The phone rings while I’m still trying to convince myself that when the mission is complete, I’ll move on.
I don’t need to look at the screen. It’s her. I feel it in my bones. I should be pleased she obeyed, but I’m torn up inside. Delilah is a wild card who’s wedged her way under my skin. Smith is right. I’m playing a fool’s game.
I take a deep breath before answering. “Good morning.”
“It’s done. Like you asked.” She fires out the words with a good dose of resentment.
But I hear the sorrow, and it lands on my conscience with the sting of rubber pellets.
What many people don’t understand about Dominants is that we have hearts. That it’s often easier to wrap a submissive into a warm embrace than to show her the steel spine that the moment requires—and that she needs.
Delilah isn’t my submissive, and aside from the game we’re going to play for the benefit of the mission, she never will be. But my heart aches for her. That doesn’t mean I’ll give in to the soft feelings. It won’t further the mission, and it won’t help her at all.
“Where are you now?” I ask calmly.
“In my car, outside Sweetgrass, wondering what the hell I just did. Why I left a good job with security and health insurance. And I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to pay my mortgage when it comes due next month.”
The money itself is a small factor. It’s the security it gives her that she’s already mourning. I’ve never gone without—at least not when it comes to the things money can buy—so I don’t pretend to know what it’s like for someone like Delilah. All I can do is provide assurances and follow through. “You don’t need to worry about any of it. You’ll earn good pay, and you’ll have everything you need if you get sick.”
“I better.”
I ignore the implied threat—for now. It’s something we’ll work on in the next couple of weeks. “Enough about your needs for now. What I need, is you, at Wildflower. Trippi will meet you in the parking lot. Give him your car keys, and he’ll take you upstairs. Stay out of my bedroom and my office. Otherwise the apartment is yours to do as you please.”
“Where will you be?” she demands.
I rub my forehead in an effort to remain calm. “I’ll be downstairs at the club until lunchtime, and then I’ll be up.”
“What am I supposed to do until then, bake cookies?”
The thought of Delilah in my pristine kitchen creating a disaster that would rival the destruction of a tornado makes me cringe. “You’ll have plenty to do. A personal shopper, Jessica, and a seamstress whose name I don’t know, will meet you there in about an hour. They’ll bring fabric and some samples with them. Don’t worry about the cost of anything. Just try to have fun with it.”
“I don’t need a personal shopper,” she replies, indignantly, “or a seamstress. And shopping is not my idea of fun.”
There’s not a single woman I’ve been with—ever—who wouldn’t just say thank you. But I expected this from her. “You need both if you’re going to be spending time with me.”
She’s breathing heavily, and I brace myself for the fury about to be unleashed.
“If my clothing choices aren’t up to your standards, then maybe you need to find someone else for the job.”
Not a chance.
“You’re not dressing me like a Barbie doll,” she adds, in case I didn’t get the message.
I adjust my hardening cock roughly. “Oh, but I am dressing you. All the way down to the color of your silk thong. You can be Covert Agent Barbie. Or maybe I’ll call you Charleston Barbie. I’ll even buy you a sparkly pink convertible to drive around town in.”
“Fuck you, Gray Wilder.”
“Listen carefully, because this is the last time I’m going to say this. I don’t care if you run around in rags from the thrift store or bare-ass, but there’s no way you can accompany me to some of the places where the mission will take us if you aren’t expensively and exquisitely dressed. It’s part of your cover, so get over it.”
It’s not entirely true. While I don’t care what she wears, I like the idea of her being dressed in ways that seem as though she has no financial worries. I don’t care if she shops at Goodwill, as long as she knows she doesn’t have to.
“I—”
“You will do as your told or suffer the consequences. You can meet with the shopper and have input into your wardrobe, or I’ll meet with her and choose your clothing for you. Your choice.” I sit back and wait for her to come to terms with the shopper. There’s no way in hell Delilah would let me choose her clothes.
She stews for several seconds. “Fine. But at other times, I wear my own clothes, not the costumes you pay for. I’m not your whore.”
Oh, Delilah. My gut churns. That’s what this is about. “First, we both have a clothing allowance to purchase the things we need to make it believable. I have everything I need, so you can use my allowance and yours.” I’ll personally cover any overrun—happily. But I don’t say that. No reason to throw gasoline on a raging fire.
“And second, you’re not a whore.” I say it with the utmost respect and sincerity. It’s not a judgment I make about anyone when it comes to their sexual needs and desires—and I sure as hell would never judge her in that way. “You’ll never hear me call you that unless it makes you wet. Then I’ll say it all the time.”
Delilah doesn’t utter a peep. She likes dirty talk. I remember how aroused she was when I whispered filthy things to her. How she moaned and whimpered, and how willing she was to repeat my words back to me when I demanded it.
“In the future, things will go a lot easier if you just tell me what’s bothering you, rather than have me guess. I’m not a mind reader.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
This is bullshit. She let me see a small piece of what’s inside and now she’s playing dumb.
“You could have said, I feel cheap when you make decisions about my clothing or pay for it. And I would have explained that it was necessary for the mission.”
“Isn’t that the conversation we just had?”
The woman is going to kill me before this is over, or I’m going to kill myself. One way or the other, I’m not going to survive her. “We have a lot to accomplish today. Come directly here, so we can get started.”
11
Gray
It’s nearly two o’clock before I finally break away from the club. When I get to the apartment, Delilah is in the living room, scrolling through her phone.
“How did it go?” I ask, although I already know how it went. Jessica called me as soon as she left the apartment. Delilah was pleasant and polite, but preoccupied with how much things cost. So much so that she only purchased a small fraction of the clothing she needs for the trip. I instructed Jessica to send over everything that she liked but didn’t purchase. I’ll deal with the fallout when it happens.
“I hope that allowance is mighty big, because the clothing I bought today was mighty expensive. Are we going to visit the royal family as part of the mission?”