Deconstructing Delilah, page 24
I wash the grime of the day spent at the amusement park off us. Neither of us speaks much, but our mouths stay plenty busy. Having just professed being together forever does nothing to diminish the idea that I will never have enough of her. By the way she matches my intensity, she feels the same.
Foregoing to towel us dry, I take her directly to the bed. Lying her down and sliding over her slippery skin, I pull our hands up above our heads.
“Are you absolutely positive about no children?”
“One thousand percent,” she says with no trace of doubt.
“I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-eight.”
“Then I can stop taking these horrible birth control pills and you can quit using condoms,” she says, wiggling excitedly underneath me.
“I can’t wait to fill you with my cum.”
“What are you waiting for, Mr. Blackwell?” she asks, raising her legs against my hips until she can lock her ankles around my lower back.
“For you to say it again.”
“I love you.”
I push into her like the punctuation to her statement. She mewls long and loud at the new sensation for us both. I’ve never had sex without a condom. Not once in my forty years. It’s better than I could have ever imagined, yet I know it’s mostly because it’s Delilah I’m in.
Sliding out a few inches, I immediately thrust back in. Pressing my lips to hers while I pick up a steady pace. Everything about us is different this time. We’re different. I don’t spank or pull. Instead, I fuck her like I should have that first time. There’s time for all the rest. We have our whole lives for me to fuck my way inside of her with my hand on her throat or her chained to the wall.
Tonight, I can be sweeter, I can love her with my body the way I love her with my heart. Connect us together by flesh the way we’re impossibly intertwined by spirit.
Romantic as it all sounds, the truth is she has me so fucking worked over I’m already fighting the need to explode inside her.
Quickly pulling out of her and reaching behind me to unhook her legs, I push her thighs up to her chest. It brings her cunt close enough for me to bend and bury my face.
“Pope!”
Fuck, I love my name on her screams. She’s so wet, so goddamned delicious I could spend hours here simply sustaining off her. I swirl my tongue around and back up, sucking gently on her swollen bundle of nerves. Delilah moans and pushes against me the best she can. Her hips trying to pick up a rhythm without the leverage of her feet. She’s close, but I want her closer, so I don’t stop fucking her with my tongue, or dragging the tip of my nose over her clit. Lapping her up until she’s near convulsing with the need for orgasm.
Only then do I slam my cock back into her.
“Say it again, Layla.”
“I love you, Pope.”
“I love you, too, beautiful,” I say as we fall over the cliff together as one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Thank you,” I say as I snuggle deeper into his side, one of his arms under my head, the other thrown over his head as he catches his breath.
“You don’t have to thank me for making you come.”
“Not for that,” I laugh. “For today. For giving me more firsts and for letting me spend your birthday with you.”
“Best birthday ever,” he sighs. “I want to be around for all the rest of your firsts, too.”
“You mean it, don’t you?” I tilt my gaze up to him and he must see that I’m asking about more than him being there the first time I see Europe or try some new adventure.
“I mean it, Layla. Only you from here on. I’m going to earn the faith you’ve always had in me.”
“Thank you for that, too, then.”
I draw my fingers over the broken cross tattoo on his chest and wonder how a man so fit, so confident in so many ways, was ever worried about keeping up with me in life. Not that it matters anymore, just further proof that we’re more than what people often expect from us.
Looking at him, the way he carries himself, it’s hard to believe he could ever have any sort of insecurity. But I guess that’s not any different than how people expect me to have a basket full of them, when I have so few.
“Solomon.”
“What about him?” I ask.
“Solomon David Blackwell, that was my name at birth.”
“Eww.” I crinkle my nose, and he laughs. “Pope suits you much better.”
“Agreed.”
“Does that mean I hold all the power over you now that I know your name?”
“You’ve held it since the day we met,” he says before leaning down to kiss me. “Sleep now. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I repeat before falling into the best sleep of my life.
We have breakfast at the deck restaurant that overlooks the ocean the following morning. The smell of the sea breeze and my plate of French toast and bacon just might be the best combination of scents ever. Or maybe I’m just feeling giddy and in love.
Either way, I’m enjoying it and the relaxed smile Pope has been wearing since I woke him up with my mouth on his dick.
His phone chimes. Setting down his coffee, he pulls it out of his pocket and checks it. The corners of his mouth turn down slightly.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s done.” He looks up at me. “The last of the money was all transferred this morning.”
“Is that bad news?”
“No, it’s good. I made Lorelai aware before I pulled the trigger on it, and she informed the FBI. It didn’t take as long as I expected it to. I want you to be careful. Just in case, okay?”
“I will be,” I reassure him. “But even if he does trace it back here, I don’t know what it would accomplish for him to come after me for it.”
“I hope you’re right,” he says, but there isn’t much confidence behind his words. “Don’t trust that though. It’s more money than you and I will see in a lifetime, he’s not going to take it lightly.”
“Okay. Where does it all go?”
“To a new charity Fabienne founded in Nevada. She bought up a whole damn abandoned mining town.”
“Seriously? What’s she going to do with it?”
“House battered woman and cult escapees,” he says with a raised brow. “You can ask her about the details, she’d love to finally share it with you.”
“Why didn’t she tell me before?”
“I don’t think she wanted to put any pressure on you. There are already crews there getting it ready and she’s working with Carlotta and that charity in Utah.”
“Giving Hope?” I ask. They’re the ones that housed me until I could get to Carlotta. Olivia stayed there too, until Lorelai was able to get the necessary custody and bring her home.
“That’s the one,” he says, picking his coffee back up. “She’s ready to help support any member of your family that comes out of that ranch.”
“I want to be Fabienne when I grow up,” I say dreamily, making Pope laugh.
“You already are in some ways. The money is all being carefully funneled to this specific endeavor because of you.”
“I know I’ve said it a lot these past twenty-four hours but thank you.”
“You’re welcome but quit thanking me now, you’re going to give me a complex.”
“Well, then quit doing such nice things for me,” I argue, playfully.
“I do what I want, my dear Delilah,” he says with a big toothy grin. “Eat up, let’s get back on the road so I can fuck you again in my own bed.
Now that I won’t argue with.
Not much changes over the next couple of weeks, other than the bulk of Pope sleeping beside me every night. He’s expressed his displeasure with me not sleeping at his house every night, but I’ve put my foot down. I like living with Cookie and I’m not ready to give that up when we’ve not been doing it for very long. I have a lifetime with Pope ahead of me, Mr. Grumpy Pants can be patient.
Except, he’s not. He just manages to find his way into my bed on the nights I don’t stay over at his. Luckily, Cookie doesn’t mind. She likes him more than she’ll admit. They banter with each other every time he’s around and while they try to sound serious about it, neither of them is. Plus, he watches movies with us. He found the way to her heart right away.
Pope still meets me at work on the nights I’m here. Some nights he takes me to dinner, others we go home. Occasionally we stay and like he’s done before, he watches a scene with me and describes the things happening that I’m not always aware of. Or that I am, but he knows it turns me on when he narrates the dirtier bits in my ear.
We haven’t taken it further than that at Lupus et Agnus. Pope has realized he finds the idea of even sharing the sight of me repulsive. It’s silly, and I think he’ll ease up after we’ve been together longer. But I don’t hate that he’s so possessive of me.
With everything in my life, we’ll find what works for us as we go.
Fabienne returned from New York with a new building in her possession and a desire to tell me all the details of her tiny Nevada town. She bought it off a woman who’d been slowly fixing up all the old buildings over the last decade. There are fifteen different one-bedroom cottages, a larger building that houses a coffee bar and five hotel rooms upstairs, and several other communal buildings that can be used for any number of things.
I cried the first time we talked about it, and I’ve had to fight back tears every time since. Because I know she’s doing this for me. Fabienne wants my input on what would best suit the woman who may walk out off the ranch for good. I’m not sure how I’ve become so lucky in life to have people like her in it, but I’m grateful for it every day.
Nothing has happened yet; we can only assume my father had cash hidden away that’s keeping them going. For now.
Agent Daughtry hasn’t said much, but did tell Lorelai it was close. I wake up every day and check for news. Jillian will be eighteen in a few weeks but she’s getting nervous about moving out here, Hannah isn’t doing well with the idea. She’s only fifteen and we can’t take custody of her without parental permission. Our only option is to keep her in Nevada with their loose runaway laws.
My spare time each day is focused on working with Fabienne to get her compound secure and ready in the hopes we can move them both there when the time comes that they need to leave Carlotta’s. That takes more hiring staff, security, an on-site therapist. It’s a lot to do, especially from across the country, but it’s a group effort. Even Pope’s assistant Lucinda is pitching in time and she’s a force.
Whether one or two women escape, or we have a mass walk off when my father is eventually taken down, we’ll be ready. Somehow.
Pope
I’m here.
The message pings at the same time my computer does, letting me know Pope has checked in.
Me
Be down in a minute.
I find him having a drink with Damian, a glass of wine waiting for me at the small table they sit at. Approaching, I smile at my friend and kneel at the feet of the man I’m so sickening in love with.
“What are you up to, Layla?” he asks, eyes widening in surprise. He doesn’t have these expectations of me here. The nights we spend at his house are different, he still very much likes his control. But here at the club, there are no expectations of me to be his pet. Pope says it’s because he wants everyone to know I’m his partner first and foremost. It’s a level of respect he never thought he’d care to give any woman, and it’s one I never dreamed I’d have as a child. It’s another thing I expect to calm down over time. Plenty of couples walk through these doors as Dom and Sub and have no small amount of respect for each other.
Not that we’ve ever had that sort of formality. We’re taking baby steps with how we play in public. Pope doesn’t want to ever make me feel like he did that last time. And I trust he won’t.
“I do what I want, Mr. Blackwell.”
“I’ve always said you were a brat,” Damian says.
“You have no idea,” Pope groans in agreement.
“Whatever, you both love me.”
“Can’t argue there, I’m going to miss you when I move west,” Damian says.
“Maybe, Daddy Pope will let me visit you.”
“You just said you do what you want.” Pope laughs, though he narrows his eyes at my daddy jibe.
“So, you’ll let her then?”
“I trust her. Even with you, March.”
“Come with her, Blackwell. I fantasize about watching the two of you fuck, you could make my dreams come true.”
“We’ll see if we can work that out for you some time,” Pope tells him, and I send my boyfriend a big grin before silently mouthing I love you to him. Pope and Damian have been getting along quite well, I often come down to find them in conversation about money matters. Pope still wears his air of grumpiness around my friends, but that’s just who he is. I don’t want him to change it.
Resting my cheek on Pope’s thigh, I watch the other clients move through the room.
“Are you falling asleep on us, Delilah?” Damian asks.
“Mhm, too many nerves this week and I think my period is starting.”
“Let’s get you home, beautiful,” Pope says.
“Okay.”
“Is Cookie home tonight?” he asks, depositing me in his car.
“No, she’s in Dallas for a few days with Logan. We can go to your house.”
“Your place is closer, plus I like your smaller bed.”
“Why?” I laugh. “You barely fit in it.”
“Yeah, but that only means you stay wrapped around me all night.”
“I think you’re a closet romantic, Mr. Blackwell.”
“I think I’m going to find a way to shut up that mouth of yours, Ms. Simms.” I crinkle my nose as I always do at the sound of my last name.
“Please do,” I say, laughing as I watch the pedestrians outside my window. It’s a short drive from the club to my apartment.
Pope pulls into my designated parking spot that never gets used since I never bothered to learn how to drive. He says he’ll teach me, someday I’ll take him up on it, but my life lends to walking so it isn’t a rush.
“I thought you said Cookie was gone,” Pope says, low and quiet. He shoots his arm out in front of me to stop progress to my apartment door, because it sits ajar. The splintered frame shows forced entry. “Go back downstairs, call the police.”
“No,” I start to argue.
“Do not fucking argue with me right now,” he says brutally. I hear how scared he is though, and I know it’s for me. I silently plead through watery eyes for him to be safe. He nods at me and turns back to the door.
Rushing down the flight of stairs on trembling legs, I fumble with my handbag, trying to dig my cell phone out. It rings just as I get my fingers on it, making my panic worse. It’s Lorelai but there isn’t time for that! Ending her call, I type in 9-1-1. I’m shaking so badly while I try to tell the dispatcher what’s happening and simultaneously listening for Pope’s footsteps on the stairs.
Pope hasn’t come down yet.
“Someone broke into my apartment,” I tell the lady on the other end.
“What’s your address, miss?” I rattle it off for her. “Do you know if they’re still inside?”
“I don’t know. My boyfriend went inside, and he hasn’t come out.”
“An officer is on the way,” she says at the same time a lout gunshot rings out from upstairs. “No! Pope!”
I take the stairs as fast I can.
“Miss?”
“There was a gunshot,” I say as another one cracks loudly. “Pope!”
An upstairs neighbor leans over the stairwell and tries to ask me what’s happening but I don’t spare them any time as I rush into my apartment. It’s stupid, but all I can think about is Pope bleeding out and alone.
“Pope,” I call again once inside.
“Hey,” he calls to me, sounding more tired than I’ve ever heard him. He steps out of my bedroom just as I make it to the end of the hallway. Running toward him, I jump into his open arms and he hisses in pain.
“Are you shot?” I ask, my panic hitching even higher as I step back. Pope takes it from me and puts it against his own ear.
“Can you send an ambulance, too, please? Two, but one is dead.”
Dead.
I blink past the word and take in Pope, and there’s blood covering his left side. It’s transferred on to the right of my white blouse.
“You were shot,” I say, my voice shuddering as much as my hands as they lift his shirt to see the wound.
“I’m okay, Layla. I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” I cry.
“Look at me,” he barks, and my head bounces from his abdomen to his face. “I’m going to be fine. I need you to call Noah. Can you do that?”
“Y-yes,” I hiccup, taking the phone he’s trying to force back into my hands. Again, it starts ringing. “Lorelai.”
“Delilah? What’s wrong?”
“Pope’s been shot. Someone broke into my apartment.”
“Fuck. Fuck! We’re on our way. Okay? We’re on our way, sweet girl.”
“Hurry, Lore. Please, hurry.” I can already hear sirens getting closer. It should calm me down, but it doesn’t.
The next few minutes are a rush of commotion. Pope won’t let me go into my room or look at his wound, content to just wrap his arm around me while we wait for police and paramedics. I argue through every tear that falls out of my eyes, but he doesn’t relent until the first EMT steps in my broken doorway right behind two police officers.
The female officer leads us to the kitchen table, having Pope sit down so the paramedic can assess his wound while she asks him questions, the other officer heads down the hall to my bedroom after Pope tells them the only other person here is dead.
