He reaches down, his fingers exploring my needy pussy. “You are wet. You enjoyed swallowing my cock, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
He brings his fingers to my mouth, and I suckle until the ache between my legs is my most pressing concern.
“You know what I enjoy?” He pauses, as if waiting for a response. “Fingering you, Delilah, until you come hard. Until you’re shaking and pushing my hand away, and I have to tighten my grip on your throat to let you know that I decide when you’re done.”
I shiver at his words and harsh tone. It’s not the shudder of repulsion, but the tremble of desire.
He takes his cock in hand, pulling and jerking on the swollen shaft. My gaze flits between his busy hand and his eyes. There’s no warning, at least none that registers, when he erupts. I squeeze my eyes shut, while he sprays his cum all over me—in my hair, on my cheeks and arms, and across my breasts.
The signal is clear to anyone watching. He’s marked me. I’m his.
“Next time,” Gray warns in a scathing tone, “don’t question me about where I’ve been or who I’ve been with.” He pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go take that shower you were so concerned with, because I have no desire to sleep beside someone who smells like a filthy whore.”
35
Gray
Last night was a good test—for us both. Delilah was challenged, and she stayed in control, with her anger pushing at the edges, which made it all the more believable.
I was cruder with her than necessary, but I wanted Ahmad to love the show so much that he would crave more. That even if his good sense was telling him to turn us away, he wouldn’t listen.
We’re engaged in a dance. Letting our real emotions creep in just enough to create a realistic scenario, but not enough to shatter us and blow our cover to smithereens. I’m acutely aware of how difficult it is for Delilah, and I do what I can to help her. But that’s a dance too.
She needs me to respect her as an operative—as a deserving partner in this mission. If I coddle too much, it has the opposite effect. It implies, with all the subtlety of a blaring siren, that I don’t have confidence in her abilities.
None of this is easy on me, either. It weighs on my mind, and in my heart, more than it should. Certainly more than I can afford, right now. That’s for damn sure.
Ahmad and I are having breakfast on the upper deck with a trio of nearly naked women. Not one from Amidane, or from the United States, for that matter. One woman is Eastern European and the other two, Burmese. They appear to be just above the age of consent. Maybe. Are they here of their own accord? It appears that way, but appearances are deceiving. Although it doesn’t matter, because that’s not why I’m here.
My purpose is sealed with official orders, and I’m not allowed to veer off to save anyone. It doesn’t matter whether the scourge of the sex trade lurks nearby, or something equally as evil. I have to look the other way. It’s one of the most infuriating aspects of this life I chose. But like it or not, that’s how this business works. When the government climbs into the mud with pigs, they never come out smelling good.
One of the young women is sitting on Ahmad’s lap while he feeds her orange sections and grapes. The other two are flanking me. I have absolutely no interest in slipping anything into their mouths, so they’ve taken to bringing bites of food to mine.
That’s when Delilah appears. Despite what Ahmad told her, she’s dressed modestly in a summery outfit that covers her arms and falls below her knees. Her conservative clothing sets her apart, and above, the women at the table. In the crudest terms, she’s a queen and they’re whores.
She approaches us with her head high and shoulders back. Delilah’s a hair below five feet five, but her presence is unmistakable, especially today.
Her sunglasses hide any disapproval in her eyes, but I see her body stiffen when one of the young women brushes a piece of croissant across my bottom lip, urging me to eat from her hand. I’m sure Ahmad saw Delilah’s reaction too, because he whispers something to the girl on his lap and when she gets up, he shoos the others away too.
“Good morning. I hope you slept well,” he says, standing to greet Delilah. The sign of respect, especially coming from him, is a bit of a surprise.
I stand too, because she certainly deserves my respect, and because this is her show, and she’s killing it.
“Come sit by me,” he says without a glance in my direction. “Leave that dog you brought along to his own devices.”
I scowl at him, hoping to send a silent message, but he ignores it.
“Coffee or tea?” he asks.
“Coffee would be wonderful,” Delilah replies. “Thank you.”
The waiter brings her coffee, along with some yogurt topped with drizzled honey and crushed pistachios. “Would you prefer something else?”
“This is perfect.”
Ahmad peels a fresh orange, carefully removing the bitter pith, and feeds her a section.
She laughs softly, before taking a bite.
I’m two seconds from tossing the table over, and grinding my heel into his neck. I clear my throat, and he smirks.
“As much as I would enjoy indulging you, I will stop. I think we’ve made your friend Gray jealous.” He glances at me, and then whispers to Delilah, “I suspect he prefers to indulge you himself.”
“Where did you say Noura was? The Riviera?” I grin at him, waiting for a response.
Ahmad narrows his eyes, and chuckles. It’s not a happy sound, more of a threat, or perhaps a promise. I don’t give a shit. But he doesn’t need to worry, I wouldn’t fuck Noura if he paid me to do it.
During breakfast, we chat about art, Brexit, and movies. Delilah holds her own. She doesn’t give herself enough credit, but despite her humble beginnings she’s well-educated and well read.
“I’m needed at home this evening,” Ahmad says soberly. “We’ll enjoy the last rays of sunshine and freedom before leaving the boat. We’ll disembark late afternoon, and travel the last leg by helicopter.” He turns to Delilah. “This suits you?”
She smiles shyly at him. “I spent the last few weeks reading about the palace and your customs. It would be an honor—and a delight—to visit there, if it suits you.”
Oh, baby. Delilah’s polish and deference is familiar to him. She’s not as sophisticated as Noura, who grew up in a palace herself, but that would be too studied anyway. Ahmad would be suspicious. Delilah’s a little nervous at the seams, like anyone meeting a prince for the first time, but she has the luster of the women he met in the Ivy League.
Either he has seen enough of Delilah to be swayed, or he’s decided being in her company is worth a small risk. Maybe both. I need to remind Trippi to stay close to her. Ahmad will have no qualms about helping himself if the urge becomes strong enough. We didn’t need Trippi and Baz to be as vigilant on the boat, but the palace is enormous and Ahmad knows all the hiding places.
Delilah finishes her coffee, and excuses herself to change and pack.
“I didn’t expect to leave for the palace so soon. If at all.” I want to know what he’s thinking.