The Parlour (VDB #1) (35 page)

“What is this song?” she murmured, running her lips across his neck. “It’s beautiful, quite romantic for a place like this.”

“Beethoven’s sonatas are not songs,” he found himself replying, pulling her ever closer and binding them so tight he could barely breathe. “They are sensations. Can you feel them? They course through you, each note, and each proffered beat. They caress and cajole, and they tease the senses into believing something that is incorrect. A falsehood of sorts, my love.”

She stilled in his arms and he felt the sigh leave her chest and run immediately into his own, as if there were no distance between them. No clothes, not even skin. Just two souls, desperately trying to tether and reconcile something he was struggling to give. Just two beings, in the midst of the oncoming hedonism he was dragging her into. One innocent, one far from it.

She tucked her head into his chest for one minute longer, breathing quietly beneath the sounds around them and squeezing his fingers, before drawing herself away and lifting her eyes to meet his again.

“Fine,” she clipped. “Shall we eat dinner then?”

“I can’t give you what you want from me, Lilah.”

“Yes, you can,” she snapped, flicking her hand at him in irritation and swaying back towards the seat again. “And you will,” she muttered under her breath as she picked up her cutlery. “You are simply being a wuss.” He followed and straightened his tie, which had shifted during her impromptu dancing performance.

“And what, precisely, is a wuss?” he asked, sitting opposite her and watching her slice through blood drenched meat as if she were starving.

“Weak, cheap, useless, someone who is scared of doing something.”

“You think I am afraid?” he replied in near disbelief, noticing the change in music and chuckling at the entertainment as it was dragged into the room clad in cellophane.

“Can she breathe in that?”

“I am not interested in her ability to breathe,” he said, pushing his steak around the plate and sneering in disgust at the peas that had dared to touch his sauce.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, flicking her eyes to the stage. “And she should be able to breathe, shouldn’t she?”

“My food is mixed.”

“Mixed?”

“Yes, mixed. The sauce, see,” he said, nudging it away from his peas, and then as dramatically as possible flinging his knife at the plate. “It disturbs when such things are not exact.”

“Do you have OCD about food touching?”

“No, I just require food served correctly.”

“Well, I suppose a count would need that.”

“Indeed, and how are you aware of this fact?” he asked, indicating to the young blonde girl that she should take the meal away from him.

“Oh, shit,” Lilah muttered in reply as the blonde scurried in and removed the offending mess that had been served. “Do you want some of mine?”

“Your what?” She should stop trying to change the subject. He would have honesty from her one way or the other.

“Food,” she replied, licking her way around a piece of meat to take the sauce off of it. His cock replied of its own accord. Never before had he lacked restraint when it came to a woman.

Standing and rounding the table to get close enough, he pulled her chin up toward him and watched her lips tremble from his touch.

“Put it in your mouth, Lilah.” She smirked at him and placed the meat in her mouth, gently grasping it with her teeth. “No, inside you.” When she slowly let it fall back into her mouth, he held it open and softly licked his way inside, nudging the meat around and letting her feel the discomfort of having him inside her. He increased the pressure of his tongue, flicking it around to cause distress to the larynx and gag reflex as she tried to back away. She coughed a little and tried to pull away again, so he held her tighter and deepened the kiss further. Such moments, beautiful connecting moments. Again, just the two of them, until she swallowed and took all his fun away.

He just looks at me. He just stands there in all his magnificent glory and stares as I swallow down this piece of meat and gaze back at him. How can he be denying this? Why would he? In the middle of this bizarre room full of people, he has not only kissed me, but stopped me from leaving when he could have let me go. There are plenty of people for him to play with in here. He could easily have dismissed me and just got on with his night, but no. He wants me, and I can’t help but feel enthused by that fact. All of my bravado is working. Embracing everything that he seems to think lives inside me, and what I am beginning to understand about myself, is exactly what he wants from me. He just doesn’t trust me. And why should he, I suppose? But the more I stare into these green pools of liquid, the more I can sense him. I can feel that part of him that he’s refusing to allow me to see. He can hide it as much as he likes, but there is a heart in there. I could feel it bleeding into mine when he held me and talked of songs being lies. If it was a lie, why did he pull me closer and shiver when I kissed his neck.

He’s the liar, not the song.

“I think you’re very afraid,” I say softly as I continue to stare at his astoundingly attractive face. The corners of his mouth twitch, but nothing else moves as he still leans over me with his hands on the armrests. I lean my head back onto the chair and hold onto my composure, regardless of the fact that I could very well devour his checked tweed clad body this very second. He’s wearing that aftershave that does all sorts of things to me, and after getting a damn good tongue licking earlier in the lift, I am ready for something else to come to fruition, as and when I decide it’s time, which could be about now. What on earth possessed me to act so boldly I don’t know, but it appears to be working. Jesus, does he always have to look so bloody good? The answer is yes. It’s just him. I need to get used to that. No wonder women fall at his feet constantly.

“Ladies and gentleman, please be seated,” a man’s voice calls out. It sounds like Charles. There are no ladies, nor gentlemen in this room, us included. No lady nor gentleman ruts in a lift like we did. Nor do they watch women in cling-film being manhandled into a room. Although, she did seem reasonably compliant about it.

I remove my gaze from him and shuffle myself in the seat until I can see the stage area in front of me. We have a very good table, which gives us privacy and seclusion but a direct line of sight to whatever it is that’s about to unfold. Why he didn’t take me to a restaurant so that we could talk, I’m not sure, but if he thinks this is a good thing then I suppose I’ll just watch and see what happens. Frankly, I’m just happy to be within ten feet of him. I feel at peace, in an uncomfortable way. Something just needs to click into place, namely him and his denial.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says from the other chair. Shit, I thought I’d got away with that. How would I know he was a count? Other than digging around in his personal files, which he doesn’t know I have. Balls.

“You didn’t answer mine,” is my best response as I widen my eyes at that Jackson chap walking onto the stage. Why the fuck are we somewhere where he is? I swing my head back to Pascal to see him smirking at me and drinking his whiskey, while picking up his packet of cigarettes. “You should stop smoking.”

“Why, pray tell?”

“Health reasons, and I don’t like the smell.”

“Mmm. Health is not uppermost on my distresses list.”

“Well, it should be,” I reply quietly, thinking of a beautiful little girl with dazzling green eyes who needs to know she has a father. One who’s sitting right in front of me, and if he’d just show me the slightest hint of love, I’d tell him. I’d suffer Mr. White’s wrath happily. I wouldn’t care what happened to me. I just need to know he’s a good man under all this bravado. I need to feel the Iove that I know he has buried in there. I need to hear it, smell it, taste it.

“Jon is a business acquaintance, and Thomas is my wayward nephew.”

“He’s very handsome. He looks like you.”

“He is nothing like me. He is a troublesome, uneducated moron, with a penchant for fucking the most inappropriate specimens available.”

“Then he is exactly like you. Apart from the uneducated part.”

“I am a moron now also? Is there anything you find appealing about me?” he replies, leaning back and laying his cane across his lap. I look down at it positioned next to his crotch and try to stop the instant craving that crawls over me. What is it with the cane? Why is it so important to him?

“You have a good tongue. You’re very good with your tongue. And hands. And you’re quite attractive. But I can guarantee you’ll be more attractive when you give yourself to me.” He laughs again with that deep resounding chuckle that somehow reverberates around my insides, causing more exquisite tingling to occur.

“You are quite fearless. However, you still have not–”

“Shh now. Show’s starting,” I cut in, swiftly turning my face from him and gazing back at Jackson. In this light, when I’m not feeling completely overwhelmed, he is quite attractive. He’s still huge and built like he’s about to cause some serious damage, but he’s erotically challenging to say the least. Well, that’s what my thighs are currently telling me anyway. Or maybe that’s still the Pascal effect.

He saunters across to the girl as the lights dim further. She has been bound to a wooden pole, and watches as he begins to open a case that’s been placed beside her. I find myself becoming more and more fascinated by the movement of both of them. He looks completely relaxed as he removes implements from the case – all small, metallic objects, and they appear to be all different shapes and sizes. He places them down carefully on the small marble table beside the girl and turns towards the crowd. He doesn’t say anything as they clap quietly, as if this is some kind of theatrical performance. He just bows and then moves back to the girl. I watch on as her chest starts to heave at his approach, and thankfully, I can see she has an air hole in the cling-film now.

“What is the point of the cling-film?” I ask quietly, as Jackson picks up what looks like a scalpel and begins to draw it up the inside of the girl’s calf muscles. She tenses immediately, but then appears to relax again.

“A gift for her master. Angelique also enjoys potential asphyxiation, and the feeling of being performance raped. It’s a game they play often.”

“Performance raped?”

“One cannot be truly raped, pleasant as that thought may be, if one has asked, or indeed begged for it, as she does, often.”

“Have you…?”

“Mmmm,” is his only response.

“With her?”

“Mmmm, who hasn’t?” he replies as he gazes at the stage area and sucks in a lungful of smoke, which reminds me abruptly of his potential array of diseases.

“Are you clean?”

“I have bathed,” he says, with that look of his that tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about. I do little more than raise a brow to show my seriousness. “I have been inside only four since my last clinic servicing, three of whom I know are pure. That leaves only you, so this question is irrelevant unless you yourself are corrupted.”

I absolutely am not. Thankfully, after those men did what they did to me, the homeless charity I went to got me some tests done. They all came back okay. I had the morning after pill so all was well. They also tried to get me to report it, but what was the point? Thousands of girls are raped on the streets every day and nobody does a damn thing to find the bastards who do it. I didn’t know them, and the thought of having to see any of them again scared the life out of me at the time. Although now, thinking about their eyes, I find myself snarling at the image. Maybe now I should find them, hurt them. I look back up to find him staring intently at me, no longer smirking. There’s the slightest look of concern crossing his brow, yet another thing that proves he’s not always the monster people imagine him to be. I turn back to the stage and continue to watch the show, because what’s the point in going over old ground? He doesn’t need to know anyway. It’s nothing to do with him.

The moment I get my mind back to what’s going on, I instantly gawp at the blood that is now seeping down the inside of the cling-film. It appears the blade has been drawn across her abdomen and her legs, and as I look closer, I can see the slice marks. They’re only small nicks, but the cling-film makes the blood appear to be so much more than it probably is. She moans through the wrapping as Jackson circles her, her body writhing and grinding against nothing, presumably to gain some friction. She seems near orgasmic as she twists and turns, apparently begging for more pain to be delivered. The trust they must have between them is astounding. Is this pre-planned, organised? Did she know this was coming when she offered herself to him? Thousands of questions run through my mind as I continue to watch the show unfold. Jackson begins to undo his belt. He seems so calm and relaxed as he moves and studies her movements. How does he know what she needs? Is he doing this for her or for him? Are they both winners in this little debauched game?

“Who is this for?” I ask, suddenly far too transfixed to even bother turning to see Pascal. Noise erupts in my ear and I turn to see the table being pulled away from us and his armchair being moved closer to mine by two girls. He stands behind them gracefully with an air of utter superiority before eventually sitting next to me.

“You ask the correct question, my love.” That’s twice he’s called me ‘my love’. What does that mean? I definitely prefer it to ‘my dear’. It’s endearing, kind of. “Who do you believe is in control of this particular encounter?”

I turn back to the scene again, watching to gain more insight, and nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Pascal’s fingers grazing my arm gently. Swinging my eyes back to him, I find him simply gazing at the show, but the very notion that he’s touching me warms my heart again. He doesn’t have to. He’s chosen to. And I’ve yet to see him touch anybody nicely, quietly. I smile at the thought and turn back to see Jackson staring at Angelique. Nothing is being said but they seem to be communicating somehow because she’s nodding and lowering herself to her knees in front of him. The blood that was flowing seems to have stopped, proving they were incredibly small cuts, but her moaning carries on, as if she’s asking for more.

“She’s bound, and can hardly talk, so presumably Jackson, the Dominant, is in control of all this.”

He smirks beside me, crossing his legs and continuing to stroke my arm while sipping his drink.

“Think, Lilah. I thought more of you than this. Who do you believe is asking here?”

“He is. He has just asked her to kneel for him.”

“When he leashed you at Eden, did you feel any pleasantries in the way he did so? Was he kind, gentle, methodical, unruffled? Did he hold you tenderly, or was his grip more ferocious than you have ever felt before?”

“You held me tighter.”

“Well, yes. However, other than me?”

“He was brutish, aggressive. Angry. He appeared far harder with me than he is being with her.”

“Then I ask again, who is in control here?”

“You’re saying she is?”

“Bravo.”

“But how is she? She can’t...”

“Look at the way he moves around her. Watch the way he withholds himself. Brute he may be, exquisitely so, but he has a self-control that my beloved is yet to conquer. Jackson has been foolishly in love with Angelique for as long as I can remember. He would allow her anything she required of him. His ultimate goal in this is to please her. Should he need to appease his own needs, he would be more as he was when he held you – vicious, uncaring, cruel.”

“I see.” That’s all I’ve got because I would never have seen that. No normal person would, I’m sure. From the outside world, this must seem all in his control. How little we know, because Pascal’s right, all the things we talked about in the park are correct. This world of theirs has so many rules and obligations that seem completely juxtaposed to the normal set up outside these doors. It’s more about order than anyone would guess. There is love and connection involved in things that no one would ever realize unless they give it the time it deserves. Perhaps even the respect it deserves.

“Do you? I am attempting to show you something it is essential for you to comprehend,” he says in a whisper, reaching for my chin and turning me to face him. “This is not always a game with me, Lilah. Alexander is not in control of himself, and he is my enduring purpose.” We simply stare at each other as I try to figure out what he’s trying to show me here. “You asked to see inside me, Lilah James. You asked for me to give you that which is reserved for him. If you still want this emotion from me, you must see what is happening in front of you now.”

“I do.”

“What do you see? Who?”

“I see a man in love.” Not the bastard who had me on the floor in Eden. He smiles softly and lets his eyes crinkle a little as the green swirls again, hypnotising me into a melting pot of lust.

“Mmm. Excellent. Now, watch him hurt her,” he says, turning my face harshly and keeping a tight grip on my chin. Jackson now has her head wrenched backwards and is feeding his cock into her throat inch by inch as she squirms and gags on him. He’s also got her balancing on one knee somehow, with her other leg hooked around the wooden pole. What I presume are nipple clamps have been secured in place with a chain running between them, which he is yanking on so harshly that the garbled screams leaving her throat can be heard across the room. It’s interesting, less scary than I thought it might be, given that I’ve never seen anything like this. Actually, it’s kind of a turn on in some ways. I can feel my insides clenching around nothing as I think about the scene playing out. I almost feel as if I’m not really seeing it, as if it’s a TV show I can enjoy without the reality of knowing it’s true. Odd. “She asks for that, Lilah, and he honours her needs before his own. The mind of a sadist is not one that cares nor relinquishes power easily. However, his love for her prides itself with that possibility. Do you comprehend? Hmm? Can you feel that inside yourself?”