The Parlour (VDB #1) (36 page)

“What are you trying to say?”

He tips me back to him again, loosening his hold as a wash of uncertainty crosses his brow.

“I will not deal with another Alexander, Lilah. I cannot. You are only the second person to touch me in a way that causes sentiment. The sensation courses my veins as a black ink threatening to ruin what is left of me, and I cannot allow that. He is enough for me to bear.”

“Is that why you don’t want to love me? Because he’s too much?” He stands abruptly and reaches for my hand. “Are you nervous that I will hurt you somehow?” He snaps his fingers at the small waitress and I watch her run off somewhere as I stand. “Are we leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Why? The show hasn’t finished.” And I damn well want answers to my questions.

“You have not flinched.”

“At what?” What is he talking about now? I thought we were discussing feelings? The background blurs. Screams, moans and all other distractions disappear into a void of mist as I stare at him and wait for an answer.

“Any of it. There is nothing left here for you to learn,” he says as the girl returns with a bill. He signs something and then picks up my hand again. “I am comforted by your grip,” he mumbles, looking at his hand and then beginning to walk us through the throng of people still intently watching the stage.

“I was enjoying the show,” I mumble as we reach the door. I’m completely confused with what’s happening, and I really was enjoying the show, odd as that might be. It was interesting, although this snippet of being ‘comforted’ by my hand is a very nice thing to hear.

Still, I want my answers about these feelings.

“Precisely, my love. It is time for you to prove that,” he replies nonchalantly, pushing on the door and then turning the corners until we are climbing the stairs.

“Wait, what’s the rush? Why are we leaving so quickly? I have more to learn down there. And you were talking about love.” He keeps dragging me, his long legs covering the ground with purposeful strides until we reach the door. He unlatches several bolts then walks us out into the cold night air, banging on the door three times after he’s pulled it to behind me. He just ignores me again and wraps his hand tighter around mine as I try to halt the momentum. “Pascal, let go. I can’t keep up.” I very nearly trip over my own feet and grasp the trail of my dress as I try to keep up with his exuberant pace.

He doesn’t reply, and I eventually realise that I’m not in control of this scene. Nothing coming out of my mouth is controlled. I wrench my hand from his grip and slam on my anchors in the middle of the sidewalk. “Stop!” He swings his head back to me, a snarl etched into the very fabric of his face as he looks me over and eventually halts his progress away from me.

“Come,” he says, waving his cane at the waiting car. “I have been known to hoist a hostage onto my shoulder should it be necessary.”
Control, control.
I pull the cold night air in through my nose and shake out my rigid stance, trying to regain my calm demeanour.

“You will not hoist me anywhere. You will carry on with our conver–” The speed of his strides across to me has my feet retreating at the thought of being hoisted.

“I will, my love, and shall enjoy the privilege greatly,” he says, circling my frame and smacking my arse in the process. My body scoots forward again and is stopped by his arm wrapping around my waist, drawing me back onto his warm body. “You should be careful with your tone around such an enticement, hmm? Perhaps we should fuck here rather than in front of Alexander. Does the thought make you nervous? Hmm?” My body immediately stills again. “Ah, you did not realise my plot.”

No, I did not.

“Mmm,” he muses, breathing into my neck and dragging his tongue across that soft spot behind my ear. Tingles instantly start to collapse my aim for control. “Should you still wish for my innards, Lilah, you shall have to ask him.”

“For what?”

“To teach you to take them from me, of course. That is what you require, no?”

The sudden reality of what is about to happen comes crashing into the moment. His warm hands stroke across my skin, causing more of those corrupting visions to torment me. Me. I am the one asking him to agree to this. I’m the one who’s shown him I can do this. I’m the one who has been pushing my weight around and telling him how it should be. And now he’s telling me to get on with it, and my body couldn’t be more frozen to the spot if I tried.

“Yes, but…” I don’t know. It’s all too quick. We were having a normal conversation – well, as normal as it gets with him – and now he’s talking about group sex and…

“There are no hesitations, my love.” He muses in my ear. “You either require them, or you do not. Hmm? Which one is it?”

“I...” I hate my own indecision, but one can’t just jump into bed with another man, especially one like Mr. White. And what about Elizabeth?

“This is the only path to enlightenment. If you want my innards, Lilah, you must let him train you in how to take them from me.”

“But, shouldn’t we spend more time–”

“No. Fini,” he says, abruptly letting go of me and walking away, leaving me feeling the most alone I’ve ever felt in my life. My arms wrap around myself to try and bring back his heat, but the moment he removed himself from me, my body ached for him to grab hold again. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

“Tell me why I should,” I call out, wishing that it hadn’t popped out as he reaches the car. But as I see him slowly turn and raise a brow at me, I wonder if it was exactly what was needed in this moment.

“Do you not know? Can you not feel it, Lilah? Hmm? Do not disgrace yourself or demean me. Are you asking for me to get down on one knee and proclaim some offering of commitment to the demons below us?” he asks, waving his cane around flamboyantly yet again, in what can only be described as exasperation.

“Well, yes.”

He chuckles throatily and turns for the door, opening it and bowing, as if it is an invitation into his heart. The heart he professes not to have.

“You are testing my nerves,” he counters, staring at me.

“I’m still waiting for my offering of love.” He sighs, then throws his cane into the car and marches over towards me.

“Bend over.”

I reward him with my best ‘absolutely not’ glare and tighten my arms over my chest.

“Mmm, as you wish,” he says, and before I realise what’s happened, I am literally tossed over his shoulder like some errant schoolgirl. My feet kick at him until I am reminded that he will enjoy that, so I decide to hang limply over his shoulder while he fondles my arse on the sidewalk, waiting for whatever he deems the next move. Eventually, I am slung into the back of the car. My arse hits the seat and I scoot straight over to the other side to show my contempt at such juvenility.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I snap across at him, desperately trying to right my dress, straighten my hair and regain some element of composure. Christ, I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.

“Why? You were behaving like a child, so I reprimanded you accordingly,” he replies as the car pulls away. “Straight to Alexander’s apartment, Martin.”

A child? He’s the one throwing me over his shoulder because he won’t just answer a damn question directly. My face screws up in defiance as I feel my insides churn with anger.

“Have you heard yourself? We are not going there until you answer me,” I snap out, turning to face him and scowling out my fury. “Good lord, you’re a self-righteous, overbearing, infuriating son of a bitch. You do not scoop me up on the sidewalk because I challenge your unusual sensibilities, whatever they are. You answer the damn question. What do you think? That I will somehow forget my reasoning because you are unfathomably handsome and act like nothing I’ve ever seen before? I won’t. I will not squeal like some princess that believes herself less than you. I will not scream, nor shout because you treat me like a child. I am not a child. I am a fully grown woman with an opinion, and if you expect me to give you one inch of what you need, what you have asked of me, then you will answer me.” There, maybe he’ll get the damn point now.

“Mmm. Would you like to prepare yourself?” he replies, gazing at me with the most amused smile I have ever witnessed.

“For what? And answer the damn question.”

“Alexander. Which question?” He raises a brow and laughs, picking up his cane and aiming it at my collar bone. I push it away in disgust, unwilling to allow him to distract me again.

“Tell me why.”

“Why Alexander? This is obvious, is it not? You have met him,” he replies, still trying to deflect from answering the damn question.

I gaze over at him and wonder what it is that he needs in order to be honest. What makes a man like Pascal give his deepest thoughts away freely? Is it the pain? It can’t be sex, or anything to do with it. It is most definitely something to do with the feeling of being dominated or controlled. Maybe he finds humiliation appealing, or maybe it’s the feeling he gave me when he watched me make myself come, then helped me by slapping me. This strange sense of nothingness, just a peaceful place that envelops and calms somehow. They’re all such confusing emotions. What is the trigger? Is he truly submissive? How can a man like him be so inclined when he’s so overtly dominant? Why?

“Are you or are you not a sub?” My brain surprises itself by shortening the term, like it’s something I understand, as if it is suddenly beneath me somehow. He simply continues to stare back at me, still amused with arrogance plastered all over his face as he straightens his cuffs and then fiddles with his cufflinks. “Give me those,” I snap, staring down at the gold swirling VDB on the black onyx. He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth. “Shut up, and give them to me.” His brow rises at the authority in my voice. God, I sound like an utter bitch. Unfortunately, this seems to be the best route forward when I comes to dealing with his games. “Now.” I try for a more quiet form of authority as I let the word lengthen in the car and watch him like a hawk. Thankfully, he hesitates for only a few more seconds before beginning to pull them from his shirt tentatively. He then stares at them for a while, his brow furrowing and relaxing again before quietly handing them over. “Who gave them to you?”

“It is not your concern.”

“
Who
?” I shout. Fucking man and his constant evasion.

“Alexander.”

It would be, wouldn’t it? My plan to lob them out of the window unless he answers me is immediately rattled. If there’s one thing that would probably draw a line right through any relationship between us it would be me doing something negative in regard to Alexander. Also, there is my job and apartment to think about. I turn my face from him and huff out a tired breath in defeat. Although, he
has
just given them to me, which surely shows that even with his adoration for the scary fucker that is Mr. White, he was prepared to give them to me. Me. Lilah James has just got Pascal Van der Braack to hand over what is probably an incredibly cherished possession. The corners of my lips rise slightly as I realise the enormity of what has just happened. His version of commitment. Like handing his heart over to me, a piece of Alexander that he just lost.

“When you answer me honestly, you can have them back,” I say quietly, letting my eyes find the road and wondering what the rest of the day will hold in store for us all. One thing is for sure: I’m not ready for it, but as I tinker with my necklace and listen to his breathing next to me, I do know one thing. At least I am dressed for the occasion.

We’ve just arrived at one of the most exclusive redevelopments in upper Manhattan and I’m hovering by the side of the car, clinging to the handle. I thought I would be okay with this. When he started talking about it, I wasn’t overly bothered. I just thought of whatever it is that saves me from being terrified of Mr. White; I imagined his normal persona, the one that actually talks like a human being, not the version that now seems to be revolving constantly in my mind. The one who damn near crushed the life out of my hand with a smile on his face, and certainly not the one who seems to freeze air somehow with his expressionless face.
Balls.
I am not in control of myself, again, and the casually relaxed man standing in front of the entrance, offering his hand, is not giving me any help to feel more comfortable. Although, he does still look remarkably tempting. Maybe we should just leave this and go back to his place – do the normal dating thing where we have another drink and then collapse into bed where I show him what he needs to do to achieve my orgasmic bliss. Not that he needs all that much help. My finger taps on the car door handle. It’s a better plan than this one, and hopefully I’ll still be in my right mind by the time it’s over. Pascal stares at me and frowns, his smile dispersing to a more concerned look. It’s real, genuine. He shakes his head a little and begins to make his way back to me. I rally my head back up and pull in a cleansing breath. I’m being stupid. I can do this. What is going to happen in there that I can’t handle, for God’s sake? Nothing. No one’s going to beat me. This is about Pascal and his needs. And even if someone does spank me, I enjoyed that before, didn’t I? I enjoyed that roughness, that new sensation of being manhandled. I loved it. It was exhilarating, scary, absorbing. What the fuck am I doing fannying about out here? Pathetic.

Before he reaches me, I push off from the car and walk toward him instead, briefly nodding and avoiding his hand as I glide past. I am in control of this. I can do this, whatever this might be. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? I just need to learn how to help Pascal. Then we’ll be a normal couple. Threesome. Foursome. What the fuck will we be? My feet abruptly stop and I turn to face him. I don’t want anyone else anywhere near me. Images of the rape come flying back into my mind to haunt me.

“What does this mean?” I’m not sure I even know what I’m asking him. He looks equally confused as he takes off his coat, even if that beautiful soft smile of his relaxes my nerves a little. “What are you doing?”

“You appear frozen, my love,” he replies, slipping it onto my shoulders and gently pulling it closed beneath my chin so it instantly blocks out the cold. Oh God, I’m so confused. What am I doing? All these ups and downs are beginning to wear me down. One minute I’m trying to gain control, the next I’m so out of control I can’t stand it. Who am I? What the hell am I trying to be? I look at his slightly crinkled eyes and gaze into them again, hoping for enlightenment as he holds me softly and twitches his lips.

“Why are you being gentle with me? You’re not with anyone else. Why?” Please, just answer the question and tell me what I need to hear. Just be truthful and then all this confusion will go away and I’ll know I’m doing the right thing, or at be trying to.

“Mmm. It is concerning, no? Even I am entertained by my own decency on occasion. Would you rather I returned to my usual moronic, too tall, arrogant self? Hmm? We could reverse the roles instantly should you wish it. I am but a stone’s throw from driving my hand into your cunt so vigorously you squeal like a child,” he says, grinning like a Cheshire cat, seemingly without a care in the world. “And my cane is understandably bereft without your teeth wrapped around it.”

I smirk at his language, and then beam at him, because this world of his is becoming so normal to me. Almost in exasperation, I close my eyes and shake my head at yet another of his avoidance techniques, although I can’t help but continue to smile at him as he moves his hand to my back and applies a little pressure to get me moving.

“Your mother should have washed your mouth out for language like that,” I say stupidly, given his admission of his mother’s beatings. His hand flinches on my back, momentarily halting his step before he strides on again, as if he’s trying to ignore the movement, but it’s firmly lodged in my mind. Regardless of the information he’s already admitted, there has to be more to the story than her just being abusive. There must be more, much more. He dismisses things so easily. He’s normally so unaffected by cheap shots. Perhaps Alexander knows. “She did then, yes?”

“You ask too many questions – questions I cannot answer,” he says, pushing us past the liveried chap holding the door for us and across the foyer. It’s a gigantic place, probably Victorian, with gargoyles and exposed stonework. There’s a concierges desk at the side where a man is standing at attention and nodding at Pascal as if he knows him. He probably does.

“Is everyone in Manhattan a member of your club?”

“No, not all. More is the abominable pity. Vanilla ideology is still, unfortunately, ubiquitous.”

“Hmm, you would change that?” I ask as he guides us to the elevator.

“I would change the notion that we should behave as society dictates,” he eventually answers, having fiddled with his cane for a moment and waited for the doors to close. As the lift starts to rise, I gaze across at him and wonder what goes through his mind. Why would a man be so averse to anything normal?

“Why?” He leans back against the mirror behind him and frowns, possibly at what he would consider a stupid question, I suppose.

“Is it fair to tell a man that he cannot behave as the animal he truly is, that he should bow down to a hierarchical system that judges on a set of unfair principles, hmm? We are not all so inclined, my love. As you now know. We have base requirements that need attending to. Theologians, philosophers, poets – these types all describe an underlying senescent soul. Something that cannot be tamed nor corralled. A being within ourselves, some would call it.” Wow, okay.

“Have you turned into Plato?”

“I am in thought.”

“You render me speechless. I wasn’t aware you thought.”

He smirks and slaps me out of the elevator as it pings our arrival into a very large, open plan lounge area. It looks like a waiting area or lobby, so I look around for the doors into apartments. There is nothing but a large array of cream sofas and dark wood tables, all highly polished chrome and glass, and a sea of windows looking straight out into the park. I’m not even sure which side of the park we’re on anymore.

“Pascal?”
His
voice comes from somewhere in the space, low and grumpy. It dawns on me that this must be his apartment. It’s no lobby. It’s actually his dwelling. It must be the entire floor. My confusion and nerves seem to dissipate into a blur of tingling, panic-stricken vibrations. My body is suddenly rigid, as if standing at attention for some world class sadist, and my fingers appear to have gone numb. They’re probably remembering their last encounter with him. Pascal snorts beside me and ambles into the room and around a corner, leaving me frozen to the spot. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him snorting before. Presumably, he thinks something is amusing. I am not amused. My hesitation at Alexander’s voice disgusts me. I can feel the bile in the pit of my stomach telling me to behave less like a moronic child or that imbecile on the streets, and more like the newer Lilah who would be unconcerned by any of this. Sadists and masochists. People who treat pain as if it is something to be worshipped, adored even. Perhaps I should just stride on in there and tell Mr. White how it’s going to be.

Laughter echoes through to me. I listen to its timbre and try to convince my nerves to settle as I maintain my rigid stance and glance around the space. Mr. White appears to have gone from grumpy to relaxed in seconds. Clearly the very presence of Pascal is enough to make him happier. Not surprisingly, really. He clearly loves the man. Where’s Elizabeth?

I take a tentative step forward and head towards the window. Maybe if I can just gaze at my blessed park for a moment, I can get this feeling to dissipate. A drink would be nice, too. Something warming. As always, the park is comforting, and immediately reminds me of the gentleman Pascal can be. The moments we’ve shared come racing back into my mind, allowing all the tension to simply evaporate. Whatever will happen here will happen because I asked for it. I told him I wanted this. He didn’t drag me here or force me into anything, which I’m damn sure he has done with others on occasion. This is me. My choice. I have chosen to embrace something I was unaware of before I met these people.

“She’s no sadist, Pascal.” I hear Alexander’s voice from somewhere. My ears prick up at the conversation as I turn my head in their direction to see the man himself walking through towards me. He’s clad only in black jeans and a white shirt. His sleeves are rolled up and his bare feet pad on the floor almost silently. He reminds me of one of those sinister movie types – the ones who look every inch the hero, but are really only there to confuse and deceive. Still, the slight rise of his extraordinarily seductive mouth has my insides doing all sorts of things as those light blue eyes look me up and down. Pascal follows him, lighting a cigarette and heading for a tray of spirits over by the modern fire place. “Are you, Lilah?”

Am I what?
“Excuse me?”

“A sadist.” I’m not sure I know. I appear to be happy beating someone, but do I amble along the street thinking of ways to cause pain? No. What does that mean?

“At this time, I’m not sure what I am. I only know that he needs what I can offer him,” I reply, trying to hold his gaze and telling myself to just be honest. He doesn’t like liars, and lying won’t get me anywhere anyway. Pascal returns with two large glasses of something and hands them to us as we continue to stare at each other. Eventually, Alexander widens his attractive mouth and turns from me, heading for a cream sofa and sitting.

“You would have to make this difficult, wouldn’t you?” he mumbles, I’m not sure who to. Pascal smirks and finds a chair opposite him as Alexander tips his head back and closes his eyes. “What do you want from me?”

I’m not sure who he’s saying that to either, but I am, once again, in awe of his power. He is completely in control of himself. And Pascal. And me. Yet, he looks exhausted by it, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders and he can’t bear it anymore. He’s nothing like Pascal. There isn’t an ounce of flair or drama with him. There is no ordering going on. He doesn’t need to. He just is. We are just beneath him somehow, which I’m not sure I’m happy about at all, regardless of the fact that it’s true. How does he manage that? I move towards them in interest before my brain catches up. Pascal sinks back into the chair, and I simply gaze at him.

“I need you to train me.”

“Why?” he replies immediately, without opening his eyes.

“What?”

“Why? Why should I teach you to take his tears? I told you I would help, but I want to know why before I give any part of him to you.”

“Alexander, it is not your place to–”

“IT DAMN WELL IS,” he shouts, cutting across Pascal and swinging his dark eyes to me. I tremble at the vibration of his voice as it echoes around the room and I look down to his frown. “Why should I share him with you?”

It’s a good point. Why should he? In this odd world, there does seem to be a hierarchy of its own, and he shouldn’t be required to do anything he doesn’t want to do, I suppose. My mind engages its rational thought process, and I remember what he said to me in the coffee shop rather than trying anything else.

“Because he asks me to. And because you told me I could look after him when you couldn’t.” He turns away again and frowns at Pascal instead.

“Mmm. Do you need looking after? Are you that weak that you can’t deal with yourself anymore? I thought she was your pet, not the other way around.”

“Do not be such a self-indulgent bastard,” Pascal snaps back, removing his jacket and throwing it on the floor beside him. Alexander’s head tips at the move, and he gazes at the discarded material. “I do not have to ask permission anymore. There are a multitude of others who would train her.”

“None of them will do, though, will they?” he replies, downing his drink and looking back at me. “So, I’ll ask again. Why?”

I have no clue what he wants from me here. Does he want me to tell him I’m in love? Am I? I’m certainly not saying that in front of Pascal even if I am. I think I must be to even entertain any of this. I look back at Pascal, who doesn’t look his normal relaxed self, and wonder what it is that I’m asking for. Just to be with him? Do I think that if I do this then we can be normal? Am I normal? None of this is normal. I don’t know how to answer the question. It’s not rational, and working on his divorce behind his back only adds to the confusion. What about his daughter? We can’t be normal when I’m hiding so much from him. No matter what Alexander does, none of this will be right until that is settled and finished. A low rumble of a chuckle comes from beneath me again, apparently Alexanders amused, so I flick back to his gaze and frown at his enjoyment of my confusion.

“Can I talk with you privately?” I ask. Those blue eyes chuckle again as he waves his hand in the direction of another room, so I take a step forward. He instantly puts a hand on my stomach to stop me and sends enough electricity through me to light up Manhattan. Everything quivers in response as he lets it linger there and watches my reactions to his touch. It’s not until Pascal gets up and walks away from us that I realize what’s happened. Even in that small gesture, he claimed his dominance in the space, making Pascal move rather than us, and halting my progression away from him.