Devil's Plaything (Playthings, #1) Page 7

  Julie felt bad for waking her but pushed past it. Things were fairly dire here.

  “Shay, sorry for calling so early, but I need you.”

  “Julie, hey, what’s up?” she asked, her voice clearing and her tone alert.

  “Not to be dramatic, but I’m having a fashion emergency, and I need a doctor.”

  “Ha! It’s too early for bad almost puns, but fashion emergencies are my favorite kind. Is this man-related?”

  “Um, well, I have a… date tonight, but my only decent dress looks like I’m going to court or a funeral.”

  “You’re in luck, my friend, because the doctor is in—don’t ever repeat that, Julie. Get dressed. I’ll be there in thirty,” she said and hung up.

  And she was there in twenty-five, the sour look on her face as she scrutinized Julie’s dress reminiscent of the expression she wore when confronted with a particularly gruesome injury in the ER.

  “I’m gonna call it. Despite our most valiant efforts, the patient expired in 1991,” she finally proclaimed.

  “Come on, Shay. It’s not that bad!”

  “No, it’s even worse. But you called me, and we can fix it. What time is the date?”

  “Seven.”

  Shayla looked at her watch. “Awesome. The shops are still closed, so we can get breakfast and coffee while we formulate the plan of attack. Away,” she said with a flourish, pushing Julie toward the door.

  Julie hesitated a moment, unsure of what “shops” Shayla was referring to. She had more of a women’s-department body and a dollar-store budget, and “shop” sounded small and expensive.

  “Um, Shay, where are you taking me. I have certain requirements—”

  “Girl, hush. Have you seen the wagon I’m draggin’? I got you.”

  Thirty minutes later, they sat at a small table in popular local café, eggs, bacon, and pancakes on the way. Julie had originally ordered a bagel, but Shayla nixed that, telling her she’d need a good breakfast to fuel her as they shopped. For a moment, Julie was a little nervous, but then Shayla narrowed her eyes, focused on her like a laser, and then she got really nervous.

  “So you and Albert hit it off?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, he’s nice.”

  “But you’re not going out with him, right?”

  “No, it’s someone else. I’ve been… seeing him for a little while.”

  “I knew it! Trying to hold out on me,” Shayla said, oblivious to the people looking over at their table.

  “Shh!” Julie said.

  “Sorry!” Shayla exclaimed even more loudly, before looking around sheepishly and lowering her voice. “Sorry,” she practically whispered. “So it’s old boy from the ER right? The big, hunky white dude?”

  Julie felt like she’d been punched in the gut.

  “What makes you say that?” she asked, her playing-it-cool voice so unconvincing it made her nervousness crystal clear.

  Shayla, showing the sensitivity and perception that made her the best doctor in the ER, backed off. “It’s okay, Julie. I’m sorry to tease. It’s just I saw the way you looked at each other that day. You both looked like you’d seen the same ghost, so I kinda put two and two together.”

  “But you never said anything.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to upset you, but when you called this morning, I got a little hyped. I’m just jealous is all because that man is h-o-t. But seriously, don’t worry about it. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  Julie tilted her head and raised a brow at Shayla.

  “Okay, you know I can’t keep my mouth shut, but I’ll refrain from asking the really pertinent questions about stuff like how big his cock is and how much money he has.”

  Julie almost spit out her coffee, and the tension that had formed in her stomach dissolved as she laughed. Besides, she needed a new attitude about this thing with D’yavol. They were transitioning, or at least she thought they were, and discussing your mate with friends was only normal. If she wanted her and D’yavol to be something more than a late-night connection that could easily be construed as just a hookup if looked at from the right angle, she needed to treat it differently, and talking to Shayla was a good start.

  “That was him,” she said. “It’s been… complicated. But fun. Good,” she added hastily when she saw Shayla purse her lips in that way she did before she got wound up. “And we’re trying to take things to the next level, which is why I desperately need your help.”

  “Fair enough. And, in all fairness, I should mention that I’m not exactly Donatella Versace.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve seen some of your scrub combinations.”

  Shayla puffed up her chest, feigning insult. “Then why did you ask for my help?”

  “’Cause, you may have… questionable taste, but you’ll tell me if I look horrible.”

  “Sure will,” she said, triggering another round of giggles.

  ••••

  Julie jumped at the knock.

  Between the shopping, mani-pedi, hair, and lunch, Shayla had kept her out far longer than Julie had intended, the upside being that she hadn’t had all day to obsess, but she had ended up pressed for time, certain that D’yavol would arrive precisely at seven, as he had. She hurriedly clasped the round CZ—solid-silver post, though—earring, stepped into her four-inch, nude, peep-toe patent-leather pumps—Shayla had made her buy them first and forced her to wear them a-a-a-l-l-l day, but at least she wasn’t worried about falling over—and took one last look in the mirror.

  The dress had caught her eye as she and Shayla had walked down the main shopping drag, and, fortunately or unfortunately—she hadn’t yet decided which—Shayla had seen her not-at-all surreptitious glances and ushered her into the shop. Layer upon layer of pale rose chiffon made up the skirt, the hem jagged and irregular because of the overlapping fabric. The chiffon continued up across a fitted bodice with a sleeveless sweetheart neckline. Seeing it up close, the delicate fabric of the skirt, the unforgiving cut of the bodice, imagining the skin it would leave exposed, Julie had almost turned around and left. But General Rodgers wouldn’t allow it, and before Julie knew it, she was in the dressing room stepping into the dress. Shayla had pushed her bra straps off her shoulder to get the full effect, murmuring to herself as she took in Julie from every conceivable angle.

  “This is the one,” Shayla had finally said.

  Julie had been dubious. “I look like a cupcake.”

  “No, you look like a beautiful, curvy confection of a woman with cleavage that money can’t buy. He will want to eat when he sees you, but he won’t be thinking about cupcakes.” Her eyes had widened. “And twenty percent off. It’s fate!”

  A second knock had her scurrying across the room as fast as her shoes would take her. Hand on the knob, she smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  He was devastating.

  She’d become accustomed to his standard attire, so she wasn’t prepared for the image that greeted her. His close-cropped hair was neat as always, but the stubble that generally adored his face was gone, smooth, golden skin left in its place. He wore a black suit, and the fine cut of the jacket showcased his broad shoulders perfectly, his tie matching the now-deep blue of his eyes, the color deepening still when he swept her with his gaze, the heat of his expression scorching her. Julie sent a silent thank-you to Shayla for pushing her to be daring. She still felt awkward in her heels and exposed in the frilly dress, but the heat in his gaze was worth any discomfort a million times over.

  “Hello, D’yavol.”

  She’d tested the name alone, tried to match his inflection, acclimate herself to rhythm of the word though it still felt strange on her tongue. His eyes flared and the corner of his mouth lifted at the sound, so she supposed she’d done an okay job.

  “Are you ready, nebesa?”

  Oh, she was ready, all right. He chuckled and placed her hand on the crook of his elbow.

  “Maybe later, yes? We have r
eservations.”

  She laughed and hooked her arm tighter in his as they walked through her hallway and out to the front of the building. A late-model black SUV was parked on the curb, and D’yavol clicked a button, the beep-beep indicating the unlocked door, and escorted her to the passenger side and stayed there until she was settled. Then he walked to the driver’s side and got in, and they were off.

  Strong and sure was how he gripped the wheel, and she was struck again by the leashed power of his body, her mind straying to the way his hands felt as he skimmed and molded her curves, the way they commanded the steering wheel much like the way they commanded her body.

  “We won’t make it to dinner if you keep looking at me like that, Julie.”

  Blood rushing to her face, she laughed.

  “Busted, I guess. I’ll just look over here…”

  He joined her laughter, and they continued the ride in easy silence. Twenty minutes after they’d gotten into the car, he pulled up to a plain brown building, a constellation of four lightbulbs the only decoration. He got out and walked around to the passenger side, helping her out of the car.

  “Wait, is this Hideaway?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did—this place is impossible to get into, beyond exclusive. I heard the head of cardiology complaining about not being able to get a table.”

  “I wanted our first date to be memorable.”

  “D’yavol.” She stopped. “I don’t need all this.”

  “But”—he grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth for a gentle kiss”—you deserve it, and I’m going to give it to you.” His eyes glittered in the light.

  Practically melting right there on the sidewalk, she nodded and, leaving her hand in his, continued toward the door, which opened before they even reached it.

  “Good evening,” the doorman, decked out in a full tuxedo including a top hat and cane, said. “Welcome to Hideaway. The maître d’ will seat you.”

  “Thank you,” D’yavol said as he tipped the man before placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her farther inside.

  “Good evening, sir, ma’am. Please follow me,” another tuxedo-clad man said, arm extended toward a semicircular booth tucked in the corner of the deceptively large room. As she made her way over, D’yavol behind, Julie took in the place, impressed by its tasteful decor and ambiance. The booths and tables were spaced such that each group had privacy, but the restaurant still felt like a cohesive shared space. Festive classical music played in the background, and the low lightning cast a flattering glow on the patrons and staff alike. They reached the booth, and D’yavol stood until she’d settled, her attempt at sitting without exposing more of her thighs a miserable failure. The moment D’yavol settled in the booth, a dark-haired waitress wearing a feminized version of the tuxedo walked over, bottle of sparkling water in hand.

  “Welcome to Hideaway. My name is Nina, and I’ll be your culinary consultant this evening.”

  D’yavol smiled at Julie’s quirked brow. Culinary consultant? That was new, not that she dined at restaurants with waitresses that often.

  “This evening,” Nina continued as she deftly placed menus in front of Julie and then D’yavol, “the chef is featuring squab, rabbit, venison, and swordfish and accompaniments as well as a selection of cold and raw fish dishes. Feel free to order any of the dishes, but I’d recommend you select the guided menu tour. While you decide, may I offer you a refreshment?”

  “I’ll have a lime seltzer.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Julie said.

  Nina smiled and nodded. “I’ll return with those in a moment, and please let me know if you have any questions.”

  After she’d left, D’yavol said, “You don’t drink alcohol?”

  “No. I never developed a taste.”

  “Me either. What looks good?”

  “I have no clue.”

  She’d planned to get her standard chicken dish, which was usually on the lower end of the price scale, but there wasn’t a chicken in sight, and the menu didn’t include prices.

  “Ma’am, sir,” Nina said, placing their drinks on the table, “have you had a chance to review the menu?”

  “We’ll take the guided menu tour,” D’yavol said.

  Nina, before professional but subdued, lit up as she described the dishes. She asked about their preferences and experiences, and after about five minutes of conversation, Nina left with promises to return soon with their first course.

  Julie was excited about the meal but couldn’t resist poking at D’yavol.

  “You order always order for your dates?”

  “Just you, Julie,” he said with a laugh. “You were getting that frown here.” He indicated the space between her eyes. “And I didn’t want you to worry.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Let’s enjoy it.”

  And enjoy it they did, Nina more than living up to the “culinary consultant” label. She brought plate after plate of delicacies, her passion for the food contagious. Finally, after dinner came desert, black-pepper ice cream with simple pound cake, the spicy, sharp, ice cream deliciously offset by the butter and sugar of the cake.

  “That was amazing!”

  “It was. The food, too,” he said.

  Flowery words seemed to come naturally to him, and he showered her with compliments, but for some reason, the words took on a new dimension here. Maybe it was because they were in public, but for some reason, they felt more real. And much sexier. She’d wanted him since she’d opened the door that evening, and his tossed-off words and seemingly random touches had only heightened the effect.

  “Thank you for allowing me to guide your meal this evening. It’s been a pleasure, and I hope you can join us again,” Nina said as she discreetly placed the check on the table, reminding Julie that yes, they were still in public and reigniting her curiosity about the price.

  “Don’t even think about it, nebesa.” D’yavol words rumbled across the table, voice gravelly and rich, grating over her skin like the caress she so desperately wanted.

  Casually, he stuck several bills into the sleeve—she couldn’t make out the denomination, much to her regret—and stood and offered his arm. Calls of “have a good evening” floated around them as they exited the restaurant.

  “Care for a walk?”

  “Sure. I love the lake.”

  As they walked along the boardwalk, Julie took in the shining stars, the moon reflecting off the water. The sounds of the restaurant still echoed in the distance, but it felt like she and D’yavol were in their own world. Would it be like this if they could be together? Real, normal? Like two average people in love, out for a special night but soon to return to their lives, bickering about chores, snores, falling asleep together and waking up that way? She stopped and turned to face the water, sighing at the thought. The heat from his body informed her that he stood behind, and the solid weight of his arms around her waist anchored her, reminded her that the future didn’t matter, that all that mattered was him with her right now.

  “Thinking again, aren’t you?” he said before he leaned down and placed gentle kisses on her shoulders, his hands splayed across her abdomen, kneading her flesh. “You know how I can tell? Your shoulder, here”—he kissed the spot—“gets tense. What’s got you tense, nebesa?”

  He continued kissing and stroking her, and beams of pleasure shot through her, the zing shooting down her spine. She leaned against him and sucked in a breath when he lowered his hand to the hem of her skirt and began pulling it up, up, until his fingers rested near her mound, so tantalizingly close to where she needed them to be but still an eternity away. She arched forward, seeking, and he chuckled and begin stroking the inside of her thigh.

  “No, you must wait, little one. All through dinner, I had to watch you, the smooth skin of your shoulders exposed, so soft-looking in the light, the tight buds of your nipples teasing me through your dress…” He cupped her breast with his other hand, squeezing the f
ull weight as if to test her ripeness. She pushed back against him and felt his hardening cock press against her ass. The air from his sharp intake of breath, nearly a hiss, hit her ear and caused a cascade of warmth to flow over her body.

  He nipped and kissed her shoulders and then slipped a hand between her thighs and stroked the length of her slit.

  “What do we have here?” he asked as he played with the thin string of fabric that comprised her panties. She’d been fascinated by them at the store, they were so different, the thin fabric going through her slit and between he ass cheeks with a small swatch of fabric on either side. D’yavol followed the fabric up, making her shiver as he passed over her back hole.

  “You’ve been wearing this all night?” His whispered words floated to her ear. “You sat with this barely covering you without me knowing,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.

  He plucked at the fabric roughly rubbing it against her engorged clit. He continued the movement and added a swirling finger to the sensations, spreading the cream that was gushing out between her slick lips, circling the rim of her cunt, around and around. Almost involuntarily, she swiveled her hips to match his motion and let out a broken sigh.

  “Should I make you wait like I had to wait? Leave you here on the edge, wet and needy, tease you but not let you come until I take you home and finally let you fuck yourself on my cock until we both reach release? Could you even wait? Or would you do it right here? Take my cock here in view of anyone who happened by? You wouldn’t care, would you, as long as I fucked you?”

  He punctuated the question by sinking that swirling finger inside her, but just to the knuckle. It wasn’t enough, and she almost begged him for his cock. He was right; she didn’t care that they were outside, that she was almost panting like a bitch in heat. All that mattered was that she was soaked, wetter than she’d ever been, and that he and he alone could put out the fire in her blood, fill the hole inside her.

  “Answer me.” His voice, commanding, deep, penetrated her brain, and he stopped moving his hand, stood still and silent, waiting.