Deconstructing Delilah, page 16
I take my earlier claim back; this is the most intimate. The most real. The most intense and important moment that’s ever been there between us. The vacancy in his eyes is now gone so I can trust he’s here with me, too. Feeling what I feel.
Fated.
I pull my legs up to lock around his waist. He rolls his hips, and I’ve never felt so many things. Everywhere, all at once. If I died in the next moment, I’d meet my maker with only the regret of not doing this sooner.
“Pope,” I cry repeatedly. It’s too little and too much all the same. I’m insane with need and completely clear that this is where I’m meant to be. We’re contradiction but truth. Feeling and no thought. “Pope.”
“Come with me, Layla.”
I do on a scream punctuated by his moan. We still to nothing but heaving chest against heaving chest. Still, he doesn’t let go of my hands. My heart hopes he never does.
Layla.
“Stay,” he murmurs before getting up to enter the bathroom. He turns on the water and then he’s back, gently lifting me in his arms. He drops me to my feet in front of the toilet while the bathwater rises. “Urinate. After every time you have sex. Understand?”
“I’m not a child, Pope.”
“And I’m holding on by a fucking thread, here. Can you just do what I ask?”
“Are you going to watch?”
“Fucking hell,” he curses. “After what just occurred… pee.”
“Fine.”
He doesn’t watch, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he tends to the bath he’s running. When I finish, he steps into the tub and holds his hands out for me to join him. Cautiously, I toe into the water, sinking down with him and wincing as the heat hits my behind.
Resting my head back against Pope’s chest, I take the moment to reflect on what we’ve just done. I always knew my virginity was of too much importance to others, including Pope. For me, it’s a milestone in my relationship with him. One that may set us back if he can’t see past it. But it’s not significant in any other way to me; it’s just biology. A first try at something I hope to improve on.
Pope sets his arms on either side of the tub, staying silent.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m processing.”
“Can you do that with your arms around me?”
“What do you think this is?” he asks, fisting the wet tangles of my hair and pulling it so that I look up to him.
“Aftercare, I know that. While I expect you to be a grump about it all, you aren’t cruel,” I answer, seeing the twitch of his lips that he fights.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“School me then, Mr. Blackwell.”
“You’d probably hate me if I did.”
“Try me,” I taunt. He hesitates for a long minute, maybe trying to convince himself not to believe I can handle him at his worst.
“I broke that kid’s leg.”
“Which kid?”
“The one who went to Tulane with you. Aaron something.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t heed my warning.” He turns his head to the side, no longer looking at me.
“About what?” I reach up, bringing his eyes back to me.
“What do you think, Delilah? I gave him clear instruction to leave you alone, but he didn’t follow.”
“So, you broke his leg?”
“Yes. And I put one of his father’s businesses in financial ruin.”
“Huh.” I spin to my side, wrapping an arm around his waist as I snuggle closer.
“That’s your reaction?”
“That kid was horrible. You know he used to introduce himself to women with you’re pretty, we should bone? He deserved it, and more. Wait, you thought I’d hate you for that?”
“It’s not very Christian of me,” he says.
“You’re not a Christian. Besides, I’ve never asked you to be anything you’re not.”
His arms finally come around me, one trailing down my side to my butt.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m good, Pope.”
“You’re going to be sore.”
“Then I guess we can’t do that again right away.”
He laughs and it’s a revelation.
“Why are you so calm about any of this?” I’m not sure if he means about losing my virginity or learning that he’s capable of violence toward others.
“This was something I chose, Pope. You, in my life, is something I choose.” He quiets again, it’s worrying if I let it be. One moment he’s almost relaxed and talkative, the next he has one foot out the door in his attempt to run away from me. “You called me Layla.”
“It rolls off the tongue better.” He’s trying to be dismissive, but I know better. He didn’t call me a biblical philistine, or a betrayer. Instead, he gave me a name of my own. He doesn’t understand what a gift it is to me.
“I liked it.” I run a finger over the ink on his hip, along the jagged edge of the moth’s wing. “I like this, too.”
“Don’t read into it,” he says, which I take to mean I should.
“I do what I want, Mr. Blackwell,” I sing, sliding down further into the warmer water.
“I hope that’s true.” The words sound vacant, I glance up to see he looks it, too.
“What does that mean?” I move again, facing him now, his large thighs shifting to make more room for me.
“How familiar with the story of Samson are you?”
“As familiar as any of the Bible stories, I guess. It was used more often on me—don’t be deceitful like your namesake and whatnot.”
“Delilah isn’t given a masculine link in the Bible, no husband, no father. Just Delilah, the only woman in the story to be named. It’s a Hebrew name that means delicate but is derived from Layla which means night. Samson is derived from Shemesh, meaning the sun,” he says, leaning to rub his nose against mine. “The delicate night who overtakes the mighty sun.”
“Have I overtaken you?”
“Since the day I met you. There is a connection between us, created by some shared experiences. When Noah came to me, suggesting I back off, I knew he was right because that connection could lead to influencing your decisions. You needed life experiences on your terms.”
“I did that.”
“Not entirely. You didn’t get this one, because of me. I’m the night in our story.”
“Oh, fuck off, Pope!” Almost tripping on the ledge of the tub, I scramble out of the bathroom. My calm is gone completely as I rummage through the overnight bag I have stashed in the closet. Clothes being my first priority, armor before I kick him out. My underthings have disappeared into the depths of the bag, but I grab the other dress I had as an option for tonight. Red again, not see-through. It’s a struggle to get it over my wet skin, but I manage.
“Stop,” Pope bellows from the door of the walk-in closet. I hate myself for obeying.
“You stop,” I say, feeling defeated. “You stop, Pope. I’m not a child, you didn’t groom me, you didn’t coerce me. I chose this, I decided when I was ready. I bought you. If anyone here is the night, it’s me, damnit!”
“Curse at me one more time and see what happens,” Pope says, crowding me. He’s still naked, water dripping over his pecs. Anger aside, I want to lick it up. His cock pushing into my stomach tells me I’m not alone.
“Fuck you, Mr. Blackwell.”
The dress I’ve had on for only seconds is torn off my shoulders in one quick movement. Another and it’s split down to its short hem to barely hang off my body. Skin to skin, we meet again.
“The way you fucking challenge me…” Pope hauls me onto his shoulder. One of his arms securely around my thighs, while the other swats my still burning cheeks, as he walks me back out the bedroom. “You don’t get to walk away from me.”
I’m not sure how he maneuvers me so easily, but within seconds, my back is slammed against the wall, my legs are over his shoulders and his face is buried between my thighs.
“Oh, God.”
He moans into my core, his fingers pulling me apart as his tongue dives in. So far I think he’s trying to climb inside and take up a home. Digging my fingers into his hair and pushing my shoulders into the wall, I begin to roll my hips. He gives me another sound of approval that sends tingling sensation through my chest. My chilled skin suddenly burns with flames.
“Pope,” I cry, unable to keep his name out of my mouth. His head tilts so he can look up my body through eyes darkly laden with desire. He winks at the same time he pushes closer, his nose giving my bundle of nerves the pressure it needs to explode on his tongue. It’s embarrassing how quickly he makes me come.
Carefully, he slides me down his rigid body until I’m an unsteady, panting mess standing before him.
“If that’s my punishment for foul language, expect more of it,” I pant.
“Your punishment is sucking my cock until your throat is so filled with my cum, you’re choking on it and can’t talk back to me. Now kneel.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He comes, yelling Layla.
He then picks me up and takes me back to the bathroom to shower. Only minutes ago, he had forced his manhood so far down my throat I gagged and cried. Now, he shampoos and conditions my hair before meticulously washing every inch of my bruised body.
Hard and soft, the man is a miraculous contradiction.
Though he’s silent throughout the process, he pauses to kiss my lips, the back of my neck, the inside of my thigh. When he has us both spotless, he dries us off and leads me to bed.
“I have pajamas in my bag,” I say.
“No,” Pope says. “We’ll sleep naked.”
“I’ve never done this.”
“Slept in a bed?”
“Funny,” I deadpan. “Never with a man.”
“I never have either.” I’m not sure what to do with this side of him. Usually so serious and stern, I like the playful side, but I probably shouldn’t get used to it. “Climb in.”
I crawl on the bed, and he picks up the comforter from the pile he’d made earlier on the floor before getting on the bed and covering us both. We lie face-to-face in silence for several moments.
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“Your family is about to be out of money.”
“Noah?”
“No, not your family here,” Pope tells me, a palm cupping my cheek.
“How?” Honestly, I’m shocked at the possibility. The agents working to take down the ranch have been forthcoming in that my family has a seemingly unlimited amount of funds. It’s how they’ve paid off all the law enforcement in the area, it’s how they’ve stayed protected for so long. His eyes bounce between mine rapidly. “Pope?”
“Me. I’m how.”
“I don’t understand.”
Pope wipes at my cheeks with his thumb.
“Your father is good with money, as good as your uncle was before him. I’m better. Though it’s taken me years to find it all.”
“Years?”
“Years,” he confirms. “I started working on it shortly after I met you. When I started finding relevant information, I passed it to Lorelai, who in turned passed it to that agent.”
“Agent Daughtry?” She’s now the lead on the case and has been working on it since before I escaped. She’s also the one that has been willing to bend the rules to keep the new girls safe.
“I assume that’s the one. I’ve known about most of his accounts and investments for a long time, but there was one I couldn’t find. It holds the bulk of his wealth. The money is clean, as far as I can tell. It’s not a path the Feds can take. But I can.”
“How? Legally?”
“No,” he laughs. “It won’t be entirely legal, though some of it can disappear by lawful means.”
Pope leaves me with a lot to unpack. My gut reaction wants me to tell him to do it, take it all away. Except where does that leave the innocent that rely on that money? If there are no funds, will some leave on their own? I’m doubtful it would be many. I have many siblings, mostly older who are so entrenched in the life that I’m not certain they can ever come back from it. The younger ones have the chance if there’s a way to remove them from it, but that’s proven to be most difficult. Even without money, their parents still have rights. That’s not even considering my cousins. There were hundreds of people living there when I left.
My father would use it as another lesson in the evils of the outside world. However, financial ruin is a step in the right direction of taking them down.
Then there’s Pope’s involvement and what that could mean. I can’t have him taking risks that could end up with him in trouble or prison.
I can’t lose him now that I’ve barely gotten him. It’s maybe the most selfish concern I’ve ever had. I feel the shame of it as if it’s burned on my skin.
“I don’t want you to do anything that can get you in trouble.”
“Shh, Layla.” He kisses me deeply but not with the hunger he’s shown all night. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll do what I can legally for now. When the time is right, I’ll ruin him.”
We don’t speak about it further. After such an emotional night, I easily fall asleep with his arm wrapped around my back and my leg thrown over his hip.
I wake in much the same position, thrilled that he didn’t sneak off in the middle of the night. He’s hard again when we wake, and I snuggle close.
“No,” he says sleepily. “Touch yourself.”
I do and wince. He raises an eyebrow pointedly. I guess I’m out of commission for a day or two.
“I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’ll text you some instructions.”
“What sort of instructions?”
“You’ll see.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Remember what I said, you do nothing without my involvement.”
As if I even want to.
I clean up the house before anything else. It’s one of Fabienne’s, which she normally rents out. After that, I head straight to Lorelai, the only person that will fully understand my concerns regarding my father’s money.
She’s also the first person I want to talk to about what happened between Pope and me.
“What’s going on?” she asks, setting a mug of tea in front of me.
“I spent the night with Pope yesterday.” No point in sugarcoating or delaying, this is Lorelai. I’ve always been honest with her.
“How do you feel about it?” She’s worried; the crinkle around her eyes is evident.
“I’m good, Lore. I promise. It was what I wanted, and you know I’ve put a lot of thought into it.”
“I know you have. How was he with you?”
“He was how you’d expect Pope to be,” I say, with a side smile and a shrug. “Bossy, a little mad at me, but caring and sweet, too.”
“Why mad?”
“He thinks he did something that made me think I couldn’t have done that with anyone but him.”
“When it was really just him being him,” she muses. It’s a subject we’ve discussed in the past. My crush on Pope was never about replacing my father with him. My father never made me feel safe, quite the opposite. There was always a deeper force at play. “Is he still upset about it?”
“I don’t think so. We argued about it some, but by the end of the night, his attitude had changed. He calls me Layla.”
“That’s pretty, but why?”
“I think it’s his way of giving me distance from a name so commonly associated with a whore.”
“She wasn’t, but I get your meaning,” Lorelai says, taking a sip of her own tea. “You have him figured out pretty well, don’t you?”
“I’d like to think so, but only time will tell.”
“You’ll be okay, no matter what happens with Pope. Remember that. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, never letting anything stand in your way. Never letting anything scare you off. I’ve often admired your determination and your thoughtfulness. I wish I’d had a fraction of it at your age.”
“You’ve always given me too much credit.”
“I have not,” she disputes with an attempt at looking stern, but she’s never been able to pull that off.
“You have. I’m more calculated than thoughtful.”
“Are you in love with him?” she asks me after a few beats of silence.
“I don’t know what romantic love is, Lore. Even if I did know him well enough to be at that point, which I don’t,” I emphasize, “how would I even recognize the signs?”
“You’ll know,” she says, almost sadly. “You’ll know when things feel… more.”
“When it starts to hurt?”
“There’s that thoughtfulness,” she says, the sadness washing away some. “But I hope that’s not how you figure it out.”
“Enough about me, there’s something else,” I hedge.
“What?” One of her hands covers mine. This is the Lorelai I know, the one that’s always ready to soothe everyone else’s hurts and concerns.
“Pope says he’s found the family money. He can take it away. All of it.”
“He’s finally done it, huh?”
“Yes, but what will it mean if he goes through with it? What happens to everyone? What happens to him?”
“They won’t be homeless,” she starts. “The Cleric owns the property free and clear, that’s not something Pope can take away. The families all get by on so little, for the most part, it won’t take a big toll on anyone but your father and the other council members. They won’t have the same leverage inside the ranch or outside of it.”
“They won’t be able to pay off the police.”
“Exactly. Without that, maybe whatever price my mother is paying will reduce enough to get even more girls out.”
She watches the tea in her cup as she swirls it. When Martha smuggled Olivia out of the ranch, it cost Lorelai a small fortune. Every penny she had went to saving her small sister. When Martha got me out, nobody ponied up money. At least that we know about. Same with Jillian and the others. We can only guess at the deals Martha is making and what she’s giving up saving girls.
