The Parlour (VDB #1) (15 page)

Carefully placing the towel over a chair and pulling the robe around myself, I linger, not really knowing what to do. The robe feels like silk against my skin, and I try to luxuriate in my surroundings for a few seconds before reminding myself I’m nothing but a whore in here. I stare at the large bed swathed in beautiful sheets and cushions and almost laugh at the connotations. There is nothing romantic going on here, nothing beautiful or restful. I have no real right to be here in his bed. I’m not allowed to feel comfortable or enjoy my stay, and as I watch his exquisitely naked frame walk out through the steam from the bath, I realise one thing with acute clarity. It will be a damn sight safer for my heart to remember just that. I am a whore.

I turn my head from him and gaze back at the bed. While I am here, I will simply work and do whatever he says. It’s in that second that I switch off my heart. I block the vision of happy families and cuddles and thoughts of more, and I send it crawling back to the streets – the same streets my dreams died on a year or so ago. The gutter is where those sort of thoughts belong for now. No matter how lovely he may appear to be, in a strange sense of the word, I don’t even dare think about it. When I get my pay check, I’ll dream again. Then I can start thinking about nice things, about the future.

The bed dips in front of me and I notice his back turned toward me for the first time. My hand shoots to my mouth as I see the etchings of what looks like whip marks on it. If that’s what whip marks look like. I can only imagine, but I can’t see anything else causing that amount of damage to someone’s skin. Unless maybe he’s come off a bike. No, nothing causes those sort of stripes. They’re almost healed by the look of them. They’re still red and quite raw looking, but I should think they were a lot worse a few weeks ago.

“Does it hurt?” I say, suddenly finding myself on the bed and reaching forward to touch the marks. I have no clue how I got here or why, but there you go. He said he needed me to do this. This is my job. My fingers land on the still puckered marks crisscrossing his skin and I feel a sigh leave his chest. It’s almost as serene as the sound that left my mouth downstairs.

“The pain is relevant only to the situation in which it is delivered, my dear,” he says quietly as he holds a small pot of something over his shoulders. “I would have this pain delivered again in a heartbeat.”

“Did he do this?” I ask, taking the pot from him and opening the top.

“Another tick mark for your perceptive prowess.”

“Why?” This cannot be normal, or maybe it is. I don’t know. I dip my fingers into the goo and start to apply it over the marks.

“He needed me,” he replies calmly, as if I’m stupid for asking.

“Why the hell would he need to do this?”

He chuckles softly. “He was in pain. He still is in pain. I took some of it from him, for him, and for her.”

“I don’t understand that,” I reply, adding another lump of gloop to a particularly savage looking mark on his lower back. The flesh is still lighter than his darkly tanned skin, and this one is still very raw. I gulp down the fear that bubbles within me at the thought that someone could actually do this to another person. What sort of animal creates this type of pain and unleashes it on a human being?

“No, and you will not for some time, if ever. Only a few will ever need the levels of darkness that consume him. He is but a tortured angel of death, my dear. He is all encompassing, and growing stronger with every passing day. You will do well to avoid him at all costs. Or at least stay behind me. Do not engage with him.” Not likely anyway, but thanks for the warning.

“Who on earth is he? And why would you take that sort of punishment? Assuming it was punishment. Did you do something wrong?”

He draws in a long breath and chuckles to himself again as he straightens up and rolls a shoulder around. His head cracks from side to side and I notice older scars across his ribcage as I finish the last of the application. My hands want to run themselves over the rest of him. They want to feel his skin and find out all about him, wrap themselves around his waist and draw him back to me so we can talk, get involved, find out all those secrets and get closer. I snatch them away and back up the bed to rest on the pillows. Too close, too intimate. He turns those green eyes to me and glances across my body encased in the red robe, with a tired look etched into them all of a sudden. Gone is his smirk, and even his semi-permanent dirty eyes have levelled out to a more normal disposition. They look dulled, quiet, exhausted. He takes hold of my ankle and runs his finger across it gently. I flinch a little at the contact and look down to see a bruised area around it from where the man grabbed it earlier. He presses into it lightly, causing me to flinch again. I stare at him, wondering what the hell he’s going to do next.

“He is Alexander White, my dear, and I took no punishment from him. I simply allowed him to use me, as I have for some time. I do this because I love him, and I also do it because I need the pain only he can deliver.”

“…and I took no punishment from him. I simply allowed him to use me, as I have for some time. I do this because I love him, and I also do it because I need the pain only he can deliver.”

Desperately, on both counts, more than the bastard knew.

He let the words ring around in his own ears for a few minutes, allowed the echo of them to silence out every other noise in the room. The truth. Out loud and heard by someone other than himself. The sigh that consumed his being at the thought was far more relaxing than he would have thought it would be. Never had he told this to anyone other than the man himself, nor spoken about feelings of love. Never had anyone heard his innermost sentiments regarding the man. And yet, here he was, talking honestly with Lilah James. An unknown.

“Why would you need to feel that?” she asked. He couldn’t answer that with any clarity until she understood why she wanted the pain, too, or why she could well fit into this world perfectly. He pressed on the bruise again, harder this time, and felt the tension leave her as the pain dulled. Why was he so interested in her responses? Something was different about her.

Apart from his rose, nothing had been this fascinating for some time, and he was positive that was only because of Alexander and his need for her, although he did understand it. He would have assumed the inane chatter and questions would have bored him by now, but he seemed to feel the need to talk a little, or at least give her the answers she required to become worthy of her new position. She was certainly aware of how to file and organise his office. Whether she would be able to look after his empire was another matter entirely. However, she was astute, perceptive, seemed honest and behaved well enough. There was also no denying her beauty. She would look exquisite while dealing with anyone who needed him. She had the same gravitas about her that Elizabeth held, the air of allure, of precision. She did not hold the peace in her heart that his rose had, but she did have a decency that was lacking in his world. She had an innocence that once would have amused him to the point of ruining it. This time it made him feel protective of it. His hackles, while fascinated, had been livid with Jackson for touching her, regardless of the appropriate response given the situation. This was a somewhat perturbing response to a perfectly reasonable reaction. She should have knelt. She should have begged, and yet, when she did not, his normal feelings of amusement were clouded with anger and care for her wellbeing. He’d watched as long as he could before showing his hand to the rest of the mob. It was enough that they all knew he was now collared; that he was showing a hint of grace for something beneath him was almost ruin worthy.

He let go of her ankle and moved up the bed to rest next to her. Sleep was needed, nothing else, although temptation was never far away, certainly not with something as attractive as Lilah James lying next to him.

“Well?” she said again as he put his hands behind his head and sank back into the soft pillows. Ah, yes, the reciprocation of pain. He shook his head and lifted the cover, indicating that she should get in, though he didn’t know why. He should have had Emanuelle in there, or Ruebin, or both, or neither. Lilah James was not a welcome invasion into his privacy, and yet she was there, and he’d brought her. He’d bathed with her, carried her, and didn’t even feel the need to fuck her at the moment.

She sat up and untied her robe. It fell from her skin and skimmed the edges of her breasts. His cock reminded him that he did, in fact, want to ravage Lilah James, soon, but not now. He smirked at himself and watched her discard the garment and slip under the sheets next to him. She stayed away and pressed both of her hands under her cheek as her face relaxed into the pillow. She had strong features. There was nothing delicate about her bone structure. It seemed almost harsh and jagged, forceful, utterly striking. She had deep-set grey eyes, brimming with sadness, and an emotionless gaze, with long, wide, thin lips. Even in rest, she still seemed slightly amused by him, as if she was always laughing at him, charmed maybe by something in his features.

“You’re not answering me?” she questioned in her clipped English accent.

He snorted out a bark of laughter and rolled onto his side. She was also someone who would not let something go, a terrier with a stick between its teeth. And so very forward with her exacting questions, she seemed wholly unfazed by him. Exactly what he and his businesses probably needed.

“I cannot answer you, my dear. It would take all night and I still would not give an acceptable answer to such an innocent mind. At the end of our month, ask me again. You may be ready to comprehend my answer at that point.

“Okay. Do I get my own room?”

“Do you require one?” The thought annoyed him immediately.

“I don’t know. It’s just, well, we’re not a couple, are we? And it seems a bit odd being in here with you. I’m sure you have other people you’d rather… Oh, do you do this with the others you train, keep them with you? I’d assumed it would be like at Roxanne’s and you’d call me when needed. Not that I know what the code of practice is.” Couple. A most bizarre principle. Whoever wanted to be part of a couple? Just two. He narrowed his eyes at her and remembered his mother’s words.

“He will never be a decent man. He will never marry nor give an heir. Give it to Fabrice.”

She was right, whether by design or maternal instinct. He wasn’t a decent man, and this world he’d created for himself was the only one he was comfortable in. It held no restrictions to what remained of his moral compass. He only had to delve into the real world as and when business or family required it. Thankfully, neither was too prevalent in his life.

“If you wish for another room, you may have one.” The words left his lips and he chastised his own emotional response to the thought. He was simply paying her to do a job. He could not work out for the life of him why he’d allowed that to fall from his lips. Pay her to play with him? He had a thousand women, and men, ready to do that for free at any moment. Why would he pay her at all?

“No, if it’s okay I’ll stay here. I can learn faster that way, right? And you’ll have me on hand for any organising you need,” she replied with a yawn, pulling her legs up to her chest. She looked tired, extremely so. Her time on the streets had no doubt exhausted the life from her. She would be better when she felt safe, protected. She would likely be a formidable character once she had money again.

“Sleep, Lilah James. You are safe in here,” he said, brushing a lock of hair away from her face as it fell across her eyes. Beautiful, fragile and yet so strong. What had she been forced to endure out there? She did not flinch at the soft contact. She simply gazed at him again until she gave up the fight and closed her eyes, almost instantly turning her back on him and pulling the sheets higher with a sigh. Ten minutes or so went by as he tried to appropriate his brain back into some sort of order. Part of him wanted to pull her close and part wanted to maintain the distance. This was Elizabeth’s fault. He’d spent too much time in the arms of another recently, too much time being comforted and loved. It was torturous to be without it now, but be without it he must. She was not his to keep, and would only ever be offered when Alexander wanted it. The argument was not worth the risk to his fractured heart now. But Lilah was here, and her skin was so close, so warm, and he did feel something for her. She would do. For now, she would give him a small sense of comfort. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her thin body back to him. She fidgeted and tried to pull away a little so he tightened his hold on her and let his lips rest on her spine. She tasted like oranges and honey, and she was warming, like cinnamon at Christmas. She stilled and sighed against him.

“Please don’t make me like you, Pascal. I don’t want to like you. I can’t afford it,” she mumbled. He kissed her skin again and closed his eyes. She was right. Neither of them could afford it, certainly not at fifty thousand dollars a month.

~

Sitting in his office, he looked out of the window and watched the world go by – the window that was now free of its covering unit. Why had she moved that? It was there for a purpose, to shield him from prying eyes. There was far too much information in this office to risk anybody venturing a look inside. He supposed he could put some blinds up. It was indeed more pleasant sitting there with the sun streaming in. Venetian maybe. Italy. His back twinged with yet another reminder of his love. He smiled at the image of yachts and tanned bodies, and stirred his coffee again. He’d only been here a few days and was already yearning to get back to Europe, to the decadence and darkness. People were too happy here. They didn’t have that maudlin sarcasm that the Europeans held. They weren’t bored enough. They jumped with glee at the most ridiculous of things. His pull back to the depraved was constant. At least in here, in his club, he could count on the kinky to have fun and revel in their own debauchery.

He looked at the phone and contemplated the calling Jon Insbrucker. Or should they meet? It would potentially be easier to get the point across. One more deal and he could hand it over to the man. He just needed to finish it on decent terms, assuming he would be enthusiastic about taking the reins from him. If he could divorce the bitch from hell, he might even give it to her. He just didn’t want a bar of it himself anymore. There was also the very real threat that if Elizabeth found out, she would cause Alexander to question his morals regarding the trading of human beings. This was presumably something that women like Elizabeth would not allow nor encourage. Shame, but needs must.

He ran off an email and hit send. Jon would not be awake, nor should he have been. Seeing eight o’clock in the morning was not an agreeable experience at all. It appeared a straight seven hours of sleep was quite enough for his body, though, and given the five hours it normally received, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. It had been a thoroughly refreshing experience. In fact, he couldn’t remember having such a good night’s sleep in a long time. It had left him feeling inexcusably boisterous.

“Sir, may I enter?” Emanuelle asked from the door.

“Come, Kitten,” he replied as her Boston accent wafted across him. It had a relaxing lilt, a slight drawl of compliance and ease. She crawled to him and slid her body up to sit in his lap.

“You called for me. What can I do for you, Sir?” There were two things he needed from her. One included her leaving after she had finished the first task.

“Lilah needs some clothes. Go to
Saks
and get her appropriate attire for the club. Before you do that, your fingers are required around my cock.”

“Of course, Sir,” she said, sliding down from him and positioning herself between his knees. Good little sub – her fingers were of no interest in reality, only the result of them. He smirked at the small plastic tube on the desk and took hold of it as she lowered the zipper and pulled his flaccid member out. It had not been so flaccid lying with Lilah last night.

Purposeful hands soon had him hard, and not long after that he was ready to come. It had been quite torturous restraining himself this morning when he awoke. Her lithe body had still been pressed into him. She had even laced her fingers with his at some point in the night, and interestingly, he had not pulled away. He gave the tube to Emanuelle and watched her pout at the fact that she would not be swallowing. She could have some later. His morning glory was meant for one person alone at the moment, and it was time to see what she would do for her money. Two or three swift strokes of her expert hands later and he grunted as she caught his come in the container and then lapped the remnants off his spent cock. Naughty girl. He tilted her chin up and wiped his thumb across her lips, which she also sucked into her mouth. Such a pretty thing, he needed to find her a match. Maybe Jon would know of one.

“Thank you, Kitten. Off you go.” She pouted again, and as he watched her ass leave, he placed the small pot back on his desk next to the freshly made coffee. Lilah would be here shortly. He’d sent Reubin for her twenty minutes ago. Perfect timing really – women always took half an hour to rouse themselves.

He poured more of the delicious liquid and lit a cigarette as he tucked his cock back into his suit trousers, then gazed out of the window again. It looked like a nice day. The snow had stopped falling, and the streets were covered in it. It graced the curbs and pavements heavily. He wouldn’t be surprised if children were out there soon, building snowmen and throwing balls at each other. It would be a good day for a walk in the park, maybe a thermos of hot coffee and some food from that restaurant in the middle of it, whatever it was called. It was not a place he usually frequented unless forced. Normal people entered such establishments while they chatted and gossiped about intrinsically disturbing things. Matters such as the weather, dull. Or marriage and its accompanying woes. Still, he hadn’t been there for a while, and it would be pleasing to see it covered in snow. Did they still skate there at this time of year?

He fired off a text to Emanuelle to purchase warm clothes for Lilah, too, and boots of some description.

“Sorry I took so long. I didn’t know what to wear,” Lilah said, wandering into the room, her face completely devoid of makeup and looking all the more striking for it. Her hair curled a little at the ends, softening her sharp cheekbones, but her eyes still held all the power. They ate into him somehow as she smiled quietly. He waved his hand at the seat and watched her tighten her robe before she gracefully lowered her ass into the chair.