Depraved (The Devil's Duet Book 1)

by Eva Charles

  She’s not afraid. Her lips are pulled into the smallest of brazen smiles. Her eyes gleaming. She wants me to punish her.

  I let go of her hair, and force my hands down, curling my fingers into tight fists. I watch as she flicks that sweet tongue over the bow of her lips. I feel the rumble of desire in my chest. And right now, there is nothing, nothing in the entire sordid history of dirty, filthy things, that I don’t want to do to her.

  If I was a God-fearing man, now’s the time I’d get on my knees and pray for forgiveness for every indecent thing I have planned—and for the ones that I haven’t planned—the ones that will be driven in the moment by primitive lust. Basic and pure. Hers and mine. But I’m not a good man, and there’s only one thing I fear, one thing that haunts my dreams, and it sure as hell isn’t God.

  I suck in a breath, and smooth her hair. “Such a good girl. You remembered what I told you. I need you to remember everything I tell you. I need you to obey me—always. Will you do that?”

  She lowers her eyes and nods. And more than anything, I want it to be the truth. It’s the only real hope I have for keeping her safe.

  “Maybe I’ll go easy on you today. Would you like that?” She bows her head, and pushes it gently into my hand, like a sleek feline currying favor. If I didn’t know better, I might believe she’s surrendered. I press my lips to her crown, knowing full well that her claws might be in for now, but they’re sharp, and can strike without warning. “Let’s go upstairs and find the pretty silver balls. I want to slide them inside you, and watch your pussy quiver. Tell your assistant you’ll be out of the office for a couple hours.”

  Her head falls back, her eyes squint, and the mood shifts. “A couple hours? I have a staff meeting.”

  “You should have thought about that before you disobeyed me.”

  She stands inches from me, with those pouty lips I desperately want wrapped around my cock. The claws have emerged. The wheels are spinning, and I’m not sure if she’s going to tell me to go to hell, or follow my instructions. Just as my patience grows thin, she picks up the phone.

  12

  Gabrielle

  We take the back staircase up to my living area. When we get to the top, JD flicks the overhead lights off, leaving just the low emergency lighting to illuminate the stairs. He pins me to the wall behind the exit door, my hands firmly above my head.

  His long fingers slide through mine, and I close my eyes to privately savor the rough hands on my skin. All those years of riding, gripping the reins, grooming the horses, have left their mark on his hands. I can feel the wear. Every callous. Every coarse patch. It’s electrifying. I push the hollow of my back into the cool wall to steady myself.

  Even with my eyes closed, I know his face is near mine. I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. The smell of his boozy cologne mixed with the musky scent of him, the smell of sex. It’s intoxicating. And if I could reach, I would run my tongue over his jaw, feel the rasp of the whiskers over the delicate flesh. I’m wet and needy, and aching for the zing of pleasure. Aching for him.

  And dammit, it’s not just about physical gratification. My heart wants in, too. No Gabrielle. No, no, no!

  JD touches my palate with the tip of his tongue, and I moan softly.

  Every touch is painfully familiar, as if we did this just yesterday. The heat of his hands, his demanding mouth, and the strangled, carnal sounds that escape the back of his throat while he kisses me. My heart remembers it, all of it, even better than my body remembers.

  “Gabrielle,” he whispers, “look at me.”

  I’m afraid to open my eyes. Afraid for him to see how much I want him. Afraid he’ll see the feelings that go well beyond those of wanton lust. Feelings of love that I thought sure I had banished forever. I don’t want him to see any of it. I don’t want to see it myself.

  He lets go of my hands, but my arms stay along the wall, as though they’ve been anchored there. He cups my head, his thumbs grazing my cheeks. “Open your eyes.” I feel his hard cock on my belly, so close to where I need it, but just out of reach. It’s excruciating. And while my eyelashes flutter open, I can think of nothing else.

  My eyes begin to focus in the dim light, I see the torment in his face. The unmistakable need, twisted with something else. Something I don’t know. “Do you want this?” he demands. His voice is thick and rough, and my pussy is throbbing for him.

  I open my mouth as his words begin to register. It’s an out. He’s giving me an out. Is he? Or is he asking because he knows I’m shamelessly aroused and won’t say no. Would he really let me walk away? I don’t want to know the answer. Not now.

  I swallow, and nod, brushing against the thick bulge. The knob in his throat dips and rises. “Say it,” he commands. “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Yes.” The word emerges breathy and needy. And as soon as it’s out, his mouth is on mine, searing and rough, demanding, like him. He presses forward until there’s not a scintilla of daylight between us. Not a smidgeon of space between my back and the wall. There’s only his mouth on mine, his body welded to mine.

  He’s big and powerful, hard and unyielding. I gasp and shiver against him.

  “You’re mine,” he growls, his knee wedging between my legs, pushing them apart inch by inch until a muscular leg is wedged between mine. I’m all sensation, every nerve screeching. The second, the very second his leg grazes my mound, I whimper. He does it again, deliberately brushing against my center, but this time, instead of pulling away, he lets his thigh rest against my pussy, tempting me to grind against the long, hard muscle. When I give into the temptation, when I rock against that thick thigh, I feel his lips curl against mine.

  I’ve lost all sight of where I am. Lost sight that one of my employees or a hotel guest could enter the stairway at a moment, or maybe I’m beyond giving a damn.

  His eyes are molten when he pulls away. “Not here.” He swipes at his swollen lips with the back of his hand. He’s panting softly. Fighting for control. I feel it. I might not have a drop of control left in me, but he’s struggling, too. It’s intoxicating, and woefully arousing, and just when I’m about to sink to my knees, JD squeezes my arms. “Let’s go.”

  He flips on the light switch as we leave the stairwell, and drags me to my door.

  My hand shakes while he watches me fumble with the key. As soon as we’re inside, even before the door latches, his mouth is on mine. He’s palming my ass roughly, canting my hips forward, and I squirm against him until I can make out the ridge of his cock through our clothes.

  “Get the balls,” he murmurs, but I’m not sure I can move, not sure my legs are steady enough to hold me. When I slowly start to pull away, he yanks me back to him, and digs his fingers into my flank, tracing the seam of my mouth with a pointed tongue. I open for him. “I miss you. Miss you so damn much it hurts. I live with the pain every second of every day. It’s crushing.”

  His voice is raw, the emotion on fully display. When I hear it, my heart clenches so tightly, it forces a tear to fall. A lone, fat drop that plops on my cheek and rolls down my face. He leans in and catches it on his tongue. It belongs to him, like so many others, it’s his.

  This is the very moment I push away all good sense. Because I know. Because every part of my being knows he’s telling me the truth.

  This is how he lures you into trouble, Gabrielle. This is how it always happens. I swat the nagging voice away. It’s barely audible—so easy to dismiss.

  He sweeps the hair off my face, and I reach for his hand, placing a small kiss in the palm before pressing it to my cheek. The gesture feels fresh and honest, like they used to be, like they all used to be. His soft, warm eyes tell me he feels it, too.

  A quiet intimacy rises between us. Sacred and enveloping, it wafts around us like frankincense in a holy ritual, purifying and cleansing our souls, preparing us for the next chapter.

  “Trust me,” he pleads, not just with his voice, but with his entire being. “Trust me, even thou
gh I’ve done shit to earn it.” His finger smooths the furrow between my brows. “I’m trying to keep you safe. It’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  I search his face. It’s guileless. Now. Ask him, now, Gabrielle. He’s vulnerable. He’ll tell you everything you want to know. All the things that have tormented you for the last fifteen years. Just ask him.

  But I don’t. I want him too damn much. All of him.

  Make him tell you what’s going on.

  But right now I don’t care about anything else but having him. Not revenge. Not about the upper hand. And I sure as hell don’t want closure.

  His mouth is on my neck. His hands on my ass, pulling me into him. I’m overcome by the sensations dancing inside, twirling seductively with long sheer scarves trailing behind, flitting in and out of the shadows, playing an elusive game with each nerve ending, until I can barely stand. Barely breathe.

  I miss you. Miss you so damn much it hurts. I live with the pain every second of every day. It’s crushing. JD rains kisses on my throat, and my body rejoices, reveling in the warm rainfall after years of drought.

  His words echo in my head, again and again, adding to the unsteadiness. I twine my arms around him more tightly to remain upright. When I moan, he sinks his teeth into a tendon right above my collarbone. That one. “Ahhh.” I feel the bite between my legs. It’s exquisite.

  “Go,” he says, releasing me.

  13

  Gabrielle

  Somehow, I make my way to the bathroom and locate the velvet box with the silver balls. I clutch it in my hand and gaze at the woman in the mirror.

  Her hair is a colossal mess in that way curly hair can be when it’s misbehaving. And a telling feverish glow covers her face and neck all the way down to her décolletage. Aroused. Sexed-up. Wanton. Whore. The adjectives are plentiful.

  I touch a fingertip to my swollen lips. The stain I carefully applied this morning, has faded to nothing. Much like my resolve and self-control.

  What are you doing, Gabrielle?

  I ignore the question, swatting it away while I spread a creamy balm over my bruised lips, rubbing until the skin is soothed.

  But my conscience is relentless, and the questions keep coming.

  Are you really going through with this? the woman in the mirror asks. I detect a judgmental tone in her voice. I lift my chin. Yes, I tell her. Yes, I am. When I can no longer bear the sanctimonious looks, I turn away. Away from her sharp eyes, boring through me, before she tells me how foolish I am. Before she warns me that my heart will surely end up in tatters again. I don’t want to hear any of it. Not now.

  When I enter the bedroom, JD’s jacket and tie are hanging over the back of an oversized chair in the corner, where I curl up at night with a book and a cup of tea. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone, exposing a swath of sun-kissed skin. I catch a glimpse of the chain around his neck, the one his grandfather’s dog tag hangs from. The one that rests near his heart. The one he never takes off. The one that caressed my skin, hundreds of times, while he reared above me. While he loved me, it rested near my heart, too.

  Maybe he hasn’t changed. Maybe nothing’s changed. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

  See, I can tell myself any lie I’d like. I can kid myself as much as I want. But he’s the only man I’ve ever really wanted. The only man I’ve ever really loved. This truth has never loomed larger than right now. It scares me to death as I find my way to him.

  He holds out his hand as I approach, and I carefully lay the box in his palm. He lifts the lid, and takes out one of the balls. “So cold,” he croons, placing the small sphere near my mouth. “Open up for me, darlin’.”

  I shiver as the cool steel breaches my lips and slides into my warm mouth. Or maybe I’m shivering at the memory of last night. Last night, when the balls breached other pink lips, and made contact with the hot slick flesh there. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

  JD takes the other ball between his thumb and finger, and holds it in his mouth. “I can taste you.”

  I gasp softly. It’s not true, of course. I scrubbed the balls clean and rinsed them well before putting them away. But it doesn’t stop me from averting my eyes in shame.

  He holds the ball in his left cheek and fingers the neckline of my dress, tracing the contours of the deep vee. There’s something hypnotic about his actions. About his voice. And when his wrist brushes against my breast, I almost forget to breathe.

  “I love this shade of pink on you. It makes your eyes milk chocolate, and gives your skin a rosy glow. Your flushed skin makes my cock hard. Always has.” He presses my hand over his erection. I swallow and stare into his blazing blue eyes. “Take off your dress for me.”

  I do as he asks. Without hesitation. The belt comes off with ease, but my fingers are clumsy with the hidden hooks and snaps. When the last hook is free, I let the dress slide off my shoulders to the floor. I’m in nothing but a lace and satin thong and a matching camisole. And my shoes. My heels.

  JD once fucked me over a bale of hay, in nothing but a pair of black patent leather high-heels. I remember how aroused it made him. How insanely wild. How hard he bucked when he came inside me. An uncontrollable shiver skitters through me for him to see. The left corner of his mouth curls.

  His gaze travels over me unhurriedly, taking in every inch of skin, leaving a sear as it passes. He lingers longer at my bare pussy, winking brazenly at him, through the pink lace. The tingle of shame begins to crawl up my spine, and I fight the urge to fidget.

  The ball is out of his mouth now. His fists are clenched at his side, his thumbs grazing each knuckle, one at a time, over and over, as he admires me. “Gorgeous. Even more gorgeous than I remember. How is that even possible?” JD says the words out loud, but he’s not talking to me. He’s merely voicing his thoughts. It’s as though I’m nothing more than chattel—a sleek sports car, a luxury watch, a prized race horse purchased for breeding. It’s unsettling, vulgar and arousing at the same time.

  He’s a few feet away, but I can feel the tension in his body. I can feel him struggling for control. The power is heady, and my embarrassment begins to melt.

  JD steps closer, and rubs my camisole between his fingers. My core zings and pulses as the silky fabric yields under his fingers. The ball is heavy in my mouth now. It’s not so big, but breathing is becoming a challenge.

  “You look like an angel,” he murmurs, twisting a small section of my hair, “but I’m still going to punish you. Come.”

  I follow meekly as he pulls me to a bench at the foot of the bed, where he sits, and tugs my arm gently. “Over my lap, darlin’.”

  He uses the sweet endearment, as though it’s an invitation he’s extending, but it’s misleading. There’s no room for negotiation in his voice. No opportunity to say, “I’m sorry, but now’s not a good time. I can’t attend your party.”

  He will punish me. It will hurt. Won’t it? Yes, but mostly it will put me in my place. Humiliate me. That’s what this kind of spanking is meant to do. Isn’t it?

  A small part of me contemplates bolting from the room. Getting out while I still can.

  No. I want this. I crave it. A little bite of pain can turn a small tremor into an avalanche of pleasure. I learned this at his hands long ago.

  I take a breath, almost forgetting to control the ball in my mouth. I shudder at the thought of nearly swallowing it.

  “Gabrielle.”

  He’s impatient. But I’m not exactly sure how to drape my body over his lap. While he slapped my ass before, it wasn’t like this. Not ever like this. I’ve never done anything like it. Not with him. Not with anyone.

  Before the awkwardness consumes me, he guides me over his thighs. I’m not entirely graceful, but not as clumsy as I feared.

  The left side of my face settles into the tufted upholstery. It’s cool and welcoming against my skin.

  His fingers glide over my back in long, fluid motions to calm me. “Rela
x. Just close your eyes and feel. Let yourself experience the sensations. That’s all you have to do. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll take care of you.”

  I’ll take care of you. But you didn’t.

  I push the thought away, and let my lids fall shut, enjoying his strong fingers on my back, coaxing the knots loose. His hand moves lower, and lower still, nimble fingers pressing into the hollow space, massaging gently. I wriggle with pleasure.

  “Stop squirming, Gabrielle.”

  “I—I—”

  “Shhh. No talking. I want you to close your eyes, listen to my voice and feel. That’s all.”

  He wants total control over me. This is where he’ll take it. Everything that came before was foreplay. Go ahead, JD. Take it. Take whatever you want—that’s all that’s running through my mind as his fingertips make a slow slide to my pussy, stroking the wet folds.

  I moan and squeeze the bench when he slides two thick fingers inside me, and slowly strums my clit with his thumb, nudging me toward the edge. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs, adding a third finger. “I’m sliding in and out, darlin’. It’s so easy. Nothing to stop me.”

  His fingers feel so good. I inch my legs further apart to give him better access. To give him more access. “This is exactly what I want from you.” There’s a pleased smile in his voice, as my pussy rocks into his hand. “Wet and eager for me, all the time. Just like this.”

  Yes. Yes, I want this all the time, too.

  My body is humming when I feel the cool, foreign object near my opening. “Relax. It’s just a little ball. Like last night, only this time for me.” He pushes it inside, and my walls clench, welcoming the intruder with a big, lusty hug. “Good girl.” He strokes me tenderly for long minutes, like a cherished pet.

  “I need this one, too,” he murmurs, tapping my cheek. I open my mouth and let the ball fall into his outstretched hand. “This one is much warmer.” He teases my clit with the smooth steel before pushing it inside. “Don’t you think?”