Deconstructing Delilah, page 17
She doesn’t have anything but herself to give. It’s not a fact any of us like, but we aren’t able to get in touch with Martha, either. She knows how to contact Lorelai but hasn’t since Olivia was three.
“And Pope?”
“I don’t believe Pope would do anything in a way that puts him at risk, do you?”
That’s what I want to believe, but it’s not something I can put much blind faith in. I’m not very good at that sort of thing anymore.
Lorelai fills me in on new developments with the FBI, which aren’t much. When Noah and the kids get back from the park, I play a couple rounds of chess with Olivia. We’re learning the game together, though she’s already much better than I am.
“Checkmate,” she says again with her toothy grin.
“Well, I’ve had enough nonsense. I’m going home,” I dramatically say the line from Alice in Wonderland.
“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense,” Olivia barks back.
“When I get home, I shall write a book about this place!” It’s how we often part ways. Olivia, like me, has a love for stories. Alice being a favorite of both of ours. She runs off as Noah walks to me to the door.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
“Lorelai filled you in that quickly, huh?”
“Of course, you know how we are.”
“Partners,” I confirm.
“Yes. Something more important than just lovers, we’re a team unit. No battles are fought alone here.”
“Is that what I am?”
“No, sweet girl. You’ve never been anything but a joy. She just worries for you, always will.”
“I know, but I’m good.”
“Glad to hear it. But if he’s not willing to be your partner, you kick his ass. Being dominant or domineering doesn’t mean he gets to run all over you. Understand me?”
“Understood.”
The life Lorelai and Noah have isn’t my ideal. I’ve never pictured myself with a fancy home and a bunch of children running around. I love kids. Other people’s kids, though. Motherhood isn’t something I dream of.
There’s still a freedom I crave that seems harder to obtain with children in tow, for one. But I have other reasons, too. What I do want is the sort of trust Lorelai and Noah have. It didn’t come easy to either of them. But now that they have it, it’s unbreakable. It’s the opposite of what I was raised around. Now that I’ve witnessed it, I won’t ever settle for anything less.
“Have you spoken to Jillian lately?”
“Yes.” I smile. “She’s doing okay. Carlotta has her studying most of the day, and she seems to like it.”
“She’s still excited to move out here?”
“She is. I’m not sure she believes me when I tell her Olivia and I are doing so well. Seeing it for herself will go a long way.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Just a couple months.”
“I’ve said it before but thank you again for all you do for them.”
“Anything for family, Delilah.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Pope
7PM tonight. My house. I assume you remember where that is.
Jerk.
That’s all the text read. It’s been two days since I last saw him, but he’s checked in each night. Mostly just to check that I behaved myself, but still, it’s something. At least it means he thinks about me, too. There are no nerves when I walk up to his house this time. I’m ready for whatever Pope plans to throw at me.
In fact, I’m hoping to throw some things at him, as well.
After pushing the button of the keypad by his gate, I check the time on my phone. I’m five minutes early, which is late for me, I’m habitual about never being late. The gate opens with a click. Walking through it, I find not much about the courtyard has changed. The plants have matured but the space is still lit up with dim, twinkling fairy lights.
The front door of his home is wide open. This time, instead of creeping up the stairs, I go right where I can see the back of Pope’s head as he lounges on a chair in the living room. Pausing long enough to drop my bag, remove the long jacket I have on, and toe off my shoes, I pad into the room.
Watching Pope for weeks at the club has given me some insight as to what he likes. I won’t be going blonde for him, but I can take up some of his other preferences.
Kneeling at his feet, just to the side, I rest my cheek on his thigh.
“What’s this?” he asks, trailing his gaze down my body.
“Just something I had lying around,” I tease about my mesh bondage set. The mesh covers my shoulders, arms, and lower lady parts while thin red straps cross around my abdomen, hips, and thighs. Small O-rings hold it all together and offer some functionality for cuffing. It’s a new purchase, one I made with him in mind.
Plus, I know I look amazing in it.
“Stand, let me see.” He holds his hand out to help me up. I spin in a circle, so he gets the full view. “Do you want to eat dinner with me with your tits hanging out?”
“I don’t mind. You didn’t say what tonight would be and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
“I’d say this outfit is very presumptuous.”
“Then allow me to clarify,” I say with an eyeroll. “I didn’t want you to think I assumed this was a date.”
“Because you don’t think you’re more than a fuck?”
“I know I’m worth more than that, Pope. I also know you haven’t stated you’re looking for anything more than that.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “But I saw that eyeroll. Turn around, bend over and grab your ankles.”
As soon as I’m in the position, the first spank lands. Luckily, it was not hard enough to topple me as my hair sweeps over the hardwood. Perhaps an eyeroll is a minor offense. Pope only delivers three before his hands grip either side of my hips.
“You didn’t say my name each time.”
“I know where I am. I know I am safe.” He can hide behind brutishness and bravado all he wants, I see him. I know it’s not all possessiveness. This man cares about my well-being.
“How is the soreness?”
“It’s mostly gone,” I say but stop when Pope’s nose drags over my seam as he deeply inhales. I go lightheaded, certain I’d collapse if not for his hands still holding me still.
“Fucking exquisite,” he murmurs, sending a shiver through me. “Go upstairs. Find my bedroom. Pick a shirt out of my closet. You can cover up while we eat. Otherwise, we won’t make it to dinner at all.”
“Okay.” A smile takes over my face as I stand.
“Find me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
Pope’s bedroom takes up most of the upper story, and a bed takes up most of the bedroom. The space of the walk-in closet smells like him, and I take a healthy inhale and try to memorize it. Flipping through the row of shirts, I can’t help but wonder if others have been in this same position. It doesn’t feel like jealousy. More just a curiosity about Pope and if he treats all his women this same way. Something tells me he doesn’t.
I pick a black shirt, buttoning only a few buttons and tying it at my waist. When I find the kitchen, Pope is checking something in the oven.
“It smells great,” I tell him.
He looks over his shoulder at me and laughs, something he does so rarely. Every time I pause to bask in it. The man is breathtaking when he’s this relaxed. Comfortable and relaxed in his own space, he’s sexier than I’ve ever seen him. His chin-length hair is slightly tousled and the normal rigidness in his stance is gone completely.
“You just can’t help it, can you?”
“Help what?”
“Pray that you will not fall into temptation.”
“Are you saying I tempt you, Mr. Blackwell?”
“You know exactly what you’re doing, Layla,” he says. Holding my hips again, he hoists me up to sit on the countertop. “Keep me company while I finish up.”
“I didn’t expect you to know how to cook.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, I guess you just seem like the type of guy that exists off fine dining in dark restaurants.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, eyeing me curiously, then he drops a quick kiss to my lips. “I do that mostly. But after my mom left, I learned quick enough. I enjoy it when there’s a reason.”
Butterflies take flight in my stomach at being Pope’s reason for anything. That’s a dangerous train of thought to follow, so I ignore it instead.
“Well, I appreciate it. Unless I’m at Lorelai’s, I’m the one cooking, but it’s not often that Cookie’s schedule aligns with mine. It’s hard cooking for just one, so I opt out of it a lot. Plus, this city has amazing takeout.”
“You cooked a lot as child?” he asks as he moves to my side and chops a tomato.
“Do not give your strength to women.”
“That’s the scripture they used to justify child slave labor?”
“One of them, anyway. There were tons more,” I answer with a humorless laugh. “Can I ask you something?”
“I’ll allow it.”
“How did you know Aaron harassed me?”
“Pass.”
“Did you have anything to do with Andrew ghosting me?”
Pope shoves two fingers in my mouth, his signature move to shut me up. I suck the tomato juice from them.
“Are you asking me questions you already suspect the answers to?”
“Mmhmm.”
“I have zero qualms chasing off the unworthy men in your life. Understand?”
“Mmm.” He pulls his fingers out and goes back to salad preparation. “That was sexy, Mr. Blackwell.”
I notice that he stumbles on the next chop. It feels like a win in the nameless battle we wage against one another.
“Did you play sports when you were younger?”
“That’s a random question. But no. If I wasn’t at school, I was expected to be at my father’s church. I, too, was used for free labor.” Pope says it so nonchalantly, so void of any emotion, that I don’t believe for a minute he doesn’t hold some animosity about it. It’s a tool I’ve used as well. Pretend hard enough that it didn’t bother us and maybe one day it won’t. “What about you? Was there anything at the ranch that wasn’t about teaching you to be a good child bride?”
“No. Everything led to that in one way or another. Even the things they made us feel were special treats just for us, like dance classes. But I wasn’t pretty enough for those.”
“Pretty enough?” he asks, his nose crinkling in disgust.
“Only the prettiest, most prized daughters got to go to special classes. Lorelai did, Olivia would have had they not gotten her out. My father didn’t think I would catch him a high enough price to put in the extra effort.”
“Evil motherfucker,” Pope curses. Moving to stand in front of me, his hands push my knees apart so he can step in closer. “Two things; one, you’re beautiful. Two, how are you so well-adjusted?”
“Tons and tons of therapy,” I joke. “There were only so many directions I could go. I guess most would expect I’d end up on one extreme end or another. Either so wrapped up in the teachings of the congregation that I couldn’t find my way out, or full-on self-destructing with booze, drugs, sex, and poor decisions. It shouldn’t really be a surprise that I ended up somewhere in the middle. I had an extreme childhood but I’m not an extreme person.”
“It’s hard to believe you’re the same girl who was embarrassed by a painting of the statue of David. You’re quite wise for your age, especially considering your circumstances.”
“Good thing since I’m hanging out with a forty year old.”
“Don’t fucking remind me of that, Delilah. Besides, I’m not forty yet,” he says, once again checking the oven. This time, he pulls the dish out.
“I asked you once, but you never answered. Is Pope your real name?”
“Not from birth. It’s a nickname I earned in college, it stuck, and I eventually changed it legally.”
“Will you tell me? I think we’ve confirmed I’m not a fairy,” I say, hopping off the counter so I can help carry items to the table.
“The fuck you aren’t.” I take that as a firm no.
We plate the food with light conversation about how he’s prepared the roast chicken and vegetables. It’s evident he likes talking about it as much as he enjoys the actual cooking of the food. Hopefully, I’ll be able to give him more opportunities to do this. But again, pinning plans on him probably isn’t my safest move. He hasn’t gone this long as a non-monogamous bachelor for no reason.
Before he takes his first bite, he reaches for something sitting on the seat of one of the empty chairs and places it next to me.
“You need to read over that and tell me what you don’t consent to. We can re-evaluate it in the future, if needed.”
“This is a list of all the things you enjoy?”
“Some are. Others are things that can come up, I need to know your boundaries.”
“You have all your partners go through this?”
“To varying degrees, yes. It’s for both parties’ comfort and safety. It’s something you should do with all your future partners, as well.”
Future partners.
Because this situation won’t last forever. One day, Pope will bore of me, so I better enjoy it while it lasts.
“I’ve never done anal, but I’m cautiously open to it,” I say, reading down the list. “Breath-play is fine.”
“Noted.”
“No caning. No consensual non-consent.”
“I assumed as much,” he says, casually eating his dinner.
“No humiliation. I don’t even know what figging is, so that’s a no.”
“That’s saved for particularly bad slaves anyhow.”
“I’m not anyone’s slave,” I say, anger pouring out with the words.
“Also noted,” he says calmly. “Eat, before you get too agitated. Nothing on that list happens without your consent. That’s why we’re going over it now.”
“I’m sorry,” I say without necessarily thinking about why.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Eat.”
I eat, reading through the rest of the list. Not much else stands out except one thing. The food is as delicious as it smells. I try to imagine a teenage Pope, motherless and sad, learning how to cook on his own. He’s so strong and independent that it’s hard to picture.
Maybe that’s another thing we’ll have in common and someday people will view me in the same light. Too in control of my own life to have ever been a pawn in a religious cult. Too strong to have ever been such a meek, weak thing.
“Finish up, so I can fuck you.” Pope stands to clear his plate, then the rest of the table. I watch in silence, eating the last of my meal. I take my own plate, and the list, into the kitchen.
“Anything else?” he asks me.
“Explain partner sharing.”
“I can give you to another man or woman. You’ve seen me do that before.”
“I’m the only one that can say no to that, right? You’ve already said you won’t be monogamous, so I assume you’ll take other women at will.”
“That’s correct. The same rules don’t apply to me,” he says.
“Do I get to put any restrictions on you?”
“You can try. That won’t be one of them.”
“I don’t consent to you giving me to anyone else.”
“Noted. Anyone that joins us is for me and me alone. I assume you’ll agree to other men watching, if I don’t let them participate.”
“I trust you, Mr. Blackwell.” Pope’s face relaxes for the briefest moment, then goes right back to the rigid mask he normally wears. I see you. “You can fuck me now.”
“Upstairs, to my room. I’ll be there shortly.”
I rush off, shedding his shirt. Awkward with this sort of situation still, I’m not sure what to do with myself while I wait. Do I stand? Lie on the bed? Does he even have those type of expectations of me?
Deciding the safe bet is to kneel, I do that at the foot of the bed. And I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
There’s no clock in here, but I’m guessing it’s been about thirty minutes by the time he finally appears holding a small bag.
“I have a gift for you. Stand up,” he says, reaching a hand down to help me up. “Bend over, hands on the bed.”
He pulls my panties down, slowly trailing kisses behind his graze. After so much time in here alone, anticipating so much, the small ministration sets me aflame. He touches my feet one at a time for me to step out of them, then tosses them on the bed next to my face.
“Can you smell yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes it’s worth the wait,” he says, pulling the items out of the bag. “This is a small anal plug. We’re going to start with it, and we’ll work our way up to a larger size.”
“I’m familiar with training kits,” I say, eyeing the plug. It’s a few inches long, shaped like a tiny penis with a ridged head, not large yet still intimidating. Much less intimidating than Pope’s own appendage, though.
“Good,” he says, pulling out two small leather cuffs. He buckles one to each of my wrists, then pulls them to my lower back and attaches them to the straps that hang down over my hips. I still have mobility; it’s just very limited now. “Are you good?”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell,” I sing, wiggling my rear.
“You should be more apprehensive. You have no idea what may come next.” Pope has that dangerous tone in his voice now, the one he uses when he’s being the big dominant. It’s meant to scare, but it’s never had that effect on me.
Dr. Price once asked if perhaps I don’t find anyone capable of hurting me more than what my father, and uncle before him, were capable of. Since I survived that, I may have a false sense of security. It gave me something to think about, which was her point. It’s not a propped up feeling with Pope, my faith in him is real.
“I trust you.”
“Grab your ass, keep it spread for me.”
