“You’re a fool for coming here.” He sighed. “Close your mouth.”
“Spinner!” His sudden yell makes me jump.
The door opens, and the scarred blonde enters. “Yes, sir?”
“Begin throat training tomorrow for this one. Her gag reflex needs work.”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Get out.”
“Yes, sir.”
She disappears, and the door clicks shut again.
“Get on the bed, and spread your legs.”
My knees go weak, but I try to stand. He doesn’t help, just watches with cold eyes that seem to miss nothing. Humiliation courses through me as he treats my nudity like a banality, as if nothing is off about this, all of this.
“Delilah, you’re testing me.” His hand strays to his belt buckle again.
I walk to the far side of the bed and sit down, then force myself to lie back. Telling my legs to open is one thing—them actually following the command is another.
Adam rises and stands at the foot of the bed, his face cast in shadow. “Spread them.”
My chin trembles, and for a second, I don’t think I can do this anymore.
He unfastens his belt and slowly pulls it from the loops with a schick noise as a girl starts crying next door. “Last chance.”
I clamp my eyes shut and open my legs.
“More.” His voice seems to drop an octave, taking on a rougher edge.
My heels scoot across the white quilt until cool air caresses the most intimate parts of me.
“More,” he grates.
I open all the way, and a tear slips from my eye and rolls into my ear. He doesn’t say anything else.
The girl next door wails, and another girl screams from down the hall.
The bed dips, his knees between my ankles. I clutch the quilt, fisting the material as he looms over me. I can’t open my eyes.
A scream sounds from down the hall. I jump.
“Shh.” His warm breath fans out along my inner thigh.
“What are you doing?”
“Look and see.”
I open my eyes. He’s between my legs, his mouth hovering along my bare skin, moving up, up, up my thighs. His gaze locks with mine, pupils wide, as he stops only an inch from the part of me that no man has ever seen.
“Do you taste as good as you look, Delilah?” His warm breath tickles along my sensitive skin.
Every rational thought in my mind grinds to a halt.
He breathes in deeply, and I clutch the quilt so hard my fingers ache.
“I think you do.” His tongue darts to his lips. “I think you’ll beg me to taste you. Soon.”
My heart pounds and stumbles as he inhales me, his gaze holding me prisoner. He doesn’t touch me, but he’s staking a claim all the same. I can’t relax, can’t think, can’t look at anything but him. His light breaths ignite little sparks along my skin, and I’m horrified at how I’m reacting to him. Something warm unfurls low in my stomach, a faint longing that shouldn’t be there. Not in this place. Not with this man.
He licks his lips, and I gasp in a breath. With a smirk, he leans back and stands, then grabs his belt from the bed. He strides to the door, then pauses. “Don’t open the door for anyone but a Spinner or me. Understand?”
I can’t even nod.
“Goodnight.” He leaves, and I finally take a breath.
Chapter 4
Adam
I lean back in my chair and take a long draw from my glass.
“That bad?” Noah walks in and tosses his jacket onto the pool table.
“How was yours?” I don’t want to think about Delilah. From the first moment I saw her, my thoughts have been circling her like a vulture around carrion, and it has to stop.
“Fine.” He shrugs. “She had no problem obeying. Then again, I’m never hard on them, even if they’re not quick on the obedience thing.”
“Which leads to trouble.”
“Maybe.” He fixes himself a drink and plops down next to me in his favorite leather chair. “But I don’t want to hurt them.”
“You’re the only one.”
“I know.” He frowns. “I wish Dad wouldn’t let Craig or Newell near them. They shouldn’t be Protectors.”
“Perks of being in the Prophet’s inner circle.” I snort and drain my glass, then rise to make another.
Noah’s phone pings.
“Fuck.” I slam two ice cubes into my glass. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
He checks his phone. “Yeah. He wants to see us. Upstairs.”
I down my drink and follow Noah up the curved staircase that leads to the main floor of the Prophet’s house. Everything up here gleams—the floors, the chandeliers, the priceless art. How many heads of state have walked into the Monroe Mansion on the Heavenly Ministries property and taken a deep breath, the taste of money on their tongues?
“Office.” Castro leans against the wall beside the French doors to my father’s lair. He’s been with us for a few years, but hasn’t proven himself enough to be a Protector and get his very own Maiden to play with. Maybe next year. The bitterness in his eyes tells me he’s well aware of what Noah and I have been doing in our stupid white outfits.