Deconstructing Delilah, page 4
I shake my head. “If someone does something because God directed them to, how can you be mad at them for it?”
“Had Abraham murdered his son because his lord commanded him to, it would still be murder. A deity sending their son to Earth knowing mortals will kill him, is still filicide. A horrible act to prove your love to someone else is still a horrible act. I cannot abide by that any more than I can live with the idea that I must believe and love in a heavenly figure or I’ll spend eternity in a burning world.”
Never has anyone challenged my belief so bluntly.
“It’s more than belief and love. You must live a life without sin, as well.”
“Must I? If a god exists and he created all things, then he created sin. Why? To test us? Are we nothing more than a game for him? Entertainment? Or is sin just a tool to punish us with? Or is it nothing more than a man-made construct? What is sin? Rape and murder, surely. Though there are plenty of scriptures that would contradict that. Sex? If sex is a sin, then why would he make it a pleasurable act, or the first source of creating new life?”
“I don’t know.” Anger taints every word I snap out, frustration I’m unable to hide. Pope’s hand immediately returns to my face, pinching my lips together between his fingers. Not forcefully, the touch is feathery light, but I get the point.
“Do not speak to me in that tone, Delilah. It’s uncalled for. We’re having a healthy debate is all. These are not questions you need answers for right now. Rather, they’re questions for you to mull over, let them steep, then make your own conclusions.”
Except I can do no such thing. Not while my mind hyper focuses on the fingers at my lips. Every touch from every man before had me shying away or flinching in fear. Pope elicits some other kind of feeling in me. My lips part, and his eyes dart to them as we both still.
I am an innocent woman, but not entirely naïve. On the ranch, they kept us uneducated on sexual things, until they didn’t. Until they began to prepare us for marriage and what would be expected of us. That happened way too early. While I understand the parts and the mechanics of it, desire and want are new territories completely.
But I can admit to myself at least that I want Pope in some kind of way.
He doesn’t pull his fingers away from me, instead he softly traces the corner of my bottom lip. Studying it as if he’s looking for an answer to an unasked question. That same boldness I felt after the wedding rushes through me, and I push my tongue out to taste his finger.
His hand rears back as if I bit him, but the intensity on his face says he didn’t hate it. It’s embarrassing all the same.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, rising from my seat. “I need the restroom.” Pope points in the direction I need to go, and I hurry away without looking at his face.
Shame cloaks me on my short journey down the vibrant paper covered walls. That man does things to me, he elicits feelings that never occurred to me before.
I think I’d do anything he asked of me. And more. What a terrifying thought.
Pushing the door to the restroom open, I quickly tuck myself into the first stall. I don’t need to use the toilet; I just needed a minute to escape whatever power Pope held over me. It was unbecoming and unclean, carnal even, for me to act the way I did.
I can’t believe I tasted him.
And I want to do it again. I want more.
“She’s awfully frumpy.” The voice comes from further in the restroom.
“I wouldn’t call her frumpy,” another voice says. “Plain, maybe. But she looks young.”
“Definitely not Mr. Blackwell’s type. The last time I was at Lupus et Agnes, he was fucking four gorgeous blonde women at once. This girl must be just a friend.”
“Maybe, but he wasn’t looking at her like she’s just a friend.”
“God, I know! I’ve tried for a year to catch that man’s eye. What does she have that I don’t?”
“You practically drip with desperation.” The other woman laughs. “It’s a turn off. You need to chill.”
“Whatever,” she pouts, and they leave the restroom.
Four at once?
It’s not as if I don’t understand how far out of my league Pope is, but it’s still shocking to hear of his behavior at whatever Lupus et Agnes is. Maybe he’s not so different from the men in my family after all. Religious beliefs aside.
Though, to my knowledge, the men slept with the mothers one at a time. If that was happening at the ranch, it certainly wasn’t spoken about. Except, I’m aware there were things that happened to the girls before they were of age and that wasn’t spoken about either. Anywhere but in the whispering corners where we were not supposed to hear.
None of it matters. Pope is nothing more than a religious counselor of sorts for me. Any information outside of that is useless to me. Regardless of what emotion he sparks in me, I’m sure he sees me as nothing but a damaged child.
When I finally return to the table, both our drinks have been refreshed and Pope has pushed his chair further from the table. While I should be comforted by the small distance gained, I’m not. Only more confused and embarrassed. I want to apologize again, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity.
“Have you decided if you’ll change your name?”
“I think I’ll keep it, for now. It’s one of the few things I can truly call mine, after all.”
Pope doesn’t respond to that; instead, he twirls his glass atop the table as if contemplating. What? I have no idea. I take the moment of silence to study him the way he does his glass.
There is a scar that runs along the outside of his wrist and up his forearm, disappearing under the shirt sleeve he has rolled up. He looks like he works with his hands, they’re big and rough as opposed to the well-manicured ones I’d expect from a businessman. There is a history in them that doesn’t align with what little I know about the man. It only makes him more intriguing.
“If you are serious about a finance degree, you should be enrolled at Tulane. Not the community college. It would give you more credibility in the industry later.”
“I’m aware,” I sigh. “However, because I didn’t have much of an education… before Nevada, I don’t have the transcripts or test scores to get me into a university. The community college was challenging enough to get in to.”
“Fair point,” Pope concedes. “How are you finding living with Noah and Lorelai?”
“I like it. It feels safe, even though it’s quieter than I’m used to.”
“Even with a toddler running underfoot?”
“Even then,” I say with a nod. “I grew up with a hoard of children at any given time.”
“What was it like? Growing up the way you did?” His face turns from the strange dark frustration he’s been wearing to more inquisitive.
“When I was very young, it wasn’t so bad. I don’t remember a day that we didn’t have a long list of chores, but there wasn’t much more expected of us at that age. The older I got, the more it changed. The more I saw that the girls were treated vastly different from the boys. When I was old enough to understand—” I pause to arrange my thoughts. Looking to the wallpaper… to the moths that look so beautiful but are so deceiving. “When I was old enough to understand what was happening, I became nothing more than an old garment slowly being eaten away by the moths that ran our ranch. The men. The cancer that slowly took away anything that was me in order to replace it with what they wanted.”
The hand holding his glass tightens, his fingertips turning white with the effort.
“Lorelai said it was strict,” he grunts.
“I think you know it was more than strict. It was manipulative and abusive.”
“And yet you don’t have hate toward those men,” he states as if he’s certain I have not changed my mind since our first conversation.
“No. I pray for them.”
“Love your enemies, right? My father argued that Luke 6 meant not to endorse the evil in those who hate you, but to seek out the good. I wonder if there is any good in your father, or your uncles, or any of the other men that prey at that ranch. I wonder more what purpose it serves you to fight to find it in them.”
Honestly, I have no answer to that. Again, I feel foolish for so easily reverting to the teachings of my youth. I pray for them because that’s what they taught me to do. In hindsight, it’s rather ridiculous since they are the ones that tortured me in countless ways since the day signs of puberty showed on my body.
I should have the same curiosity that he does. Instead, my mind wanders to other worries. I wonder if there is any good in a man like Pope and what it would feel like to burn alongside him.
CHAPTER FOUR
POPE
“Is it done?”
“The email was sent this morning,” Lucinda answers. She’s the most efficient executive assistant I’ve ever had, I’d go as far as saying she’s the best this city has to offer. I pay her handsomely for it. At five foot eleven and with curves that bring men to their knees, her talents were often underappreciated by other companies.
I may be a man, but I’m far from stupid when it comes to my money. Her capabilities didn’t go unnoticed by me. So, I stole her from a competing firm four years ago. Neither of us have ever looked back. She knows what’s expected of her and in return I know what she requires from me as her employer—ample pay, generous benefits, and a safe work environment.
Lucinda is the only woman in my world that looks the way she does, sexy as hell, who I haven’t fucked.
Except for one.
Delilah Simms.
Only I’m not sure a woman is what I should be calling that lovely creature. Her age aside, she’s like a newborn chick taking her first steps out of the shell. Naïve to the core. Even if I wasn’t nearly twice her age, which I am, she isn’t someone anyone should be taking to bed. No matter how much I’d like to when she stares up at me with those damned silvery blue eyes as if I’m some kind of fucking god.
I’m nothing of the sort. I’m nobody’s savior. Rather, I corrupt, I ruin. Like the men she ran from, I’m rust. Just another moth ready to eat away at her in order to fulfill my own needs.
For weeks now, we’ve been meeting regularly to have conversations about her ever-present faith. Not that it’s her Christian beliefs that are the problem, it’s more the way she all too easily accepts the things she’s been taught about them. I no longer believe in any god, but that isn’t something I’m trying to convince her of. Only that she looks more critically at the preaching of the Bible, particularly the incredibly bastardized teachings of her cultish family.
Delilah used to be more cryptic about the small tidbits of information she’d given me in regard to how she was brought up. This past week, she opened up more. A sign she’s trusting me, I guess. Regardless of how misguided that may be.
She told me how young she was when her father started ‘shopping’ for her future husband. Eight years old and forced to dress up in white frills while she was paraded in front of grown men who touched, prodded, and leered. The tale made my blood boil. Thinking of any child being sexualized in such a way angers me, but picturing a young Delilah suffering through it elicits something more than anger in me.
Noah told me Lorelai has been working with the FBI for years as they try to come up with a case to take down the ranch. Delilah has spoken with them, as well. She’s given information in great and grotesque details. So far, it’s not enough. Delilah’s father, the cleric or whatever fucked up moniker he goes by, is careful. He’s also wealthy, which has more to do with it than anything.
I don’t yet know how much wealth he has, but I will soon enough. As well as where it’s coming from. He’s paid to keep his sins safe. I’ll pay to expose it. We may both dwell in the underbellies of this world, but his and mine are not the same. It won’t be simple or easy, but I’m determined to find a way to set all the young Delilahs free.
There may be similarities between the man and I, but the differences are much larger. It’s those differences that I will use to bury the man and his loyal followers.
One day, when Delilah looks at me as if I walk on water, there may be an infinitesimal shred of truth behind it.
“Natalie is here. Would you like me to send her in now?”
“Yes,” I say, blinking away the thoughts that had overtaken my focus for a moment.
A moment after Lucinda departs, Natalie arrives, closing and locking my office door. She is another statuesque and curvaceous woman. She’s also another handsomely paid one. My schedule has been such that I have not been able to hit up Lupus et Agnes for more days than I care to count. Lucinda arranged a house call, if you will, for me.
As I said, she’s the best.
Natalie knows the routine, and as such, disrobes slowly and completely before striding to me and kneeling at my feet.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Blackwell,” she purrs, resting her cheek on my thigh as she peers up at me through long, dark lashes.
“Good afternoon, Natalie. Make yourself wet,” I tell her, running my hand over the side of her head and down her cheek. Her hair is cut in a shoulder-length style, honey blonde and straight as a board. My usual preference is blonde. Today, it’s all wrong as I picture sable waves halfway down a stiff back.
The image enrages me, and I forcefully shove my thumb between lips that aren’t heart-shaped and naturally berry-stained.
“Suck it.”
Natalie complies in both ways, busying her mouth at the same time her fingers find her cunt. The phone on my desk rings, and I see the disappointment in Natalie, but I ignore her and pick it up.
“Yes?”
“Your five o’clock is cancelled.”
“Thank you, Lucinda. You’re free to leave for the day, if you’d like.”
“I will."
“Have a good night,” I say before hanging up and turning to the woman mewling at my feet. “Are you dripping, Natalie?”
She hums around my thumb.
“Get on the desk and prove it.” Pushing my chair away, I give her the space to perch her round ass on the edge in front of me. Each of her heels come to rest on the arms of my chair, allowing her knees to part further apart. When she spreads her folds with her fingers, I have a perfect view of her glistening pussy. “Have you already come today?”
“No, Mr. Blackwell. As instructed.”
“Good girl. Taste yourself.”
She dips two fingers inside herself, working them around for a generous length of time. Her nipples harden as she does, and my dick follows suit. So much of this woman is artificial, but her breasts are not. They’re exactly as I prefer, natural, large enough to suffocate on, but not so much that they overpower the rest of her body.
Leaning forward, I bury my face in her scent. Not close enough to taste her myself, but close enough to drive her closer to crazy. I inhale deeply before moving up to bite at a nipple, inciting a throaty moan from her, the sound deeper than the one I wish to be hearing.
Delilah’s voice doesn’t have the sultry, whiskey rasp that Natalie’s does, and I imagine the sounds she’d make while I fuck her would be lighter, breathier.
Fuck. If I believed in a god, I’d be cursing them for placing that lamb in my world. She’s forbidden fruit and I want to suck out every drop of her sweet juices.
While it’s not Natalie’s fault that I’m in the mood I am, she’s taking the brunt of my frustration as I close my mouth more and tug my head back. With her breast still taut, I smack the underside. Her eyes wince at the sting, but her hips rise at the same time. Natalie enjoys her punishment, no matter if she was the one to offend or not.
“Were you bad since last I saw you?” Her eyes narrow on me as I ask the question. I always ask this question, so I already know from her reaction that the answer is yes. However, she doesn’t say the word. “Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper.”
“You aren’t my confessor,” she says with a pout, but I see the excitement written all over her face. Brat.
I stand abruptly, causing my chair to push away and her feet to fall, but I brace her with a tight grip on her arms before pulling her to the other side of the desk. We’ll need more room for what comes next.
“Hands on the desk, Natalie. Stretch out as far as you can and stick that ass up high so you can receive what you deserve for that little remark.”
A tremble shudders through her body as she takes her position. I’ve never met a woman that likes spankings as much as she does. But I don’t give it to her right away, instead opting to undress at the slowest pace possible. It only makes her more anxious and needy. The buildup is half the fun. Natalie tunes in completely to my actions, knowing when I’m finally as naked as her, she rises onto her toes with anticipation.
It’s a fucking beautiful thing, her unmarred ass ready to take my palm. There’s no warning when I give it the first slap, and though it’s a natural reaction to flinch away from it, Natalie quickly rights herself. She’s ready for more, she wants more. Who am I to deny the woman?
“One,” Natalie says with what sounds an awfully lot like glee. I’d laugh if I was a different man in a different mood.
By the time we get to ten, she’s gripping the desk forcefully by her fingertips, and her ass is the prettiest fuchsia color.
“I’ll ask again. Were you bad since last I saw you?”
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell. I tried to seduce a married man. Twice.”
“Twice with the same man, or two different married men?” This is Natalie’s modus operandi. Married men are her vice. We’ve been trying to correct that, but she’s stubborn as hell.
“Two different men,” she says with a heavy huff.
“Fucking hell.” This woman is a menace to every husband in this city. Mostly, I couldn’t give two fucks who she shares herself with. Except, I know she’s set her eyes on Noah Anders. He’d never partake, but he’s a friend, of which I have few. I protect my own. “Ten for each, keep counting.”
