Profane (Devout Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Nothing.

  I wipe the tears from my cheeks as I drive away.

  It wasn’t until years later, when I meet Liam and tell him about my history, that he offers additional insight I never considered at that time. Being a lawyer, he obviously has a different skillset than me.

  While talking about our pasts, I once again stew over why Mom wasted so many years staying married to the man instead of moving on.

  “Maybe she was worried about him demanding cash in the divorce,” he says. “Maybe she stayed married knowing it would financially hurt you if she filed. Because the settlement was in his name. He could have claimed it wasn’t a marital asset, but a personal one, and a court likely would’ve sided with him. Not to mention the attorney fees it would have chewed through. By leaving everything alone, he couldn’t touch the finances the way she had it set up, and she didn’t have to pay him anything.”

  I stupidly stare at him for a long moment because, yeah. That’s totally something my mom would’ve considered, and a reason she would’ve stayed.

  And maybe she never talked about that aspect with me because she knew I’d tell her fuck the money, divorce his ass, and be happy. She would rather I blame her misguided hope than possibly blame myself for her thinking she needed to stay married to protect me.

  I remember that conversation with Liam so clearly. It takes place during our second or third date. I slump back in the booth in the restaurant we are in and tip my head to stare up at the ceiling. The ceiling tiles were painted all black, and the AC vent closest to us bore a fine patina of lighter dust signaling it was overdue for cleaning.

  Because everything makes complete sense when I focus on the events of my childhood from that angle.

  Perfect sense.

  “Regardless of why she stayed,” I finally say as the ramifications rock my soul, “it should be obvious why I’m not a fan of marriage.” I finally look at him again. “Between witnessing what she suffered, and then the asshole who broke my heart, I have a very low tolerance for bullshit. If you like to play relationship games you won’t be in my life for long. I will cut and run without a look back, and no second chances.”

  He nods. “Duly noted. For the record, I’ve been burned before and don’t like those kinds of games, either.”

  “What kinds of games do you like?”

  He smiles and drops his voice. “Ones you need ball gags to enjoy.”

  I think that’s when I really knew I was falling in love with him.

  Chapter Three

  Now

  Earlier, after ending our phone call with Ward, I ordered Liam to go upstairs, strip, and lie face-up and spread-eagled on our bed.

  When I reach our bedroom, that’s exactly how I find him.

  Imagine, the Master can be given an order and he’ll follow it.

  I don’t want to punish Liam—

  Correction, that’s a lie.

  I totally want to punish Liam. But not with a beating, which I’m sure he’d accept and thank me for and gladly take if it means working his way back into my good graces.

  No, a beating would be an easy punishment for him to stoically endure.

  I want to really hurt him, because I need to teach him a lesson that will be forever imprinted on his very soul, one that he’ll never forget.

  Yet I don’t want to harm him in the process. He’s had enough of that, thanks to Ward.

  Think about it this way—if you break a bone, they have to set it and it hurts like fuck, right? If you don’t set it properly the first time, it has to be broken again and reset.

  Liam’s already been broken once, and it wasn’t set correctly. Now, it’s time to rebreak and set this goddamned thing once and for all so it can properly heal.

  The pity is that we’re here at the townhouse in DC instead of at our much larger home in Massachusetts. There we have our main kinky collection, including restraints, implements, and accessories.

  Here in DC, we usually make do, because we don’t want to take any risks that might earn us the bad kind of attention.

  Like fucking married people we aren’t actually married to in a goddamned hideaway office in the Capitol.

  We do, however, have rope. I mean, there are probably very few politicians living in DC who don’t have at least a pair of cheesy handcuffs and an extra sleep mask in their nightstand.

  I grab four of the shorty coils of black jute and make quick work of securely tying Liam’s wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed. I do this without speaking or making eye contact with him, because I don’t want to start screaming again.

  Or crying.

  Because I’m a motherfucker on a mission.

  Then I grab his briefs, from where they ended up on the floor inside his trousers, and wad them up in my hand. “Open.”

  He does, knowing exactly what’s coming next, because he’s damn well done it to me enough times.

  Into his mouth they go, an impromptu gag.

  His cock is hard, too. It’s been hard the entire time I tied him up. I reach down and flick the head of it, making him wince and yelp, but I grin. “Yeah, not so much fun, is it, asshole?”

  I lean in close, now staring him in the eyes. “No safeword rights, either. Obviously, I’m not going to gut two US senators in our damned bedroom. But I’m driving this bus, and it’s going to back all over you two fuckers numerous times before I’m satisfied. Understand?”

  He nods.

  I lightly smack his cheek. “Good boy. Because if I’m not satisfied, I can walk away after lighting the match and burn the whole goddamned thing down behind me.”

  On that ominous note, I head downstairs. If he has trouble, he knows he can spit out the briefs and yell for me, but I have other things to prepare.

  From the one-car garage that’s empty except for some boxes and tubs of Christmas ornaments, I grab a roll of plastic wrap that was left over from when we first moved in here. It’s on a convenient handle and everything.

  Yes, the sadist has used this on me, too, and I carry it and a roll of duct tape out to the living room. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll be using yet, but I want to have…options.

  From the laundry room, I grab the small bag of wooden clothes pins I keep on hand for the rare times I need to hand-wash something and let it air dry from the retractable line we have in there. The sadist forgets about these.

  Like hell am I reminding him they’re here.

  I gather a few more items and stage them in the living room, on the coffee table.

  Then I go pour myself a fucking drink, because I need it. I make a weak vodka and soda and nervously sip it as I check the time.

  I gave Ward thirty minutes to arrive. He still has ten left.

  If he chickens out and doesn’t show, then I can sit down on the bed and talk to Liam before I release him.

  At twenty-nine minutes, the doorbell rings, startling me and nearly making me spill my drink.

  I drain it and leave the glass with ice in it on the coffee table and head to the foyer to answer the door.

  It’s Ward.

  I glance around outside before opening the door wide for him. “Come in.” He does, and I lock the door behind him.

  Then I circle him and point at the floor.

  He drops to his knees without hesitation and it takes my breath away when he perfectly bows, palms pressed against the floor and his forehead resting on the backs of his hands.

  Exactly the way I bow for Liam.

  No shit—the same sadist trained us, after all.

  I let him stew for a long moment without talking. I want his anxiety ramped up to twelve.

  I want him eager to ingratiate himself to me. This will not be a one-night thing, either.

  “I see you are not unfamiliar with some of what I’ll be demanding of you,” I finally note. “By showing up, you’re agreeing that you’re giving yourself to me, as per the call we just had not so long ago. Correct?”

  “Yes, Sir,” he says without breaking his p
erfect pose.

  “This means you don’t fuck Liam in the hideaway—or anywhere else—unless I’ve told you to and given you express permission. No fucking, no blow jobs, no hand jobs, no dry-humping, and no kissing. Nothing. There is no expiration date on this agreement right now, either. It’s until I feel I’ve gotten what I need out of both of you. It’s also contingent upon me feeling it’s safe to turn you two loose on each other without my presence to make sure you don’t get caught. You both should know better than to take risks like that.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “It’s also contingent upon me not walking away because you both piss me off. Or making him go no-contact with you permanently. Success is not guaranteed here, so don’t think it’s just a matter of waiting me out. I’m dead-serious when I mean you both have to earn your way into my trust.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Look at me.”

  He does, and yeah, those are some gorgeous blue eyes he’s got. I crouch in front of him. “He’s my husband. You gave up the right to marry him when you ghosted him and broke his heart. That means you will always be the lowest man in this pecking order. Do you understand me?”

  He nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Yes, I told him you were his hall-pass fuck. Honestly? Had he pulled me aside that day and told me who you were, and that there were extenuating circumstances I needed to hear about? I legit would have told him to invite you over so we could negotiate the rules and have at it, the three of us together. But he acted stupid and crazy over you, because apparently you trigger that as a default mode in him.

  “What I’m going to do to both of you, over the next however long I decide to do it before we can even think about building a new normal, is because he hid this from me and took risks, not because he did it in the first place. I don’t know exactly what your father’s deal is, but had Liam told me from the start that the man’s a psycho, then no, I wouldn’t have acted stupid and sabotaged your life. Any questions for me so far?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Good. You can still call him Master, but I am your Sir, and I am now the ruler of your world as you know it. You will be at my beck and call, 24/7/365. What you tell your wife or your father or anyone else as an excuse is, honestly, none of my concern, as long as it doesn’t implicate me or my husband.

  “What matters is if I call you at two in the morning and tell you to show up here with a lubed ass because I woke up horny, you’d better be knocking on my door within the timeframe I state and ready to drop trou and bend over. If I tell you to meet me at the hideaway at lunch to blow me, I’d better walk in to find you waiting on your knees with your mouth open and ready. If I give you an order, you follow it, no matter what it is. It’s that simple. Understand?”

  His eyes have widened a little as I talk but he nods. “Y-yes, Sir.”

  “You afraid of me right now?”

  He nods. “A little, Sir.”

  “Good. I’m going to make sure you leave here scared shitless and wanting more.” I lean in and drop my voice to a whisper I know Liam cannot possibly hear from upstairs. “I promise you, I am going to fuck you up in ways you probably never dreamed possible. I’m certain he’s a far more creative sadist now than he was when you knew him, and I have my own tightly-twisted kinky streak to add to the mix. So buckle up, buttercup. Nothing worthwhile ever came easy, and neither will this.”

  He swallows hard. “Yes, Sir.”

  I stand and step back, motioning for him to rise. “Strip. Leave your clothes there, bring your phones, and follow me to the living room.” I don’t wait for him to comply. I want him scrambling to catch up and kept off-balance.

  It’ll make it that much easier to mentally and emotionally put him where I want him.

  From what I gleaned talking to Liam earlier, Ward is in a loveless marriage he was forced into by his father. An arranged marriage to a miserable woman.

  A woman Ward claims he’s never even fucked.

  Supposedly, his only sexual partner, ever—beyond his own hand—is Liam.

  I can believe that, actually. Liam’s damned good. Not just in bed, but as a sadist and Master.

  Until now, I mean.

  Hey, everyone fucks up from time to time. Liam’s fuck-up happens to be a colossal one of epic proportions. Understandable, considering the emotional trauma he suffered losing Ward the way he did.

  Sure, it’s easy to armchair quarterback this when you don’t have any skin in the game. It’s easy for someone to say Liam should’ve sucked it up and dealt with it and moved on.

  But when it’s your heart perpetually jammed in a running shredder, it’s not such a simple matter.

  Don’t underrate the healing power of closure. My mom didn’t have closure. My mom lost my father a piece at a time, first rapidly, then over years, until he took pieces of her with him when he died.

  Maybe what I witnessed growing up made me the perfect ultimate partner for Liam. I understand loss and limbo and a tenacious, hopeful love that refuses to die quite well.

  Too well, perhaps.

  Ward quickly joins me in the living room. I take the phones from him and make him stand there while I circle him and study his body. His cock’s not hard right now but I suspect he’s a grower, not a shower, and he’s likely nervous as all get out. He’s taller than my five-ten, but he’s shorter than Liam’s six-five.

  “Six-two?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  His sandy brown hair has more grey than Liam’s dark brown hair. Liam is going grey at the temples, but Ward has grey sprinkled everywhere. Liam also has less body hair than Ward. I mean, Ward’s no furry bear, but he’s definitely not a bald twink, either.

  And Liam and I both exercise on a regular basis, so we’re both fairly toned. Ward has a softer form approaching dad-bod status, but there’s nothing wrong with that and he’s still gorgeous.

  I pause in front of him and splay my hand across his abs. “You don’t exercise at all, do you?” It’s weird touching another man besides Liam in such an intimate way.

  I’d better get used to it.

  “I used to, but then the Senate campaign happened.”

  “Ah. Campaigns are a bitch on one’s diet. Starting tomorrow, you start exercising again. I don’t care if you hit the gym at work, or jog, or what you do. If you’re going to keep up with us, you need to stay in shape.” And I need another way to torture him when I can’t have him in front of me to stripe his ass with an implement.

  I move to his back. His ass is adorable.

  I can’t wait to put marks on it. “Bend over and grab your ankles.”

  He does. I reach between his legs and trail a finger along the back of his heavy sac and over his taint. Liam said you’ve jerked off. You play with your own ass?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “We’ll be reintroducing you to that, then. Bet you were sore as hell the day after he fucked you that first time, huh?”

  “A little, Sir. But it was the good kind of sore.”

  “Don’t I know it.” I slap his ass. “No more jerking off. Don’t make me put a chastity cage on you. I don’t want to do that, but it’s still on the list, and it’ll make your job hiding this from your wife that much harder, okay?”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Stand up.”

  He does.

  I position myself in front of him and look him in the eyes. “Don’t fuck around with me, Ward.” I drop my voice again and point at the ceiling. “That man upstairs is my universe. So when you’re wondering to yourself why I’m doing something to you, what I’m getting out of it, keep in mind I’ve spent the last almost fourteen years knowing him and seeing what losing you did to him. You put him through Hell, and I’ve done everything in my power to try to help him through it. Understand me?”

  He nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Hands behind your back.”

  He complies.

  I reach down and grab his cock and balls and squeeze. “Then l
et’s begin your trip to Hell, boy. I’ll be your guide through the past.”

  Chapter Four

  Then

  When I went to work as a volunteer for Congressman Effings’ campaign, I never dreamed where the experience would lead me.

  I started out as a volunteer because I needed something to distract me and keep my mind out of dark places. I was still recovering from a breakup that had fucked my head and heart. Plus, I felt certain I hadn’t adequately dealt with my mom’s death yet, and the last thing I wanted to do was lie in bed alone at night while my brain chattered dark and ugly ideas that couldn’t end well for me.

  Hence I put my professional talents as a statistical analyst to good use by volunteering to crunch poll numbers for the congressman. A friend of mine was a campaign volunteer, and I went with him to an event one evening for lack of anything better to do.

  And I kept going back. The more I did, I realized it was comforting work that helped me avoid dealing with my own weighty issues in an unhealthy way.

  I mean, I didn’t deal with those issues much at all, and you can’t call avoidance healthy, exactly.

  At least I wasn’t doing dumbass shit, like hooking up with random guys at bars and getting my heart and soul hurt even worse in a misguided attempt to distract myself.

  Or turning to alcohol.

  Meanwhile, I made decent money at the brokerage. I had little in the way of monthly expenses, because I took a small, cheap efficiency apartment after selling Mom’s house and put most of the money from her life insurance policy payout into my retirement account.

  I’m no idiot.

  I also upgraded my ride, meaning I bought my first new-new car for myself. Not even an expensive one. It’s a Honda, and great on gas.

  During this period in time, I first meet attorney Liam Michael Davis, when he stops by the congressman’s office one Saturday to speak to the man.

  He’s six-five and h-h-haaawwt.

  Like, seriously hot.

  The kind of seriously hot I am trying to avoid in the first place, because I don’t want any trouble in my life.

  Except…he’s gay and checking me out. Meaning when he offers to buy me sushi after he concludes his meeting with the congressman, of course I accept.