Depraved: The Devil’s Duet (Book 1) Page 7

  He’s fiddling with his knife. He can’t meet my eyes. He doesn’t want to say it. Something about it makes him uncomfortable. Somewhere inside he knows it’s wrong. I’m a bit relieved, but I won’t let him off the hook. I want him to squirm with discomfort. I want his stomach to churn until he tastes the bitter bile in his throat. I want whatever spark of conscience is left to keep him awake at night. If he wants to do this to me, he’s going to pay. “Spell. It. Out. Unless you’re too ashamed to say the words out loud.”

  His eyes are black when he drags my chair to him, pinning my legs between his until I can’t move. His right thumb finds my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It takes a lot to shame me. But we’re about to find out where you draw the line.”

  I jerk my chin from his hold. In return, he squeezes his thighs around mine, holding them in a vise-like grip, the exquisite pressure forcing a bloom between my legs.

  “You’ll get on your knees and put my cock in your sassy mouth any time I tell you to. After I come, you’ll lick every drop off your lips, and you’ll enjoy it. Just like you enjoyed it before. Like you enjoyed everything filthy thing I did to you. Are you ashamed yet, Gabrielle?” He lowers his head and the heat from his mouth grazes my temple. “I don’t think you are.”

  My heart is racing. I can’t control it.

  “Remember all those times I buried my face in your sweet pussy while you writhed under me? How you begged me to sink my cock into you? How you screamed and clawed before you trembled? It’ll be just like that. Only nothing is off-limits this time. You were a dirty, greedy girl who begged shamelessly for release. I bet that hasn’t changed.” He runs a finger over my bare arm and I shiver. "You loved it then, all of it, and you’ll love it even more now.”

  I maneuver back, and swing my arm to slap his face. But he catches it before I make contact. “I hate you.”

  “You don’t hate me. You hate that you want to be under me again. If I stick my fingers in your pussy, it’ll tell the real story.” He lowers his head again, and murmurs near my ear. “Want me to do that? Slide a finger or two inside you? It’ll feel so good. Remember how much you liked it? This is just too much for you to process right now. You don’t know how you feel. I can help you figure it out. Let me.”

  I’m aroused. Disgracefully aroused by his husky voice, his filthy words, and the memories of him pleasuring me. My core is throbbing. And I don’t need him to check if I’m wet. I’m drenched.

  He’s right. I don’t hate him. I’m filled with unresolved anger, resentment, and hurt. And I’m confused. So confused. But if he stroked my breast, or brushed his fingers over the slick flesh between my thighs, I would press my pussy into his hand. No, I don’t hate him. I hate myself for being so weak.

  I draw a breath through my nose, and let it fill my chest. It does little to calm me. “I want to speak to my mother.”

  He takes out his phone, and scribbles down a number. “Call her.”

  And I do.

  “Mama? How are you?” Her voice is strong and familiar, and I want to crawl into her arms like a little girl. I want her to rub my back and tell me this is all a misunderstanding. That she’s not really sick. That my father didn’t borrow a cent from JD. After indulging my inner child for the briefest of moments, I pull up my big girl panties and ask hard questions, befitting the adult I am, not the little girl I long to be.

  “It’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “They say the reception isn’t good in the hospital. Before we hang up, I’ll give you the direct line to my room. JD explained to your father that he told you about Houston. I’m sorry we lied to you, but I couldn’t bear to see your face if the news was bad. I just couldn’t put you through it again.”

  “JD didn’t tell me much. I don’t care about the lie.” Not right now. “Just tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “The doctors here are hopeful. Very hopeful. Not like in Charleston. This is promising.” Her voice is thick with emotion. “They have a treatment—gene therapy—it’s experimental, but they’ve used it for several years, and have had great luck with it.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Yes. But there can be some side effects. And because not many other places have had experience with it, I’ll need to stay in Houston, near the hospital, so they can keep an eye on me. But I won’t need to be in the hospital the whole time.” Her speech is wobbly. She’s on the verge of tears. “Once they’re satisfied I’m tolerating the treatment, I can go back to Charleston. I could be here six months, but it’s something I think we need to do.”

  “Of course you need to do it!” It’s a gut reaction, but even if I thought long and hard about it, even if I considered how I’d be paying for the treatment, I wouldn’t have said anything different. The truth is, I would prostitute myself in the darkest corners of hell if it would save my mother’s life. “Six months will go by so fast, and I’ll visit as often as I can. Do you need anything? Anything I can bring with me when I come to visit?”

  “We have everything we need. More than everything. I’ve been here, but your father is staying in a hotel. We’re more than fine, honey. What about you? How’s my baby?”

  “Now that I’ve been able to talk to you, I’m fine.”

  “Gabrielle, I’m a great candidate for this treatment. But I’m counting on you to be strong. It might not all be smooth sailing, but I feel like—like I have a real chance. Like I might be around long enough to spoil grandbabies.” She’s crying now, and so am I. I can barely understand what she’s saying through the tears. “Your father wants to say hello,” she snivels, handing off the phone.

  “Sweet pea, we miss you.”

  “Hello Daddy.”

  “Don’t cry,” he says, choked with emotion. “Your mother—we—we have a real opportunity here. I feel so blessed—I’m nothing without your mother,” he sobs. Apart from when my grandmother died, I’ve never seen my father shed a single tear, and I can’t stop my own deluge of tears.

  I’m so consumed with my parents, I forget JD is in the room, witnessing the intimate moments with them, until he places a tissue box within my reach, smoothing my hair before he walks away.

  “The doctor’s just come in to see your mother,” my father says. “Let’s talk later.”

  After giving me a few minutes to compose myself, JD sits beside me. He says nothing. But it’s a different kind of silence. A quiet silence. Like he’s not looking for the upper hand. Probably because he knows he already has it.

  I need to do this. My mother’s life depends on it. It’s really that simple. Only it’s not.

  Yes, I’ve already had sex with him. Filthy sex, even. And it’s not as though I didn’t like it. I loved it.

  But I had a choice then. He never forced me into anything I didn’t want to do. It wasn’t a business arrangement. I loved him. And I was sure he loved me.

  But this—this lacks human decency in a way that our dirtiest sex never did. And what scares me the most isn’t that I’ll hate every second of his touch, but that I’ll enjoy it. Begin to crave it, like I craved it before. The signs are all pointing to the fact that no matter how much I lash out at him, no matter how much I want to hate him, my body—and my heart—remember. They miss him.

  I might let him back in my bed. But I can never let him back into my heart. He can live in that tiny corner, but he’s never taking over the whole thing, again. Never. And I might be his whore, but I’m not giving up everything I worked for, everything I’ve become. I won’t.

  I sniff a couple times. It’s loud and unladylike. “You win. I’ll agree to your sick little arrangement.” I reach for a tissue and blow my nose, balling the used paper in my hands. “But you will not mark me. You will not collar me. I will not do anything that involves other people or animals. I need to work—I have an important Christmas event that I’m planning. It will require a lot of my time. The future of the hotel hinges on it.”

  He nods. “What else are yo
u worried about?”

  “You need to make it easy for me to travel to see my mother. And I don’t want the staff here to know anything about what we’re doing.” I couldn’t bear if Lally or Antoine, or any of the others, knew I was whoring myself, even for my mother. “Those are my rules.”

  “You’re allowed concerns, but you don’t make the rules, Gabrielle. You follow them. When you do, you’ll be rewarded.” He squeezes my hand, his thumb pressing firmly into the sweaty palm. “When you disobey, you’ll be punished. It’s that simple.”

  I chew on my bottom lip until it stings. There’s nothing simple about this. Not a single thing.

  “Of course you’ll work,” he says, as though I’m crazy to think otherwise. “I work too. The hotel is important to you. Owning a beautiful hotel downtown has been your dream forever. I remember when you outgrew the dollhouse your father built, you used scraps of velvet and brocade to turn it into a glamorous hotel. You and Georgina—and Sera—made a huge mess on the driveway with gold spray paint.”

  JD tucks some strands of loose hair behind my ear. It’s almost as though he’s forgotten why we’re here. As though he’s let himself get lost in the past, and for a few seconds he pulls me back with him. His words are like a balm. I feel myself softening, growing malleable.

  But just as the confusion begins to abate, he speaks and I’m left brittle, searching for answers again. “I’m not interested in destroying your dreams or hurting you.” He pauses, as if to let the words sink in.

  Not interested in hurting me? Then what the hell does he think he’s doing?

  “I’m not looking for another pet, or to share you with anyone or anything else, and despite what you believe, I’m not like your ex-fiancé. I won’t leave those kinds of marks on your skin. But if you disobey me, if you push me too far, I’ll redden your ass until sitting down is next to impossible, and then I’ll fuck you until you scream.” The words are threatening, but his voice is smooth, like freshly whipped cream that melts into a sweet, milky puddle on a warm tongue. “But that’s more about pleasure than pain,” he murmurs. “There are far better ways to punish you than to beat you.”

  I swallow hard. My skin is overheated, my cunt pulsing with need. My breasts are heavy and swollen, slip-ripe peaches wrapped in intricate lace, the silken threads deliciously coarse against the smooth, taut flesh.

  “Do we have a deal?” I don’t answer right away, so he prods. “Do we?”

  Yes. No. I don’t know. “For how long?”

  “Until I’m done.”

  “I need an end date. Something I can focus on when it gets to be too awful.”

  “If you don’t fight it, it won’t be awful. Not even close.”

  No, it won’t be awful. I want it to be awful, so I can hate him, but I know it won’t be. “I need an end date.”

  “Can’t give you one. Unless you want me to lie.”

  “When does—it begin?” I need something. Even a small crumb will suffice. Anything, to help me have some control over my circumstances.

  “It begins when I’m ready.” He pulls my chair closer, until his legs are brushing mine. “Listen carefully. Above all else, I want you to remember what I’m about to tell you. Tattoo it on your skin, or cross stitch it on a sofa cushion, do whatever you need to do so you won’t forget. You answer to me. Only to me. You obey me over everyone else. Regardless of who it is. Regardless of what kind of power they claim to have over you. Do you understand?”

  “No! No, I don’t understand, Julian.” He freezes at his name. Julian and Elle. No one but me called him Julian, and no one but Julian called me Elle. That’s who we were. Who we had been so long ago. Before betrayal, manipulation, and lies. Before he threw me out like yesterday’s trash. Before he insisted on absolute control over me. That’s who we were.

  “Do you understand what I just told you? No one but me. Only me.”

  “I don’t see that there’s another choice.”

  He nods. An arrogant nod that’s the privilege of men with power. Call it an arrangement. Call it whatever you want, but this is rape, Gabrielle. It doesn’t matter how much you miss him, or how your body responds, he’s forcing you into sex. And it doesn’t matter whether you end up loving it. That’s completely irrelevant.

  I lift my chin and go straight for the jugular.

  “I wonder if the man who raped my grandmother told her it wouldn’t be awful. If every time he shoved his cock into her, he told himself she loved it. That she should be honored to have it. How do you think she felt when she carried my mama, knowing it was a rapist’s baby? Do you think she thought to herself, it wasn’t that awful? What do you think, JD?” I shove his arm, but he doesn’t flinch.

  My skin isn’t dark like hers, and my hair doesn’t curl like hers did, because my granddaddy, the rapist, and my daddy are white.

  “I don’t work for you, but will you think about me like that while you fuck me? Will you tell yourself that I love it? Tell yourself that no matter how light my skin is, I’m nothing more than the ancestor of slaves, and I should be honored to have your pure white cock inside me? Is that how you’ll ease your conscience?”

  He’s motionless. Cold and stony like the statue of John Calhoun in Marion Square. His face reveals nothing. No sign that I pricked his conscience. But I am not done. “Do you remember how you reacted when I told you my grandmother’s story? When I told you she said it wasn’t really rape, because she never said no. Do you remember what you said? ‘If he was still alive, I’d make him pay for it, Gabrielle. For every time he hurt her, he’d pay twice.’ That was what you said back then. You knew it was wrong when you were sixteen. But for some reason, now it’s your God-given right to behave like an animal.” I take a minute to catch my breath.

  “Antoine will take you home.” His voice is controlled, but I hear the rage knocking at the surface. He starts to leave the kitchen, but turns before he reaches the doorway, and comes back. Inches from my face, he pulls out the dreadful tie securing my ponytail, and my hair falls down my back.

  “You can pull back your hair and scrub your face clean all you want. Did you think you made yourself unattractive to me? Is that what you think? Because all you did was remind me of the fifteen-year-old who cried out under me as I stole her innocence.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, remembering the boy who treated me like a porcelain doll that night. Gentle, loving, and careful. It was his seventeenth birthday, and my virginity, wrapped in white lace panties adorned with a petite satin bow, was my gift to him. “You did not steal it. I gave it to you willingly.”

  He lifts my face, forcing me to look into his frosty eyes. “Just like you’ll give me everything now. Willingly.”

  I’m not ready to surrender. I still have some fight left. “You might take my body, but you get nothing else. My soul will hover above it and watch while you violate me like the demon you are.”

  “Not a chance, darlin’. You’ll be fully present for all of it. Mark my words. And Gabrielle, by the time I’m done, I’ll own your body and your soul.”

  And just like that, he turns and walks out, leaving me standing in the middle of the kitchen, angry, and—dammit—aroused. My head is spinning with a whirlwind of emotion that only JD can stir up in me. I clutch the counter, gasping for breath until Antoine appears to take me home.

  8

  Gabrielle

  I’m at my desk trying to wade through paperwork while it’s quiet, but I might as well have stayed in bed. The memory of last night keeps intruding, making it impossible to get anything done.

  I was all over the place last night. One minute I wanted him, wanted everything about him, and the next, I hated him. Hated the position he’s put me in. Truth be told, I’ve been all over the place since he sauntered into the hotel on election night. Hell, I’ve been all over the place since I saw him with the other girl in the stable. My mind and body warring. My mind and heart warring. Yes, dammit, my heart. It’s the biggest traitor of all.

 
; JD was all over the place, too. One minute he was sweet and considerate, serving me my favorite meal, and the next, threatening to steal my soul. It’s almost as if he’s as confused as I am. As if he’s conflicted in a way I don’t really understand.

  That’s ridiculous. He engineered it—all of it. He is neither confused nor conflicted. He’s playing a game. Do not forget that.

  My private line rings, pulling me from the agony of the unknown. An outside call before seven-thirty in the morning. It can’t be good. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Duval?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Patrick, JD Wilder’s personal assistant. I hope it’s not too early to call.” When I don’t respond, he keeps right on talking. “Mr. Wilder asked me to assist you with visiting your mother.”

  “My mother? Has something happened?”

  “As far as I know, everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Mr. Wilder thought you’d like to spend some time with your parents this weekend.”

  I push out the breath that’s stuck in my chest, but my hands are still shaking. “Yes, of course. I guess I didn’t expect anyone to be calling so early.”

  “We get started awfully early around here. Especially Mr. Wilder.” He chuckles, as though it’s some sort of a private joke. “Normally his plane would be at your disposal, but things are a bit more complicated since the election. We’ll get it straightened out, but in the meantime, he didn’t want your visit to wait. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

  I wonder if Patrick knows about our arrangement? Could JD be so careless he’d tell people? Could he have so little regard for my reputation? I don’t know. I don’t seem to know anything anymore.

  “How did you get this number? Only a few people have it, and I’m quite sure I didn’t give it to JD.”

  “I’m sorry. Is there a different number I should use to reach you?”

  Nice dodge, Patrick. I hope JD pays you well. “No. This is fine. But I would like to know how you got the number.”