Decadent: The Devil’s Due Read online

  “Do you have any pressing concerns before we break for supper?” I ask, hoping to pull her outside of her head.

  She lowers herself onto the rug, avoiding the area where the cards had been, as though not to desecrate a holy burial ground. “This,” Delilah says, lifting the deck of cards, “gives me everything I need. But there is one thing I’m worried about.”

  “Just one?”

  She taps an index finger against her lips nervously. “If you recall, I was dragged into a public scandal while at the agency. The reason I left covert work was because my face is recognizable—maybe not to the average person, but to anyone who knows, or bothers to look. All you need to do is a simple Google search.”

  I nod. “That’s why we’re doing this out in the open. We’re not giving you an alias or pretending you’re someone other than who you are.”

  “And you think that’s going to fly?” She eyes me skeptically.

  “I do.” I lean back in the chair. “There are things about you that will make it easy to believe we’re involved. Even to someone like the crown prince, who has spent a lot of time with me over the years.”

  She swallows hard. “What things?”

  “Your face. Your history with kink. And you’re sexy as fuck.”

  “Well, my brain and my winning personality have never been my best assets.” Her forehead puckers, as the insecurity rises to the surface.

  “They are to me,” I say decisively.

  She glances up, a bit startled, as though she didn’t mean to say it out loud, or maybe she’s surprised by my response.

  “I need your brain and your professional skills for this mission. The pretty face and luscious curves are a distraction to keep others off guard.” I just can’t allow them to become a distraction to me. “As for the winning personality, I don’t know a thing about that.”

  She reaches over and swats me with the questionnaire, before tossing it in my lap. “If I had filled it out prior to reading the briefing, it would have looked different. But this is clearly a matter of national security, and I’m willing to push myself beyond my ordinary boundaries.”

  I feel her stare while I study the form.

  “There are things I would have never green-lighted under any other circumstances,” she adds.

  I skim the rest, before glancing at her. “You like pain.” I know she does, but I want to hear it from her mouth.

  She draws a breath, and nods.

  “Do you need it?”

  “Is that somehow germane to the mission?”

  “Not really.” I read through her responses again, and stop at a question she red-lighted. My stomach twists as I prepare to break the bad news.

  “I can’t promise that you won’t be used by more than one man at a time.” She lowers her eyes, so that I can’t see the result of the blow I just delivered. “I can promise that I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.” To save you from that. To save myself from that. “But these are bad men. And we both know that even the best-laid plans can go awry.”

  “You don’t need to coddle me,” she says indignantly. “I understand the perils.”

  That might be true, but understanding is different than experiencing. I don’t say it, because I don’t want to make her any more anxious than necessary.

  “The one thing I am sure about is that you’ll be watched constantly. We’ll be watched. Nothing we say or do will be private. Nothing. I can’t protect you from that.”

  Delilah red-lighted exhibitionism on the questionnaire. She’s okay with voyeurism, but she doesn’t want to be watched having sex. I don’t want anyone watching me fuck her either, but there’s no goddamn choice.

  She pulls her knees back into her chest, hugging them tight. “I can put up with anything for the sake of a mission. I might not be the most experienced operative, but I’m not a coward. And I’m a good team member—I’ll more than pull my weight. I understand there will be things that I don’t like.”

  My insides burn with regret. She needs this, I remind myself. Regardless of how uncomfortable it makes you, she needs it. “I need you to do more than understand. I need you to come to terms with it.”

  “I’m a professional,” she snaps, glaring at me, but I see the concern in her face.

  Society shames women into using their bodies sparingly—and only—for love. It’s such a crock of shit. But regardless of how modern a woman is, how comfortable she is with her sexuality, or in this case, how professional she might be, asking any woman to use sex as a prop is a big ask. It is for some men, too.

  “You’re a highly skilled professional. That’s why I chose you to be part of the team. But 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.”

  “Nice analogy.” She squints at me. “I thought I was getting your form?”

  I watch her for several seconds. She’s avoiding the discussion because she knows the complete lack of privacy is going to be hard. I hand her my form, but we will revisit this.

  “It’s blank.” She looks up at me. “Really? You made me write down all my stuff, but you didn’t want to share yours?”

  “It’s not blank—it’s all green—read the sentence before my signature.”

  She scans the form, fixated on the last few sentences. “You’re open to anything?”

  I nod. “I make mistakes and I’m not a mind reader. But I understand how to train a submissive, and what it means to be a Dominant. A submissive’s needs come first—always. Not her wants, but her needs. I’m willing to set aside my own needs and wants to fulfill that promise.” Especially for you.

  She’s quiet, wetting her lips, while she wraps her head around what I just said. It’s unclear how much experience she’s had with power exchange relationships since Kyle. But Kyle was an abusive asshole who groomed her for pain to fulfill his own sadistic needs. Then bragged about it. He met her when she was seventeen and vulnerable. He was patient, gaslighting and manipulating her up until he took his last breath. He ruined her. I’m not a saint, but I’m not the devil either.

  She still hasn’t said a word, but she’s guarded, looking at me like I have two heads.

  “Why don’t you go up and shower? I’ll throw a couple steaks on the grill.”

  Delilah gets up, still without saying anything. She makes it as far as the doorway. “Yes.”

  Yes, what? I don’t have a damn clue.

  “I need pain.” She hesitates. “It grounds me. And I almost always need it—you know—for sex to be satisfying.” She hasn’t turned to look at me. I might not be able to read her expression, but her body is rigid.

  “Almost?” I ask softly. “Tell me what you mean.”

  She clutches the doorframe as if to steady herself. “The night we were together—I don’t know. There was some pain, but not as much as I normally need to find release. Maybe it’s because it had been so long since—since I had that kind of sex. You know—with another person. It was intense enough for me to—I need pain. Physical pain. Not emotional pain. I don’t need, or like, humiliation—but I’ll put up with it for the mission, if I need to. Just don’t expect me to like it.”

  She just gave me a lot. My jaw is on the ground. I want to say something to acknowledge her courage and forthrightness, but I don’t have the words. “We’ll talk more over supper.”

  When she starts to walk away, it hits me that her honesty is a double-edged sword. As much as I crave her openness, I can’t let the waters get too muddy. Not for either of us.

  “Delilah.”

  She turns from the landing, and her slumped shoulders almost prevent me from saying what I need to say. But I can’t be swayed by soft feelings or we’ll all end up dead. “I appreciate your candor. More than I can express. Thank you for trusting me.” I pause, to let her absorb the praise, because I mean it. I’m grateful and humbled by her honesty. But it’s not that simple. “The paperwork you filled
out is a guide. You’re not my submissive. This is a mission. It’s going to be hard at times, but you’ve got to keep the roles straight.” My voice is sterner than I mean it to be, but she doesn’t flinch.

  “I’m a big girl. Don’t you worry about me.”

  I watch her jog up the stairs until she disappears.

  Now, if I can just keep the roles straight, we’ll be good. Although it’s starting to feel like it’s going to take a goddamn miracle to keep things separated.

  She’s tempting. And everything about her calls to my worst impulses.

  14

  Gray

  While Delilah’s showering, I pull the steaks out of the refrigerator and light the grill. Once the charcoal catches, I call Mel. Master Sergeant Melvin Walker, the man who taught me how to be a man.

  The lessons weren’t always easy to learn, and I’m sure they weren’t easy to teach, either. I was hard-headed back then, in the way that boys are when they lack confidence down deep. Mel had little patience for it. He put me through basic and advanced training—the EAD’s version, which is even more challenging than the military’s—and kicked my ass until I had every lesson down pat.

  He answers on the third ring. “Walker here.”

  “Hey, Sarge.”

  “Hay is for horses, didn’t your mama teach you that?”

  “I was probably napping during the lesson.”

  He chuckles. “What’s good, boy?”

  I check the coals and walk off the patio, onto the sand. “Same shit, different day. No complaints. How about you?”

  “Can’t complain, either. I’ve got food in the pantry, a roof over my head, and a beautiful woman who warms my bed every night and tolerates most of my nonsense with good humor. Can’t ask for more than that. What can I do for you, son?”

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Ask away. My supper’s gettin’ cold.”

  I reach down to turn over a shell. It’s empty. “I need a yoga instructor.”

  After he left the military, I convinced Mel to move to Charleston and helped him start a fitness business. He’s raking in the money hand over fist now. I might have given him a leg up in the beginning, but his success belongs all to him and his no-nonsense approach to life.

  “Is this someone for your personal enjoyment, or you looking for a good stretch and to get your mind right? Because I don’t run a dating service.”

  I smile. He’s just what Delilah needs. “It’s not for me,” I say with some hesitation. “There’s a woman—”

  Mel groans. “Nothin’ good ever started with there’s a woman.”

  “Before you say anything, it’s not what you think.”

  “’Course not,” he mutters.

  “She’s a former CIA agent. Kyle Reade’s widow. Did you know him?”

  “Knew of him, but I can’t say that I ever had the pleasure.”

  “You didn’t miss anything. Although he could have used your foot up his ass. Anyway, she’s smart, tough as nails, and wields a weapon like nobody’s business. Physically, she’s strong, lots of lean muscle, and limber—although not as flexible as she thinks she is. But she needs some grounding. A place to turn when the boogieman comes knocking. Right now, she runs, longer and harder than she should. But it doesn’t seem to be working anymore, and she’s spinning out of control.”

  “And you’re thinking she can find that place inside of herself.” He says it more as an observation than a question, but I answer anyway.

  “I’m not sure. That’s what we’re going to figure out.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve already tried a different kind of pain.”

  “No,” I say defensively, grinding my heel into the sand. “She needs to move away from pain as her sole source of comfort.”

  “Did she say that, or is that your opinion?”

  “She has an intimate relationship with pain, Mel. She was groomed to need it.”

  Mel is a Dominant. A real Dominant, not some bullshit poser who takes advantage of vulnerable women to get laid.

  “I don’t think she knows how to find comfort elsewhere.”

  “I see. Like someone else I used to know.”

  He’s referring to me. When I met Mel, I acted out solely for the punishment it would get me. The more it hurt, the better it made me feel, and the more I grew to like it. It’s a circular pattern, not uncommon. But I wasn’t groomed for it, like Delilah. I just needed guidance. “Not exactly. Although there might be similarities.”

  “You want—”

  “To expand her horizons.”

  “Okay,” he says matter-of-factly. “I assume the yoga instruction will take place in the studio at the club? We are still talking about yoga here, right?”

  “My apartment at Wildflower to start.” We’d have to drag her kicking and screaming to the studio. I keep that tidbit to myself. “Day after tomorrow, at 5:30 a.m. And yes, yoga.”

  “That’s awfully early. Let me see who I can find.”

  “No, Mel. She needs you.” Like I needed you.

  “You expect me to leave my lady before the light peeks through the blinds to teach yoga to some woman you’ve decided needs to be gentler with herself?” He didn’t say, you’re crazy, boy. But it was implied.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “I know you wouldn’t,” he says, low and gruff. “I don’t like how you’re thinking about this, Gray. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink. Ever hear that before?”

  “I’m familiar with the sentiment. Look, she’s working with me on an important op, and needs to be mission ready in two weeks. A lot’s riding on it. And I don’t trust anyone else but you to handle her. You’ll know what she needs.”

  “Son?”

  “Sergeant?”

  “You’re asking for trouble. You stay clear of subs who crave pain for a reason. The urge to cross that line and give her what you know she’s hankering for is too tempting. It’s a fine line, easy to cross, but it won’t serve either of you well if you do.”

  “I never said she was a submissive,” I say with a defensive tone that even I don’t miss.

  Mel clears his throat. I suspect his patience with me is getting thin. “I’ve been holding the leash for a long time. I don’t require your input in identifying a submissive.”

  “You meet her first, before you draw any conclusions. But regardless, it’s not important. I’m not training a sub, Mel. And I’m well aware of the perils.” Only half of which you know. “It’s all under control.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me, but if you say so. This woman got a name?”

  “Delilah.”

  “Delilah. I suggest you dust off your Bible, and become acquainted with a different man who got involved with a woman named Delilah. You might learn a thing or two from his mishap.”

  “It’s more likely she’d take my balls than my hair.”

  He snorts. “Sounds to me like she’s already done that.”

  I go back toward the house to see if the grill’s hot enough. “Speaking of which. Send my love to Violet. Tell her there’s always a spare room at my place when she gets tired of your shit.”

  I end the call, and slide my phone into my back pocket as Delilah steps onto the patio. She’s barefoot, golden hair fanning her slender shoulders, wearing a sundress that skims her thighs with straps so thin that a bra is out of the question. Damn Trippi. What the hell was he thinking, packing that little number? He either wanted to kill me or make my night special. Either way, I’d like to beat his ass.

  It’s all under control. What a crock of shit.

  “That shower is something else,” she says with a relaxed smile. “I felt like I was in a cave or a lagoon—showering in nature. I was half-expecting a squirrel or some other woodland creature to scurry across the stone.”

  I smile now, too. “It’s a grotto shower. That’s how it’s supposed to make you feel. It’s got a lot of bells and whistles. I should have shown you how
it works.”

  “Was it here when you bought the house?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Gil and Jolie planned it. They’re the same people who designed the playrooms at Wildflower.”

  “Explains the fantasy element,” she says, approaching the grill.

  Delilah must have found the toiletries. There’s a faint smell of orange surrounding her, not a cloying scent, but something very grown-up.

  “Need me to do something?” she asks, catching my eye.

  You have no idea. If you did, you wouldn’t ask.

  15

  Delilah

  While we ate, the sun set over the ocean, painting the sky in swirls of oranges and reds that melted into darkness. Unlike in the city, millions of stars keep the moon company here.

  Gray and I talked over supper like we sometimes did at the club after closing, when everyone else had gone home. We brainstormed about the mission a bit, but mostly we chatted about movies and music and food. Topics that are easy on the heart.

  We’ve about finished a second bottle of wine, and I’m in the languid mood of a lazy house cat after a good meal. Gray is relaxed too. I’ve seen his smile more than a few times tonight. The real smile that makes his eyes twinkle, not that phony thing he pastes on for the world.

  “Your brothers must love this place. Gabby too.”

  He scratches the back of his head. “My brothers came out after I first bought it, but they haven’t been back since. Gabby’s never been here.”

  “Really?”

  “No one—besides you—has been out here since the renovation.”

  “Really?” I ask again, because I’m flabbergasted, and don’t know what else to say. Gray is close to his brothers. He might keep his association with the EAD a secret from them, but that’s a non-negotiable aspect of the job.

  “It’s a gorgeous spot, but I keep it to myself. It’s selfish, I suppose.” He leans back in the chair and stretches out his legs. His ankle brushes mine. He doesn’t seem to notice, but I can’t stop thinking about it. “I come out when I need a break from my life. It’s uncomplicated here, and being by the ocean soothes me.”