Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “Let’s go inside,” I pant.

  “Can’t,” he murmurs, his lips merely grazing my breast. For a harrowing few seconds, I fear he’s going to stop—that I broke the spell, but his mouth finds the other nipple, working it with this tongue until the pleasure is almost unbearable.

  “Are you wet, Kate?” He whispers in a voice that ensures if my panties weren’t already soaked, they would be now.

  Before I can form an answer, my skirt is gathered haphazardly above my thighs, and his fingers are on my panties, impatiently shoving the satin gusset aside. I part my legs to give him better access—to offer him full and complete access to my most intimate parts. It’s sheer instinct, but his mouth curls against my neck at the shameless acquiescence. I want him. And I don’t give a damn if he knows. Right now, the clawing ache is much too great for false modesty.

  His face is buried in my neck. His lips cajoling small shivers from overheated skin. I cling to him as his fingers glide over my slick folds.

  The groan comes from deep within his chest. Lusty, strangled sounds, scraping his throat as they emerge. The throb between my legs grows louder. “Kate. You are so wet,” he murmurs, his nose brushing mine.

  I feel the pulse of desire radiating from him. Thick and luscious droplets suspended in the air until I catch them on my tongue.

  “Do you know how easy it would be for my cock to slide into your tight little pussy right now? Would you like that? Would you scream for me?”

  I gasp softly. I’ve never been with a dirty talker, and I’m not sure how I feel about his filthy words, but there’s no time to process. He slides a thick finger over my slippery clit, and pushes it inside. I gasp, louder this time, and he murmurs something I don’t understand. All I know is the tightening in my belly and the zings of pleasure between my legs.

  I clamp down, hugging his finger with my inner walls, but before I’ve had anywhere near enough, he wrenches his hand away.

  No! I want to scream, No! But I don’t normally talk during sex, clean or dirty. At least I never have. And I’ve always been too shy to ask directly for what I need.

  While I’m still quietly grieving the loss of his finger, he lowers himself to his haunches, tugging my underpants to my ankles. “I can smell you, Kate.” He runs his nose through my slit, the tip teasing my swollen clit. “You’re musky and sweet. It’s making me so damn hard.”

  “What are you doing?” My voice is as wobbly as my knees.

  “You’re horny as fuck, and I’m doing my part to conserve water.”

  “Bastard,” I mutter, pressing my shoulders into the wall to stay upright, while he lifts my feet one at a time, and takes my panties.

  He stands slowly. His fingers grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs as he rises. My back arcs off the wall as his fingertips sweep upward. The anticipation is a tortured bliss, but when he reaches the apex, he pulls his hands away. Arghh! I can’t take much more.

  “These are mine,” he mutters, stuffing my underwear into his pocket.

  I watch him, letting my breath come under control. “Are you going to look at them when you touch yourself?” I lift my chin and ask brazenly, as though I’m an expert on such things.

  He snickers, securing my hands to the wall, just above my head. He pins me in place with his hips, his cock between us, swollen and hard. It’s everything I crave right now.

  “I don’t touch myself, princess. I fuck my fist. Hard,” he whispers coarsely, a breath from my temple. “That’s what I’m going to do tonight after I leave you. Look at me.” I gather the courage and raise my eyes. “And while I do, I’m going to think about your sexy little moans and tortured gasps. I’m going to let your scent fill me while I cum all over the sheets, pretending it’s your ass, your tits, your tight little cunt. And then I’m going to do it again, and again, and again, until I’m too wrung out to think about you anymore.” He caresses my entrance with two calloused fingertips, before sliding them inside me. I gasp into his mouth when he curls both fingers against the sensitive flesh, circling the rough spot in the silky walls.

  His tongue is smooth and wet, licking into my mouth and exploring it thoroughly. When he grinds the heel of his palm into my grateful clit, I allow myself to explore his mouth with abandon too.

  I don’t think about where I am or what I’m doing. The sensations have staged a coup, and I have surrendered any good sense, and welcomed the captors with open arms. I’m nothing more than an achy ball of need, at their mercy.

  “That’s it, darlin’,” he encourages, as I rock into his hand. “Tonight, you can take what you want.” His teeth rouse my skin while his greedy mouth feeds on my throat, taking as it pleases. “Enjoy it, because next time, I’m going to hold you down, and you’ll take what I give you.”

  I shudder at the threat, mewling my appreciation for his long fingers twisting inside me, pushing me closer to the edge. “I think you need more, Kate. Just one more.” His tone is sweet—syrupy almost, and I’m a wet needy mess when he slides his hand out. It’s for a brief time, so brief, but I want to snatch it back and hold the palm against my pussy until I come. But before I can make the desperate move, he pushes three fingers inside, filling me completely.

  I press my mouth to his shoulder, to quiet myself. My legs quiver and I clench his back, digging my fingernails into the corded muscle. I shutter my eyes and hump him—letting the pleasure cascade over me like a celestial shower against the midnight sky.

  Smith tips his head back just before I topple over the edge. “Open those gorgeous green eyes,” he demands, and with great effort, I force the lids open.

  He watches me come undone—coal eyes peeking through thick lashes as I writhe and pant. It’s too intimate. I’m too exposed. I squeeze my eyes tight as I buck against him, pulling out the last bits of pleasure like an insatiable whore.

  His lips rest on my forehead as I quiet, but his fingers don’t still. They continue to stroke the tender slippery skin until the meekest of pulses plays itself out.

  “Don’t hide from me, princess.” He touches a slick index finger to my lips. “Open,” he instructs and pushes into my mouth. “Suck,” he demands, and I do, while he slides the thick finger over my tongue, occasionally letting it slip far enough back that I nearly gag.

  I taste myself on his skin. It’s a heady combination, salty, but sweeter than I expect. Before I can be too appalled, he steals his hand away, sucking the other two fingers he pleasured me with into his mouth until they’re clean. “Now, I know how you taste,” he says, each word rough and desperate.

  I feel lost, and he must sense it, because he pulls me into his chest and runs a soothing hand over me like I’m a skittish pet, sprinkling small tender kisses on my hair. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but it’s the regret in his voice that yanks me from the safe haven where I’ve been resting. “It’s late. You should go inside.”

  The short distance from the alley to my door is long and awkward, the air dense and heavy with thoughts that neither of us dare to vocalize. It’s suffocating.

  Without a kiss goodnight, or any other recognition of shared intimacy, Smith waits at the bottom of the stoop while I climb the porch stairs and unlock the door. I’m impatient to get inside so I can breathe again, but my clumsy hands don’t cooperate and it takes longer than it should to escape.

  “Kate.” I freeze at the bellow from the sidewalk, my shoulders hunched forward, gripping the house key so tightly, the bitings notch my finger. “For the record, I planned on helping you before your mother’s death ever came up.”

  I grasp the doorknob and glance over my shoulder. His arms crossed over a massive chest, pad the space between us. Despite what happened in the alley, the culmination of an evening filled with flirtatious innuendo, the nod to our undeniable attraction, despite all this, the distance separating us has never been greater than it is right now. It’s palpable and scathing, and not entirely unexpected—at least it shouldn’t come as a surprise. That’s what
happens when girls mistake lust for love, Kate. You know this. I do.

  “Take some Tylenol or Advil before you go to bed,” he instructs from the safety of the curb. “And have a big glass of water with it.”

  “I’m sober.”

  “I know. But when you wake up tomorrow and remember that you rode my fingers all the way home, in the alley next to your house, your head is going to pound like a sonofabitch. Better to stay ahead of it. Go inside.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I mutter, pushing the door open.

  “You’d do well to remember that.”

  16

  Smith

  “What do you know about St. Anslem’s?” I ask, as JD tosses me a water bottle from the fridge at Sweetgrass. We just finished a brutal morning run. Brutal because I was up half the night making good on my promise to Kate. But it didn’t help. I woke still thinking about her soft mouth, and that tight little pussy choking my fingers.

  “The society?”

  “Yeah.” I’m sweating like a pig and use the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe the moisture off my face.

  “It’s as old as dirt. They do some charitable work. A lot of prominent Charlestonians are members. It’s mostly a way to keep families insulated from the riff-raff.” He unscrews the cap and takes a swig of water. “There are all sorts of rules.”

  “Like what?”

  “Women with big sticks up their asses are only allowed to marry men with equally big sticks up their asses.” He grabs a wad of paper towels to dry the back of his neck and tosses me the roll. “Although many of the men who belong don’t seem to be all that picky about where they shove their sticks. Some of them are members of Wildflower too.”

  “Your family never belonged?”

  JD shakes his head. “No. My grandfather wasn’t a fan of inbreeding. Probably should have been, then maybe my mother might still be alive.” He stares out the window into the abyss. Even a manicured backyard and an ocean view can’t fill that void. “My father would have done anything to join, but he didn’t have the right pedigree.”

  “Warren King’s a member.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you know what’s holding up his confirmation hearings?”

  JD throws me a sharp look. “No,” he says pointedly, while assembling the ingredients for protein shakes.

  “Will you do me a favor?”

  “I’m listening,” he says, measuring some protein powder and tossing it into the blender with a banana, some water, and ice.

  “Can you find out why the hearings were postponed?”

  JD throws his head back and groans. “This is about that reporter?”

  The whirr of the blender is loud, and I act like I don’t hear the question. “What about that priest at St. Magdalene’s? Do you know anything about him?”

  “I don’t know shit about any priests. The closest I’ve gotten to one was when Gracie was baptized, and that was enough to last me a lifetime. Pious bastards. All hypocrites as far as I’m concerned.” He pours a little of the shake into a glass and takes a taste before filling both tall glasses.

  “What about the church?”

  “It’s not much anymore. It’s the polar opposite of St. Anslem’s. Nobody wants in. They’d be dead and buried if their survival depended on membership. But they had a wealthy benefactor who left enough money to keep the church running in perpetuity.” He hands me a shake. “You looking for God, or is this about the reporter, too?”

  “I told her I’d help her figure some things out.” He stares at me from several feet away, expressionless. “The sooner she has the answers she wants, the quicker we’ll get her out of town.”

  “You must think I’m a moron.”

  “JD—"

  “No. Don’t fucking JD me. I don’t care where you stick your dick as long as you keep it away from my wife, and that reporter away from my family.”

  “Where are you sticking your dick, Smith, that’s got my husband all hot and bothered on this lovely morning?” Gabby saunters into the kitchen and over to the coffeepot without sparing us a glance.

  JD shoots me a warning while her back is turned. A warning I don’t need. There’s no way I’m having this discussion with her. I try to shield Gabby from the seamy side of Charleston almost as much as JD does. And I don’t normally talk to her about women—at least I don’t like to encourage that line of discussion. She, on the other hand, brings it up at every opportunity. “How’s my favorite Wilder?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” She curls into her husband’s side, and he wraps a protective arm around her. It’s effortless. At least they make it look that way. “Is there a woman in your life that I should know about?” God help me.

  “Not a woman. A reporter,” JD responds curtly.

  “Tell me about her.” JD stiffens at her words. I see it from here. Gabby brings the mug to her lips without giving anything away, but I’m sure she notices it, too. Damn woman never misses anything.

  “Nothing to tell,” I say nonchalantly, trying to cover for JD’s blunder. “She’s digging around for a story on Charleston societies, trying to connect them to Warren King.”

  “That doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with us. So what’s the problem?” She tips her face toward JD.

  “We don’t like reporters.”

  “We don’t?”

  JD scowls at me over her head, without uttering a single word. He can be difficult, but he’s smart enough to know when to hold his tongue around his wife. She might not be very big, but she punches well above her weight class.

  “That seems very ungracious of us. Maybe we need to rethink our values.” She pokes JD’s thigh. “And by we, I mean you.”

  “My values, like my opinion of reporters, don’t need rethinking.”

  She twists away from him. “I don’t agree. What if Gracie grows up and wants to be a journalist? Would we not like her?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No daughter of mine is ever going to be a journalist.”

  Now that was just a dumb thing to say. He deserves that ball-shrinking glare she gives him, before shifting her attention to me. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “She’s not my friend.”

  “The reporter. What’s her name?”

  “Kate.”

  “Kate. I wonder if it’s short for Katherine or Kathleen.” She’s not wondering a damn thing. She’s baiting and watching. “Beautiful name. Strong and regal. I’d like to meet her some time. You should bring her by Sweetgrass for supper. Soon. Maybe next week,” she says, almost to herself.

  “He’s not bringing her over for supper. He just got through saying that nothing is going on between them. And it’s not going to, because pussy makes a man stupid, and Smith is already stupid enough.” JD’s pissed. I almost feel sorry for him, but he’s the one who stiffened up when she started probing. He sold us out, and now he’s paying the price. Better him than me.

  “You know,” she says, in a voice dripping with sugar, "if that truly is the case, I have an idea that will make you a whole lot smarter. And you're going to just love the new sheets on the spare room bed.” She pats his wrist. “Gracie was calling for her Da when I came downstairs. I’m sure she’s up there waiting to throw her chubby little arms around your neck.”

  “This discussion is finished,” he barks, storming out. “I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about any reporter coming to supper.”

  “Well,” she says after he’s gone. “I suspect he’d like it to be finished with me, but I’m sure you’ll be getting an earful.”

  I clutch the edge of the marble island behind me, plotting my escape.

  “You like her.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Really? Because I thought I saw a gooey look on your face when you told me her name.”

  I scoff, white-knuckling the countertop.

  “Don’t worry, your balls won’t shrink into miniature nuggets. The gooeyness lasted just a quick second.” Sh
e’s smirking, like a woman holding the goods. She knows I like Kate, something I’m not prepared to admit, even to myself.

  “And JD wouldn’t be so annoyed if Kate was just the flavor of the day.” She pauses, glancing past me. “I can continue to build an airtight case, but I like that countertop, and you’re squeezing so hard, I’m worried a piece is going to break off in your hand. Marble is a soft stone, you know.”

  I loosen my death grip on the stupid counter. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. I’m not taking up with her. JD’s absolutely right about reporters.”

  “So it’s okay for him to be happy, but it’s not okay for you? You’re actually going to let him dictate who you date?” She pours herself another cup of coffee. “Want some?” she asks over her shoulder.

  “I’m all set. It’s getting late, and I need to grab a shower.”

  “I admire your loyalty. How you always stand tall beside him. It’s one of the things I love most about you. But allowing him to run your love life is ridiculous.”

  “It’s not about my loyalty to him. That’s just a small piece of the equation. I’m developing the business, and secrecy is going to become even more important than ever. She’s an investigative reporter. She chases stories. In my line of work, there will always be a big story. One that some believe the public has a right to know about. I can only be effective if I work covertly. I can’t save lives if my tactics are broadcast through a megaphone.”

  She studies me for what feels like an eternity, her hands wrapped around the coffee mug. “Those are just details,” she says softly. “Don’t let the details get in the way of love.”

  “Love? You’re ridiculous. I barely know the woman—we haven’t even—”

  “Details, Smith. They’re just details to be worked out. Life’s too short to shut the door on something good before you even enjoy it. Some people believe there are countless human beings in this world to fall in love with. I’m not one of those people. Sure, there are plenty who might do, but I believe the universe assigns us each one soul mate.”