Depraved: The Devil’s Duet (Book 1)

by Charles, Eva

  “And they know about black girl hair?”

  My mother laughs. “Yes, they know about black girl hair.” She shakes her head. “They know about everything here. Nothing is too small to escape their attention. I might never leave this fancy ward.”

  “You deserve it. All of it.” I take a deep breath. “Mama, can we talk about JD?”

  She nods. “I was wondering when you’d bring him up. JD. He’s a complicated man.”

  “That’s for sure.” I catch myself rolling my eyes, something my mother always chides me about.

  “Careful,” she teases, “one day they’re going to roll out of your head.”

  I smirk. “Hopefully it’ll happen on Halloween, otherwise that would be just plain gruesome.” It’s a private little joke we’ve shared forever.

  “Honey, it might be time you got over your hurt feelings about JD. Holding a grudge weighs you down.”

  “I am grateful to him for all of this.” I wave my hand across the room. “More grateful than I could ever put into words. But it was more than a few hurt feelings, Mama. When he didn’t want me anymore, he had his father send me away. It nearly killed me to be away from you and Daddy.”

  “I understand how a sixteen-year-old girl thought about the circumstances like that, but you’re a grown woman now, Gabrielle. A smart woman. Is that what you still think? That he was tired of being your boyfriend so he had you sent to a fancy boarding school?”

  It sounds so ridiculous when she says it, but it’s exactly the kind of thing the Wilders did. I was simply another mess to be cleaned up. “Well since you and Daddy refuse to be honest about it, my imagination is left to run wild. I never bought the story that I won a scholarship. I’m not that special.”

  “You are that special.”

  I know she’s not going tell me. Not today. Maybe not ever. For some reason, it’s a subject too hard for my father to talk about. I think she would tell me if it was just up to her. I do. She won’t go against him on this, but I push anyway because I want to know. I want to know that they didn’t scheme with JD to send me away. In my heart, I believe they didn’t, but sometimes—sometimes I’m not as confidant about it, and it’s all because the whole damn thing is some big secret.

  “Daddy won’t talk about it, but maybe one day you’ll tell me. Over a cup of milk tea and a lemon sugar cookie.”

  She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and when they open again, she doesn’t look at me. “It’s painful for your father, in the way few things are. I know JD being back in our lives like this has dug up the past. But please let it go. Please.” She squeezes my hand. “For me.” Her lids droop again, and she looks too tired to hold them open any longer.

  “Why don’t you take a little nap, Mama? I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  She nods off, and I sit alone, watching her shallow even breaths. Except for the color of her skin, she looks so much like her mother.

  My maternal grandmother, Meme, was Creole, from Louisiana. She had high cheekbones and chocolate brown eyes, like my mother’s. And like mine. But neither my mother nor I inherited her beautiful dark skin.

  Meme wore ruby red lipstick whenever she left the house, and kept a special glossy tube in her stocking drawer just for Sundays when we went to church. The color was stunning on her, and the lustrous sheen made her seem glamorous, like a movie star. I always wanted to look like her. To be like her.

  When I was a little girl and my parents were out for the evening, she would paint my lips ruby red, and hold up a tissue for me to kiss, to set the color. I would always put the tissue with my lip print under my pillow before I went to sleep. “So you’ll dream of your prince charming,” she’d tell me while tucking me in.

  When she was just seventeen, Meme got pregnant by the man she worked for, a sandy-haired man with blue eyes and a wife. She always said he didn’t force himself on her, although she felt she had no choice but to go along with what he wanted. She insisted that every bit of shame was worth it, because he gave her a beautiful, healthy daughter. Now that I’m older, I wonder if in her heart she really believed that, or if it was something she said to make herself feel better. To make all of us feel better.

  My grandmother made sure her beautiful daughter had choices. And even though she never found her own happily ever after, Meme always believed in a fairy tale ending for her daughter and granddaughter.

  Unlike her mother, my mother did get her happily ever after. She also met a fair-haired man, but my father is loving and loyal, nothing like the man who made Meme pregnant.

  I am the watered-down version of those two wonderful, strong women. My skin is more golden, slightly lighter, than my mother’s. But every time the sun winks at me, I turn dark brown. My mother has tight curly hair that breaks easily, like my grandmother’s. I have a head of dark waves that morphs into a mass of unruly curls in the humidity.

  I look white on the outside. And aside from boarding school, I’ve never shared their struggles of being black and biracial. Or the joys. My struggle is different. My struggle is not being like the women I so admire.

  I smooth the blanket over my mother.

  Unlike my grandmother, I have a choice. The healthcare trust JD set up is irrevocable. Regardless of what he says about turning off the tap, he can’t do it. This gives me control over my life. Over my body. It gives me power.

  I can play JD’s game, if I choose, on my terms. It might be an opportunity to work through the past. A past that even after all these years I can’t seem to let go of. I can also exact some punishment for his betrayal, if I decide I want it. This time JD can be the one left searching for answers.

  A part of me wants what JD is offering, never stopped wanting it. I know I’m overmatched, and can easily have my heart stomped on again if I let him get too close. If I’m not exceedingly careful. But I’m willing to take the risk.

  Okay, JD. None of this makes any sense, but I’ll play. If for nothing else than to see what you’re up to.

  10

  Gabrielle

  My mind is still reeling as I make my way to the arrival gate in Charleston to locate my ride. When Patrick emailed, he wasn’t sure who would be meeting me, but promised someone would be waiting to drive me home.

  I’m confident my mother is in good hands, and God willing, she’ll have many more years on this earth. And I have JD to thank for it. Although I’m not any closer to unraveling the mystery. Why is he doing all of this? There’s something I’m missing. Something behind all the money he’s throwing around. Something behind the control he wants over me. Something.

  “Good evening, Ms. Duval.”

  Antoine. I’m happy to see him, but a small, pathetic part of me hoped maybe JD would be waiting at the gate. “It’s wonderful to see you, but don’t you ever get a day off? Even God rested on Sunday.”

  He takes my bag out of my hand. “I get plenty of time off. Don’t you fret about me. But if you don’t mind me asking, how’s your mama?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. She begins treatment tomorrow. She’s exhausted from all the tests they put her through, but in good spirits.”

  “I’ll keep her in my prayers.”

  He opens the car door for me and hands me a sealed envelope after I’m settled in the backseat near a navy and white gift bag with gold tissue paper peeking out the top. “Mr. Wilder asked me to give this to you. He said to tell you he highly recommends you read it before you leave the car.”

  “Does he?” I’m too full of pride to have Antoine see me snapping to obey JD’s commands, so I stare out the window until the partition is up, before discretely opening the envelope. The scrawl on the embossed notecard is familiar. I’d know it even without the initials engraved at the top.

  “Take the bag on the backseat with you when you leave the car. There’s a gift for you inside.” I glance at the small striped bag on the seat beside me.

  “We made a deal. I sent you to your parents in good faith, before demanding a single thing of
you. I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

  I reread the note several times. It speaks volumes, yet says nothing. It has me agitated. A little aroused. Maybe even a little frightened. The combination acts as a potent cocktail, and it has me squirming and fidgeting, like I’ve just gulped a supersized coffee laced with something sinister.

  I glance at the handsome paper sack. Every pleasurable journey begins with anticipation. Learn to enjoy it.

  The bag is a tease. There might be something wonderful inside. Like hand-dipped chocolates from Renaud’s, or a sugar cookie from the little bakery on King Street. Or maybe something that brings me a different kind of pleasure. Something that fills me, or pleasantly stings my skin. Or there could be nothing at all in the bag. Maybe it’s all a ruse. My fingers skim over the matte stripes, itching to crawl inside.

  After a few minutes, my curiosity becomes too much to quiet, and I place the bag on my lap. It’s too heavy to be empty.

  Antoine can’t see back here. At least I don’t think he can. I’ll be careful. I remove each fluffed sheet of tissue paper with the utmost care. Giving it a small shake to be certain nothing’s lost for Antoine to find later. There’s a mesh pouch with a small tube of lube, and a satin hinged box resting at the bottom of the bag. The kind of box that might hold a piece of jewelry. But I know it doesn’t.

  I lift the lid, and inside is a pair of shiny silver balls. Guilt, or maybe shame, pricks my conscience and I look up to make sure the partition is still raised. It is. I run a fingertip over the perfect spheres. They’re smooth and cold. I take one between my fingers. It’s heavy. Heavier than I expected. Heavier than the pair I experimented with in Paris.

  There are instructions tucked inside the lid. I smile. Did you think I didn’t know how to use these, JD? Did you think all my fun stopped the day you sent me away?

  There’s something else in the lid. Another note. This one written on a neon post-it. Slip these in before you leave for work tomorrow. I’ll be by to check. Don’t disappoint me.

  As I finger the smooth balls, the ache between my legs begins to throb. I’m not sure I can wait until tomorrow, JD.

  11

  Julian

  I’m in Gabrielle’s chair with my feet propped on her desk when she returns to the office. A laptop full of work in need of attention rests on my thighs. But it’s nothing more than a prop. I haven’t accomplished a damn thing in the hour I’ve been here.

  Those steel balls vibrating in her pussy, and the remote burning a hole in my pocket have consumed me. I’ll either watch the flush spread over her skin while her slick walls clench around the stainless steel, or slap her ass if she defied me. Either way, it’s a win.

  “Make yourself at home, JD. Please,” she calls from the doorway, in that sassy voice that makes my cock weep. The sweater dress wrapped around her lush curves doesn’t help either. It accentuates every peak and valley. Whispers all her secrets.

  I bite down hard on my knuckle before I dare speak. “Never been the kind of man who needs an invitation to make himself comfortable.”

  “What are you doing here, JD?”

  Her dress is pink. A soft knit that begs to be petted. Thin and lustrous like fine cashmere, but I know she can’t afford that kind of luxury. It doesn’t matter what it’s made from, I ache to touch it. Ache to buy her closets full of beautiful clothes, and anything else that makes her happy. I catch myself venturing into dangerous territory, fraught with perils, and I get the hell out while I still can. “Might want to shut the door behind you.”

  She bristles at my tone, freezing for a minute as though she’s contemplating a response. “I don’t care for myself, but I would shut it if I were in your shoes,” I say.

  She lifts her chin and her head tilts back, just a bit, but enough for me to see the small ripple in her throat when she swallows. Gabrielle inches the door shut, handling the knob as if it was a piece of delicate china.

  “How’s your morning been?” I ask, activating the remote in my pocket.

  “You can’t just waltz in here anytime you get the urge to toy with me. Georgina is out today, but normally she would be sitting right outside this door. You promised me I could work.”

  “You didn’t follow my instructions, did you?”

  “X-ray vision?”

  I slide my feet off the desk and push out of the chair. My eyes don’t waver from her face as I stalk over to where she’s standing. Her lips are parted, and I can hear the shallow pants, but she doesn’t move a muscle.

  “I don’t need x-ray vision. I know. I know just how you’d look with your pussy clenching around those balls. I know the stain that begins right below your left clavicle and spreads across your chest and neck. I know the labored breathing and the high-color in your cheeks right before you come.” My voice is low and rough. And she is mouth-watering. I dig deep for whatever sliver of control is left. Fighting the urge to take her hard against the wall, or drag her to the floor and mount her until she screams. But I don’t do any of that.

  Instead, I cup her head in both hands, tracing the outer shell of her ears with my thumbs. She lets my fingers glide through her dark tresses. Allows my knuckles to scrape her cheeks as I wade through the soft waves. She doesn’t protest when my hands rest against her gorgeous tits, until the last silken wisps of hair slip through my fingers.

  Her breasts are still pert, but they’re the breasts of a woman now. Heavy and firm. The nipples, hard and greedy, push against the soft knit. I squeeze the tight buds with a quick, firm pinch.

  “Ahhh.” The moan comes from deep in her belly, and she arches instinctively. It’s barely a perceptible movement, but I’ve always been attuned to the nuances of her body. There was a time when I knew it better than my own.

  I taught her the language of sex: cock, cunt, fuck, cum, and so many other words. Taught her to ask for what she needed—all without shame. And I’m the bastard who taught her to savor a small bite of pain with her pleasure. It was me. All me.

  I should have known better than to drag her down that path. Because once she tasted dirty sex, once it was hardwired into her developing brain, she craved it like an addict craves the next fix. And nothing, nothing less, will ever give her the same kind of high.

  Did I enjoy it? Every second. But the guilt has dogged me for years.

  They should burn me alive for leading her there. Tie me to a stake while the flames of damnation engulf me, until all that remains is a pile of ashes, and the teeth I used to mark her flesh. That’s what I deserve.

  And now, JD—now you’re going to lure her back into the dark. Use her addiction to control her. Jesus.

  I draw in a breath, and release it. “Where are the silver balls?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Upstairs. Is that what I told you to do with them? To leave them upstairs?”

  She shakes her head. “I have a business to run. They’re too distracting. I need to work.”

  “Too distracting. How do you know they’re distracting?”

  “I’ve—I’ve experimented with them before.”

  “Have you?” I can feel the corner of my mouth curl until the impact of her words hits me. She played with someone else the way she played with me. Of course, I knew it was possible, likely even. She was engaged for chrissake, but hearing it still guts me. “When?”

  “Paris.”

  “With whom?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  I tip her chin, and force her took look at me. “With whom?”

  She jerks her chin away from my hold. “I used them alone.” Her cheeks are flushed, and my cock is throbbing.

  “Just in Paris? Was that the only time?”

  “And last night,” she whispers, lowering her eyes.

  Last night. Fuuuck. “You had them in last night?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is soft. Her tone pliant.

  “Did they make you feel good?”

  “Mmhm.”

  I twist her hair int
o a ponytail, winding it loosely around my hand. Enjoying the silky fibers against my skin more than I should.

  “Did you touch yourself while they were in your pussy, dirty girl?” I tug gently when she doesn’t answer.

  “Yes,” she whimpers.

  “Did you come without me?”

  She says nothing. “Did you, Gabrielle?”

  She starts to nod, but the movement is halting because I have her hair in a firm grip now.

  “No orgasms without me, Gabrielle.” I lower my head, and my voice. My mouth grazes her ear intimately, so close, the heat off her skin warms my lips. “I want you needy and wet when you come to me at the end of the day. You don’t get to take the edge off. You don’t get to make your greedy little cunt happy. Only I get to do that.”

  She lifts her chin defiantly. The movement must hurt because I’m still holding a fistful of her hair. But she doesn’t blink. And her voice is strong and clear, like a fucking queen. “You don’t get to tell me what I can do with my body. That was not part of the deal.”

  I want to smile. Because I love her feistiness, her courage, because she’s telling me to fuck off while I tower over her with a fistful of hair in my hand. But I don’t. I can’t.

  “The next time you come without my permission, I will tie you to my bed and spend hours bringing you to the edge without letting you have even the tiniest bit of relief.” I lower my head again to whisper near her ear. “You will be a whimpering, sweaty mess, floating helplessly in subspace. You won’t even know your own name.”

  A small moan escapes and she sways closer to me. Closer to my cock. My control is fraying at the edges. I can feel it unraveling, one strand at a time.

  “Do you remember what I said I’d do if you didn’t obey?”

  Her fleshy pink tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip. “Spank my ass red, until I can’t sit down, and then fuck me until I scream.” Gabrielle gazes up at me through thick, dark lashes, as the words glide off her tongue. She’s gauging my reaction. The cheeky look on her face is stunning.