Speak of the Devil Page 28

  The feather started tickling the insides of my thighs, and I squirmed some more. Brian chuckled softly, and I wondered if it would violate the spirit of things if I were to aim a kick backward. He hadn’t, after all, bound my legs. I managed to restrain the impulse, even as the tickling drove me mad.

  I wasn’t exactly relaxed now that Brian was tickling me to death with the damn feather, but I wasn’t braced for pain as I had been during the excruciating wait. Which made the sudden smack of his hand against my ass all the more startling. He didn’t hit me hard, the blow more like the kind of playful smack you’d give a lover who’d just teased you about something. But in the context, it was a shock to my system, and I gasped as if it had been brutal.

  He followed up with more strokes of the feather, easing the faint sting. He repeated the process several more times, waiting until the tickle of the feather was driving me so crazy I forgot to brace against the spank. I jumped and squealed every time, only belatedly realizing that he hadn’t really hurt me.

  Somewhere along the line, I recognized the similarity between this situation and the erotic dream Lugh had created for me, but I was way too tense for this to be erotic. Of course, it also wasn’t a dream.

  When the tickle of the feather finally ended, I was momentarily relieved even as my cheeks clenched in anticipation. The relief dissolved into anxiety when nothing happened, and I realized that once again I had no idea where Brian was. Had he gone to pick out another “toy”? Was he standing there staring at me, watching me squirm and loving every minute of it? Hell, for all I knew, he’d gone out to watch a ball game on TV! For the record, being blindfolded sucks!

  Once again, my sense of time got seriously distorted as I waited in nervous anticipation for whatever was to come next. My jaw muscles were getting tired from the gag—I felt like I’d been sitting in the dentist’s chair while someone kept telling me to “open wide” for an hour. And I was more than ready to lose the fuck-me pumps that were forcing all of my weight onto the balls of my feet—and not, so far at least, getting me fucked.

  I was surreptitiously trying to wiggle my ankles around to restore circulation to my toes when a new tickle made me jump for the millionth time. Was it possible to run out of adrenaline? Because it seemed like I should have done so by now.

  At first, I didn’t know what was causing the tickle. It was something bigger and more diffuse than the feather, and Brian was dragging it up the side of my body. I had to stifle a laugh, because my sides are super ticklish. Then I started going over in my mind the items Dominic had put in the care package, and recognition shivered through me. This was the multi-thonged whip.

  Nope, definitely not out of adrenaline. I started breathing hard, and I forgot all about the discomfort of the gag and the shoes. I did not want Brian to hit me with this thing! He was dragging it over my back right now, the long suede thongs paradoxically soft against my skin. I let out a little whimper.

  “Remember,” Brian said, “you can always drop the ball.”

  My jaws tightened reflexively on the ball. I was not going to chicken out now. I’d survived the hell that Adam had put me through; if I could survive that, it seemed almost silly to be afraid of anything that Brian might do.

  He teased me a bit more with the whip, swinging it lightly so that the thongs brushed over my ass, letting me think about what it would feel like if he really did haul back and hit me with it. But of course, he didn’t.

  Brian let out a dramatic sigh. “Considering some of the crap you’ve pulled in the last couple of months, the idea of tanning your ass with this thing has some serious appeal. However, Dominic’s note says I’d need to practice before using it, so I guess I’m SOL.”

  My heart bled for him. Really.

  “Of course,” he continued, “I could just use my hand. I bet I can manage that without any practice at all.”

  There was a long, pregnant pause. I imagined he was watching the ball very carefully, waiting to see if I’d drop it. I certainly didn’t want him to spank me, but if that was what it took to convince him to give me another chance, then I’d take it willingly. Which didn’t mean I wasn’t relieved as hell when he let out a regretful little sigh that told me he wasn’t going to do it.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think I have the patience for it right now,” he said, and I didn’t immediately know what he meant.

  I groaned in relief when he removed the gag. My jaw muscles screamed in protest as I closed my mouth, but I was really glad to be able to swallow normally again.

  Brian freed first my right hand, then my left from the bedposts. It was only then that I realized my shoulders had been getting pretty tired of being stretched out like that.

  I figured he’d take the blindfold off next, but he didn’t. Instead, he took my hands and pulled them behind my back. Apparently, those fur-lined cuffs could be connected together. I guess this wasn’t over yet, after all.

  He turned me around to face him, and I came very close to doing a not-so-graceful nosedive into the floor. Brian steadied me with his hands.

  “Maybe we’d better get you off your feet before one of us ends up in the emergency room,” he said, and though he wasn’t laughing, I could hear the smile in his voice.

  By “off your feet” he meant “on your knees,” a fact I was able to divine without any further prompting from him. He kept his hands on me the whole way down, making sure I didn’t topple over. I heard the jingle of his belt buckle, then the rasp of his zipper. I sucked in my cheeks and flexed my jaw a bit, hoping I’d be able to manage a good blow job after spending however long that had been with the ball gag in my mouth.

  “Open wide,” Brian commanded, and there was still that smile in his voice. I was kind of glad for the blindfold all of a sudden, because I didn’t much want to see how much he’d been enjoying himself— although I guessed I was about to get some pretty concrete evidence in my mouth.

  I love giving Brian blow jobs. His pleasure in it is downright contagious. But after everything that had gone between us lately, I couldn’t just swallow him without a word of affection, especially not when I was kneeling at his feet, blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.

  “I love you,” I murmured, and to my surprise, tears sprang into my eyes behind the blindfold.

  Brian’s hands caressed my hair, then slid down to gently cup my cheeks. The tenderness of the touch brought even more tears to my eyes.

  “I love you, too,” he said, then pushed the blindfold up and out of the way.

  I got a quick glimpse of his rampant arousal before he fell to his knees in front of me and seized my mouth for a hard, passionate kiss. I opened wide for him, all right, my mouth, my heart, my soul. Kissing me all the time, he fumbled at the cuffs that bound my hands and managed to get them off by feel.

  As far as I had noticed, nothing he’d done to me while I was bound had aroused me in the slightest. And yet now, only moments after he’d freed me, I was desperate to have him inside me. Luckily, he seemed to feel the same way.

  Who needs a bed when you’ve got a perfectly good floor available? Before I knew it, Brian had rolled me under himself, away from the bed. My thong panties were flimsy enough that he was able to rip them off with one quick jerk. And then he was making love to me, his strokes hard, and masterful, and perfect. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, tears falling unheeded from my eyes as I clung with everything I had.

  Afterward, Brian rolled to the side, pulling me with him. He was still buried inside me, and I pressed as close to him as was humanly possible.

  “Don’t ever leave me again,” I said as I pressed my lips to his chest and tasted the salt of his sweat. “Of all the bad things that have happened to me, that was the worst.”

  He squeezed me even tighter, so hard I practically couldn’t breathe. “I didn’t like it so much, either. It seems like whatever either one of us does, we always end up back together. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something.”

  “Mayb
e so,” I agreed, raising my head so I could meet his eyes. And maybe, just this once, I would actually listen to what the universe was saying.

  Later, when we were both recovered enough to stand and were both feeling a little awkward and shy with each other, Brian showed me the “instructions” Dominic had written him:

  If you’ve gone along with Morgan’s plan enough to get to this note, then I presume you’re planning to go through with it. Let me give you some friendly advice about the toys in this case. First, if you don’t know what it is, don’t even think about using it. Second, if you don’t know how to use it properly, don’t even think about using it. (Hint: You don’t know how to use the crop, the flogger, or the paddle, even if you think you do.) Third, make sure Morgan always has a way to signal she wants to stop, and respect the signal if she gives it. And last but not least, if you ignore my advice, I’m going to come over there personally and kick your ass! Don’t think because I’m gay I can’t do it. Respect and treasure the power she’s putting in your hands, and don’t abuse it.

  My eyes misted with tears when I read it. Brian slipped his arms around me from behind and pulled me close to his heat.

  “Dominic’s a pretty cool guy,” he said softly into my ear.

  I nodded and sniffled, then turned in Brian’s arms so I could lay my head against his shoulder as I held him tight. “So are you,” I whispered, then raised my head to look into his eyes. God, I loved him! I was sure tonight’s encounter was little more than a patch on our wounded relationship, but a patch was a step in the right direction, and I vowed that I was going to do everything I could to put all the pieces of us back together.

  Brian lowered his head, his lips brushing softly against mine. Returning his kiss, I closed my eyes and let Dominic’s note flutter to the floor.

  Epilogue

  A week after I’d left the hospital, my lawyer finally convinced Jordan Maguire Sr. to drop the lawsuit. Without any outside forces to whip him into a frenzy, it seemed Maguire just didn’t have the will to persecute me. I suspect in his heart of hearts, he knew I wasn’t really at fault, but it’s not a theory I’ll ever be able to confirm.

  Saul now had an official identity, having magically become Saul Davidson, a twenty-eight-year-old native of Southern California who had been a legal, registered demon host for five years. He even had all the paperwork to prove it. I wondered if somewhere in a courthouse in California there existed a falsified video of Saul’s registration process. I decided I didn’t want to know.

  And then there was Barbie.

  I’d avoided her as much as I could, not being anxious to fulfill Lugh’s promise. Truthfully, though, I knew it had to be done. Barbie had seen and heard far too much, and with her inquisitive mind, she’d be able to put together enough facts to come up with some uncomfortable conclusions, even if those conclusions were all wrong. Raphael contended we’d be better off killing her and hiding the body, but I think he was just saying that to goad Saul.

  To make sure everyone was on board and fully aware of Lugh’s wishes, I called together the entire council before I invited Barbie to my apartment for the long-awaited explanation. She was, of course, on crutches, her leg broken in two places from Abraham’s brutal kick. Not coincidentally, she ended up sitting next to Saul when I called the meeting to order.

  I told Barbie the whole, long, intricate story of Lugh’s banishment to the Mortal Plain and the danger Dougal represented to the human race. Others chimed in occasionally with extra details and clarifications. Barbie had to be surprised by what she was hearing, but she mostly hid the surprise well, only the occasional widening of her eyes betraying her shock.

  I didn’t exactly invite her to join Lugh’s council— council membership was more of a command performance than a choice—but I couched it as delicately as I could.

  “I know being part of the council will sometimes interfere with your paying job,” I said—it sure as hell interfered with mine, even when I wasn’t suspended. The U.S. Exorcism Board moves with all the speed of your average bureaucracy, which meant they still hadn’t lifted my suspension, even though the lawsuit had fizzled. “But we’ll do whatever we can to make sure Blair is taken care of.”

  Barbie’s eyes widened hugely and she gasped. “Oh! So you’re the one who set up that trust.”

  “Huh?” I said, looking around at the other members of the council and seeing similarly blank expressions.

  Barbie frowned. “The anonymous trust? The one that came out of nowhere to fund Blair’s stay at The Healing Circle?”

  Still no signs of recognition from anyone as we all looked at one another and shrugged or shook our heads.

  “But it has to be you guys,” Barbie insisted. “I couldn’t even come up with a far-fetched guess who it could be before you told me everything. Why would anyone else give a damn about Blair’s care? No one ever has before now.”

  We each took a turn saying something to the effect of “it wasn’t me,” leaving Barbie looking flummoxed and perhaps even a little frustrated.

  Conversation flowed around me, full of theories and conjecture, but I stayed out of it. There were only two people sitting in this circle who had the means to set up Blair’s care: Adam and Raphael. The rest of us were pretty much broke. If Adam had set up the trust, there would be no reason for him not to admit it. But then, there wasn’t really any reason for Raphael not to admit it, either. Of course, it didn’t really seem like the kind of thing Raphael would do. A philanthropist he was not! But, like Barbie, I had a hard time believing the money could have come from anyone but a member of this council.

  I met Raphael’s eyes from across the circle. His expression was studiously blank, but he broke off the stare quickly, and my conviction strengthened. When the rest of the council members filed out one by one— or two by two, in the case of Adam and Dom and Saul and Barbie—I grabbed Raphael’s arm and made him stay behind. Brian gave me a raised eyebrow, and I mouthed “later” at him. He accepted that without comment.

  “So what’s the story?” I asked when Raphael and I were alone.

  “What story?” he asked, sounding genuinely baffled. But then, Raphael was one hell of a good liar.

  “The trust fund?”

  He shook his head. “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He laughed. “Usually, you’re accusing me of the most heinous acts you can imagine. Why on earth would you suddenly start suspecting me of doing something … nice?” He grimaced when he said the word, as if it were distasteful.

  “Instinct.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Why don’t you want anyone to know?”

  It looked like there was another denial on his lips, but he stopped himself and sighed. “Let’s pretend for a moment that it was me. What would be the first thing everyone on the council would think if I took credit for it?”

  I nodded, getting it. “Gee, I wonder what’s in it for you?”

  His lips thinned in displeasure, but he had to know he’d earned his reputation. “Right.” He sighed again, the muscles in his face relaxing slightly. “There’s nothing I can do to make the rest of you think better of me. But I’d like to believe that I’m not quite the embodiment of evil you all think I am. So if I were to make a gesture like setting up a trust for Blair’s care and then not take credit for it, it would be to prove to myself that I have redeeming qualities. But if I took credit for it, it would be just one more way I’m trying to make myself look better to the rest of you, and I’m back to being an irredeemably selfish bastard. So, it wasn’t me. End of story.”

  It was still almost impossible not to doubt Raphael’s motive. He probably could have deduced that I’d figure out it had to be him and that I’d call him on it. That would allow him to take credit for his charitable act while still pretending not to. The way his mind twisted and turned, it was hard to know what to make of his gesture.

  I think he actually meant well this time, Lugh said. I was pr
etty sure my subconscious barriers were gone for good, because I wasn’t particularly stressed right this moment, but I could still hear him.

  I thought Raphael was finally going to leave, but I wasn’t that lucky.

  “I was going to bring this up during the meeting,” he said, “but I figured I should give Lugh the heads-up before I shot my mouth off. We’re in a stronger position now than we have been since Lugh first was summoned to the Mortal Plain. Dougal and his supporters haven’t been able to find him. He’s set up his court with people he trusts. And no one’s trying to kill, frame, or otherwise persecute you at the moment.”

  “That we know of,” I mumbled.

  Raphael ignored me. “We’ve had no choice but to continually play defense so far. But eventually, we’re going to have to go on the offensive. Dougal can afford to wait us out, so we can’t just sit back and twiddle our thumbs forever.”

  He could have put that more tactfully, but I knew he was right. Problem was, I hadn’t a clue how to go about going on the offensive.

  “What do you suggest?” I asked. “It’s not like we can go to the Demon Realm after him—even if you or Lugh could kill him there, which I gather you can’t. And we’ve already established that he’s not going to conveniently show up on the Mortal Plain where we can kill him.”

  “Not at the moment. It would be a highly unnecessary risk, and Dougal doesn’t take unnecessary risks. So we have to find a way to make it a necessary risk.”

  “And have you got an idea how we can manage that?”

  Raphael frowned. “Not yet. But I’m working on it, and you and Lugh should, too.”

  He’s lying, Lugh whispered in my mind. He has an idea. He just doesn’t like it and is hoping we’ll come up with something he likes better.