3: In Which She is the Pharaoh's Concubine

**********************************

Born in Cairo, Egypt on December 24, 1978, Devin Lateef Shaw was brought up by his American father in Brooklyn, New York. Shaw's first job as a teen was as a mechanic but since he showed a keen interest in the arts from a young age, his father decided to...

"What am I doing?" I asked myself, exiting the Wikipedia page and slamming my laptop shut. I leaned back in the chair, pulling my knees up under my chin. "This is stalking."

Besides that, I was no doubt being scrutinised by the secret geek Bates had probably hired to monitor my online traffic. Googling Topless Devin Shaw was sure to draw some concern.

Seriously, Rory – you have bigger things to think about, I thought, pushing my chair back and getting to my feet. Like how to get Devin to notice poor Fee.

Actually talking to Devin about it was the real problem. For starters, I couldn't go two footsteps near him without acting like a tongue-tied, star-struck groupie. It was humiliating, to say the least.

Just remember what a prick he is. And a nutcase. And an utter hottie...

I slapped my forehead as if I could slap all thoughts of throwing the man down and having my wicked way with him out of my head. It didn't help – at all. I sighed heavily and went to the balcony. Outside on the beach, Ophelia was chasing Lydia's loyal German shepherd, Bullet, under the woman's watchful eye. Sunday was my day off and, whenever I could, I went out to town and comforted myself with mindless shopping. I never thought I'd find shopping so tedious, but it turned out that the more money I had, the more it became more of a chore. I missed my fiver budgets.

Ophelia looked up and waved frantically. I waved back before returning to my bedroom. Cracking my knuckles, I went back to my perch in front of my laptop. If Devin didn't want to listen to me, I knew exactly who he'd probably listen to: Dr. Phil.

Everyone listened to that bald-headed know-it-all.

 ***

"What the hell is this?"

I quickly looked up from Fifty Shades, startled by Devin's unsubtle intrusion. Half-dressed, he stood in the doorway, his face a picture of irritation. Reading about Christian Grey and actually seeing a topless Devin was not a good combination, especially for my raging hormones. Cursing under my breath, I bookmarked my page and placed it on the nightstand before sliding out of the covers, careful not to wake Ophelia.

"What's the matter?" I asked Devin, although from the sheaf of papers in his hand, I already knew.

"What's she doing in your room?" Devin's attention was momentarily grabbed by his slumbering daughter, who was spread-eagled in the middle of my bed. If I'd thought that that bed was even remotely huge, sleeping with Ophelia had made me rethink my entire perception of size.

"She had a bad dream. That usually happens when little children watch slasher-movie reruns."

The scowl on Devin's face returned and he flung the compilation of Parenting-for-Single-Parents printouts – the ones I'd slipped under his bedroom door earlier that day – in my direction. The sheets of A4 paper fluttered about the room but none of them came even slightly close to hitting me.

"Go to hell," he said through gritted teeth.

"Me?" I asked incredulously, careful not to raise my voice in my anger. "You think I should go to hell? Did you even read the stuff I gave you? If anyone should go to hell, it's you, Satan's stepdad!"

"Why don't you mind your own business?" Devin snapped.

"Oh, shut it, will you?"

I would've laughed at his look of surprised fury if I wasn't irritated myself.

Ophelia made some sort of mumbling noise and we both angled to look at her. She turned onto her side, sighing contentedly.

"Look, it's late. You'll wake Fee," I said softly, when what I really wanted to say was a big "Fuck you".

I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it on, more than aware that the football T-shirt I had on wouldn't suffice otherwise. I took a deep breath and deliberately pushed past Devin on my way out the door.

He closed it gently behind me.

"I want you out tomorrow," he said out in the hallway.

"Out where?" I asked innocently, choosing to fake ignorance.

Devin's glower could've melted the skin clean off my face. "Who do you think you're talking to?" he snarled. "If I ever want...parenting advice from you, I'll damn well ask! You have no right to –"

I was just going to tell him to keep it down; to tell him that even if he was used to bellowing at eleven at night, Ophelia wasn't. My mouth, on the other hand, decided that a more hands-on approach would be appropriate – and that was how, after countless sleepless nights fantasising about it, I got on my tippy toes and kissed him.

Devin's lips were soft; certainly a million times softer than he was. He tasted of cigarettes. And something sweet, like fruit juice. He tasted of exactly what I wanted right then – he tasted of sex. And not just rolling-in-the-hay-missionary sex. No; he tasted of the kind of sex that broke bones and broke hearts.

I pulled away, mortified. "I'm sorry. So damn, damn sorry," I garbled. "You have to sack me now. Please."

Without waiting for his response, I turned to leave. I didn't care where I went – the beach, Lydia's cottage, the moon – as long as it was as far away from Devin Shaw as humanly possible.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked in a low voice, and his hand shot out to grab my wrist.

I whimpered from the heat of his skin. "That hurts." I was lying.

"Does it now?" His other arm snaked around my waist, drawing me to him, but he was gentle. It felt like I'd been scalded. "And this?" Quick as a flash, his head dipped low and his lips captured mine.

My response was automatic, like breathing in. For someone who hadn't had sex in over four years and hadn't been kissed in six months, I was behaving extraordinarily reserved – if wantonly shoving myself at Devin could count as "reserved". His hands came up at the back of my head, his fingers threading the tendrils of my unruly raven-black hair. Lips parting, I allowed him to deepen the kiss, my hands eagerly roaming across the planes of his unyielding chest.

So this is what it feels like, I thought, wondering if this were some incredibly realistic dream. If it was, I never wanted to wake up.

Devin became tired of bending and, without pulling away from me, hoisted me up and pressed my back against the wall. My legs cinched themselves around his waist and my hands ran along his jaw, the prickle of his stubble almost as good as the feel of the happy trail that led to the snake in his low-slung jeans...

Your body is a temple, Father Logan's pious voice resounded in my head.

Four years, Rory, and you're going to chuck it down the drain for an arsehole like Devin Shaw? the voice in my head wanted to know.

And just like that, I came crashing down to reality.

"Dev," I breathed into his mouth, "Devin, stop." The word was dragged from my mouth.

His head came up abruptly. "Stop?" he said, almost like it was a foreign word.

"I can't... You're my boss," I said lamely.

"I fired you."

I rolled my eyes at that. "Put me down."

He dropped me; he literally dropped me. 

"You're a dick," I grumbled, smoothing down the front of my gown. Fortunately, I'd landed on my feet.

"And you're a cock-tease."

 I could have slapped him.

"I'm going to bed," I said through clenched teeth. But I'm going to say a million Hail Marys first, I mentally added.

"You don't look exhausted," he countered, and he grabbed my wrists.

For one crazy second – crazy being the operative word – I thought he was going to attack me. Instead, he pinned my arms above my head with one hand against the cold, cold wall. The dinky belt securing my nightgown unraveled and I felt icy air hit my legs. But that definitely wasn't why I was shivering.

Devin's gaze was predatory but the most dangerous thing about him was his sheer masculinity. Damn it, I craved that like an addict yearned for his poison.

"Do you want me to let you go, Rory?" he said softly, rolling my name on his tongue like it was a sweet. His free hand settled on my hip.

I let out the breath I was holding. "No."

Devin pushed the folds of my robe aside. I didn't know which was worse: The fact that I wanted him so badly, or the fact that I didn't know what he would do next.

Probably maul me, I thought, and despite my mental battle, I shivered in delicious anticipation. I'd never been mauled, after all.

My eyes closed when I felt his hand trail a path of destruction down my belly. I could feel electricity zing from his fingers to my skin through my T-shirt and, when those fingers traced the lace of my underwear, I thought I'd been electrocuted.

"Dev," I whimpered, feeling goosebumps blossom on my skin.

Those dangerous fingers of his slipped into my underwear and, unable to free myself from his grip on my arms, I bit my bottom lip and said a mental prayer that this wasn't a tease, that he wouldn't stop just then.

Devin knew exactly how the female anatomy worked. He could've simply run a finger across my clit and I would've been putty in his deft hands. I held my breath when I felt the pad of a finger slowly begin to rub that little nub of sensitised nerves. He parted the lips of my pussy with two fingers and slipped one in.

I moaned. The sensation was like heaven in my knickers and when he added another finger, I could've creamed them.

"Is that what you like?" he surprised me by asking gently, almost benevolently.

"Mm-hmm." Finger-fucking isn't that sinful, right?

"Better than what I would feel like inside you?"

"No," I gasped, grinding my hips against his sensational hand.

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Ooh, God, yes," I panted, and I could feel how close I was to coming right then and there.

"I thought so."

His fingers disappeared and my eyes flew open.

"What...what are you doing?" I demanded, watching him raise his fingers to his mouth.

He sucked on them. I nearly died.

"You can go to bed now," was his blunt response. He turned to leave. "Sweet dreams, Rory."

"Sweet dreams?" I hissed at his retreating back. "Sweet dreams? Are you kidding me?"

No, Rory, what are you doing? This is your way out!

Devin ignored me. What was new?

If I was going to keep my vow, I had to let him go downstairs and do whatever the hell he did at night. I had to push open my bedroom door and go inside and get on my knees and apologise to God for being so bloody weak. I had to fall asleep and pretend that I didn't want Devin Father-of-the-Year-Just-Kidding Shaw in my bed.

That was what I had to do.

Too bad I was finding it so difficult to listen to my goody-two-shoes of a conscience.

Before I knew it, I'd shrugged my gown off and practically ripped off my own shirt and flung it to the ground. Cold air instantly assailed me but I ignored it. Devin was already halfway down the stairs and, feeling like such a brazen hussy, I took them two at a time before I met him at the bottom.

He turned around and I all but launched myself at him.

You are definitely getting fired for this.

"You are such a dickhead," I whispered, and his arms snaked around my waist before he kissed me.

"I've been called worse," he murmured into my mouth as he picked me up and walked me to the living room.

He blindly flicked the lights on and, groaning into my mouth, fell back on a sofa, making me straddle him. Beneath me, his jeans came off. I felt his erection prod me and, when he drew my nipple into his mouth, I knew that I wasn't going to keep my second-hand virginity – not for all the money in the world.

My head rolled back and I gripped the back of Devin's head as he switched his attention to my other breast. He rolled the aching bud with his tongue, his hands clenching my waist. I rocked against him, the minimal friction between my panties and his boxers unbearable. I was so wet, so unbelievably ready for him that the feel of his hot mouth on my nipples was becoming torturous.

"Dev," I pleaded, "I need you to get inside me."

I didn't recognise the desperate, throaty voice as mine. Hell, I didn't recognise the woman who'd just thrown herself at her boss after vowing to never look at a man until marriage called.

Marriage certainly wasn't calling. It didn't even have my telephone number.

He raised his head. "Patience, Rory," he said soothingly, taking my hand and placing it on the tent of his boxers. "If I don't get off first, I'll hurt you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Screw that!" I hissed, grabbing his stiffness in my hand. I could barely get around him. "Since when do you care about hurting me?"

"You don't understand," he said in a warning tone. "Rory, I haven't been with anyone in almost three years. It's a miracle I'm even able to converse with you."

I wasn't about to tell him that I hadn't had sex in nearly five years. That little nugget of information wasn't about to be aired like dirty linen.

"Then I expect you to give it to me good," I said coyly, rubbing the silk against the length of his member.

He released a guttural groan before gripping me to him as he got to his feet. I gasped in surprise at the change in altitude, hanging onto Devin for dear life. He kicked the coffee table aside as if it weighed nothing and sank to his knees. I mentally thanked Bates for choosing Persian rugs instead of something coarser. I definitely didn't need friction burns.

Devin's lips landed on mine and my eyes automatically closed. He wasn't holding back and I didn't want him to. It felt like I'd been starving in some desert somewhere and I'd suddenly stumbled upon an oasis.

He tore my underwear off; the final barrier that was keeping me virtuous.

I wantonly spread my legs and, without further preamble, Devin entered – no, broke into – me. My eyes flew open. It felt like I was eighteen again and my boyfriend, Callum, was telling me that it wouldn't hurt; that all I'd feel was pleasure when I eventually came.

Oh, shit, he's too fucking huge. What if I never walk again? What if I never sit again?

I sucked it up. Devin's weight on me was incredibly stifling but his scent – God, his scent was intoxicating – and the fact that his cock filled me up so completely and perfectly was consolation enough for the excruciating pain that came with each thrust.

I heard myself making foreign noises, things I didn't think sounded even remotely human. When I could finally enjoy the pleasure that came with the pain, I met Devin thrust for thrust, arching my back with each one. The carpet shifted beneath me. Devin was furious with each plunge and the faster he got, the closer I got to the edge. I was positive that I would be drenched for days, if not, months.

"Oh yes, Dev," I breathed, when I could feel everything start to make sense again. The end result – that was the main goal: The big O. "I'm almost there. I'm almost there."

His breathing became ragged, as did mine, and then, with one final, brutal thrust, he emptied his juices inside me, a low groan escaping his lips. His orgasm was violent it made me come. I felt him climax again, his body joined with mine, and then I felt his lips on mine. His tongue ran across my swollen bottom lip and my lips parted, allowing it entrance.

I came countless times after that; too many times to count. Minutes turned to hours and Devin Shaw would not stop. I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to suck me, lick me, drink me, fuck me until I didn't know the difference between up and down, right or left, good or bad.

Eventually, sated, he withdrew himself from me and got onto his knees before gracefully pulling himself to his feet.

I couldn't move. Maybe I never will.

Somewhere outside, a cockerel actually crowed.

I took that as my cue to pull myself together. I painfully sat up, wincing slightly. Devin was already in his jeans and I didn't know how I felt about that. Of course, I hadn't expected to cuddle, or to take this party to his bedroom, but I felt like I'd been used and it wasn't a great feeling. But what did I expect? This was a man who'd bedded his fair share of starlets and stick-thin models and groupies. This was a man who'd refused to use a stunt double in all his stupid movies, and had the body to prove it. This was a man who'd made me come more times in one night than I'd ever come in my entire life.

"You going to sit there watching me all day?" he said gruffly, his back to me.

"I don't think I can get up," I replied calmly, glancing down at my already-purpling body. Even my fingers were bruised. I couldn't remember how that had happened.

He turned around. "Rory, I'm not going to help you up."

"I didn't ask –"

"Because if I do, I'm going to want you again and if I want you again, I'm going to want you to suck my cock, because let's face it, there hasn't been any cock-sucking going on under this roof. But that's beside the point."

"Then what's your point?" I whispered, shakily pulling myself to my feet.

"My point," he said quietly, "is that you might have a big mouth metaphorically, but truthfully, it's too damn small."

You can't be serious, I thought in disbelief.

"Do you want to test that theory?" I asked, licking my lips.

His eyes had already darkened. "I do."