouth and throat vibrate as he whimpers and moans in pain.

  That’s…hot.

  Seriously fucking hot.

  There absolutely will be more of this kind of torture in Ward’s future.

  And probably in Liam’s, too.

  I fist his hair and take little mercy on him as I use his mouth to fluff my cock. No, I don’t want to put this load down his throat here, where Liam can’t witness it.

  I want to do it upstairs, in our bed, where Liam is helpless to do anything but watch us.

  Honestly? I’m seriously wondering where the man got the stamina. These first couple of weeks were normal for us as a couple in terms of sexual activity. A little on the low side, maybe, because of work and everything. If it hadn’t been for Liam’s reaction that day at the swearing in, I honestly never would’ve suspected something was happening behind my back.

  “I’m sure you swallow like a good boy, don’t you?” I ask.

  Ward mumbles an affirmative that also vibrates around my shaft. I slow him down, because I have to say, he’s amazing at giving head.

  Once again, if Liam was his teacher…fucking duh.

  For a brief moment, I feel guilty that I’m down here doing this with Ward while my husband and Master lies tied up in our marital bed. A flash of guilt slams through me for having sex with someone other than my husband—or Ryan Reynolds—and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

  Except my anger returns. I told Liam I was changing my HPF answer, and would be getting my revenge, and he agreed to do whatever I needed. Plus, Liam has fucked Ward quite a bit over the past couple of weeks.

  Liam will have to wait his turn, until I’m done being angry.

  And I can hold a grudge, let me tell you what.

  I grab my phone and snap a picture of Ward on my cock and relish the fear in his eyes.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not stupid enough to blackmail a US senator. I do want you to remember the wash of terror that just shriveled your balls, however. It’s only a fraction, not even a close hint of what I can do to your life as you know it should you piss me off.”