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ABSORBING WHITE
An erotic novel
The third part of The White Trilogy
Copyright ©2015 by Charlotte E Hart
Cover Design by MAD
Formatting by MAD
All rights reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved alone, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of those trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgements
To Absorb
English definition of “Absorb”.
-To take in or soak up (energy or a liquid or other substance)
-To fully understand (information, ideas, experiences)
-To take control of (a smaller less powerful entity) and make it part of a more powerful one
To Comprehend
English definition of “Comprehend”.
- The ability to understand something, in its entirety
“Some won’t have the least comprehension of what I’m trying to do”
To Assimilate
English definition of “Assimilate”.
-The process of making new ideas or pieces of information part of your knowledge so that you can use them effectively
-The process of becoming part of a community or culture
Belligerent
English definition of Belligerent
Line breaks: bel/li/ger/ent
Adjective:
1, Hostile and aggressive
2, Engaged in War or Conflict
Origin
Late 16th century: from Latin belligerent-“waging war”, from the verb belligerare, from bellum “war”.
ABSORBING WHITE
By
Charlotte E Hart
2015
“A belligerent state permits itself every such misdeed, every such act of violence, as would disgrace the individual.”
Sigmund Freud
Chapter 1
Elizabeth
“E lizabeth, we’re not done yet.”
That’s what he said five minutes ago, and I’ve been lying here ever since, still curled up in a ball, and still trying to will him away because I have no idea what I’m supposed to say or do. He’s just admitted to murder, to killing a man – actually two men – with a knife and his hands. I mean, I knew he was a fighter. I’d worked that much out and seen it in action, but an actual murderer? Is this what he didn’t want me to know? I hope to god it is, because I can’t imagine much more horrific than killing a man. Why did he kill a man? Two men? I can’t think straight. Christ, I wish he’d go away and just give me some time to process this, to think about it and get some order to my brain.
Alexander White – killer.
Or was it Nicholas Adlin who killed, and Alexander White is who he is now?
I haven’t got a fucking clue who he is. I was confused before, but now I’m an utter mess about who I’m in love with. Why has he gone all cold on me, and what is this kidnapping me and taking me off to New York all about? I don’t know who I’m dealing with anymore. Why the hell was he holding a knife at my throat – his throat? Oh, I don’t know whose throat belongs to whom anymore.
I’m so tired. I’m almost dulled of emotion. There’s no pain, no real sense of surprise. If I’m honest, there’s just a strange sense of disappointment, or maybe disenchantment. The man I love is a murderer. He’s also a sadist, which I know I haven’t met the measure of yet. Is that what Pascal meant with his, “He’s more than I could ever be when he embraces himself,” comment?
No, surely not. That couldn’t possibly have meant that he needs to kill people to have a good time, could it? What the hell am I supposed to say about all of this?
I wish it made me love him less, but the fact is I’m still lying here thinking about reaching my hand out to him and feeling his skin. Of pulling him down here so that he can make love to me and show me that none of it matters, and that it hasn’t changed anything between us, but it has, hasn’t it? The beautiful man who’s standing there looking at me is someone I never knew existed. And if I open my eyes again at any point, I’ll be able to see it in him now. I’ll be able to look into those eyes and see a murderer, a killing machine, a man with no sense of right or wrong.
“Hands made for butchery” – the statement couldn’t be more true. How little we knew when we sat in the coffee shop and looked a picture of him on a screen. How the hell were any of us supposed to see the man behind the image he portrayed? I should have seen this in him by now. I should have noticed the ambivalent swipe of blood from his face when he damn near killed that guy for what it really was. Only I didn’t. I knew it wasn’t quite right, but I didn’t ever believe he could actually kill. Well, I don’t think I did… Maybe I did?
I can hear him breathing next to me. He’s feet away from me, with those hands that are, quite literally, made for butchery. I can smell his aftershave, still feel his touch on me and feel those eyes of his penetrating me, even though I can’t see them. Why is he just standing there? Why doesn’t he just go away? I’m not even sure I can take this silence much longer myself. I just want to go to sleep, or home, or anywhere other than here.
Damn him.
Time stretches on again, and I’m almost at the point of opening my eyes when a chuckle leaves his mouth. A bloody chuckle! Is something funny? I think not. My eyelids squeeze themselves together tighter in the hope of containing the bubbling anger that is beginning to surface again. I thought I was over that, devoid of any emotion whatsoever other than tiredness. Apparently I’m not.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Elizabeth, but one way or another, I will make you see this.”
What the sodding hell does that mean?
My eyes open slowly to see him staring down at me. There’s no amusement in his eyes, so it clearly wasn’t an amused chuckle that left his lips. He looks glazed over, lost in his own twilight world that is completely normal for him. That place that brings out the monster in him, the one who has no regard for anything other than his own needs or thoughts. He’s still infuriatingly beautiful, regardless of the fact that he’s just admitted what he is, what he’s done. That black hair of his is ruffled and messy, and those damned lips are still moving around each inhalation of breath with stunning results. And I so wish his strong jaw didn’t still make me want to nibble my way along it and kiss his pulsing throat to soothe us both.
I gaze up at him, and once again, I wonder who it is that I’ve been with all this time and whether I’ve got a hope of getting my head around what he’s done. Sudden images of blood on his hands race through my mind, so I glance down at his fingers and feel my stomach churn at the thought. Those wonderful hands, those hands that used to hold me and tell me that he loved me, that he’d stay with me forever, have killed someone, twice. Well, not one person twice, but two people, twice. Oh god, I can’t think again, so I do the only thing available to me. I close my eyes again and curl tighter into the foetal position in the hope of forgetting, or at least not seeing him.
“Just leave me alone, Alex. I can’t do this now,” I mumble into the pillow.
“Remember, I did give you a choice,” he says as I hear him walk away from me. The door opens, so I exhale a breath and try to relax my body a little. He’s left me alone. I can think. I can have some time to consider, maybe find the reasons why in my own brain and try to process what the fuck I’m going to do about any of this.
Suddenly, there’s a clinking of bottles and glasses coming from the main cabin, followed by the irritating giggling of what sounds like Tara the bitch. He’s having a fucking drink? My eyes fly open again, not at the fact that he’s drinking, but at the fact that I can hear him laughing, too. With her. My stomach instantly turns again as my legs pull up into my stomach, and I yank at the sheets furiously. What the hell is going on out there?
More giggling ensues and now whispering. I can hear his velvety voice has moved into seductive mode, although why he’s bothering, I don’t know, because the whore will clearly spread her legs for anything. Oh my god. I can’t believe I just thought that. What the hell is wrong with me? Or him? What on earth is going on out there? And why the hell am I still in here?
I rapidly search the room for some clothes then realise I haven’t got any because he sliced – yes fucking sliced – them off me, with a damn knife. I haven’t got anything here – no suitcase, no clothes, nothing. He really has kidnapped me. Where’s my bag? At least I’ve got my phone. Who can I call to get me the hell out of this? I need to tell Belle what’s happening. What she can do, I have no idea, but maybe Conner can do something. Throwing the sheet out of the way, I sit up to search for it and realise all to quickly that it’s in the main room. I threw it on the bloody floor when Neanderthal come MI5 arsehole dragged me onto the plane. He is absolutely not in my good books. He wasn’t before, but he certainly isn’t now. Who the hell does he think he is, assisting in this, whatever the fuck it is?
“Yes, Sir,” I hear being said, which is followed by another giggle and the ruffling of clothes. My eyes swing to the door again. Has he just asked her to take her clothes off? Oh my god, what the hell am I going to do about this? What the hell is he trying to do to me? That burning anger suddenly comes rushing back with a vengeance. Clothes? Fuck it.
Scrabbling off the bed as quickly as I can, I yank the top sheet off and tie it around myself. The thought suddenly occurs that maybe I should go out there naked.
“Do maintain your dominance over him, my dear. He needs it to be honest.”
Honest? I think the shit is being perfectly honest, for once. And what that freak is doing spinning around in my brain is anyone’s guess. The man is quite clearly deranged. As is the murderer in the main cabin, who is now apparently chuckling to himself again, probably at the squeal of exuberance coming from Tara the slut. I can’t contain it any longer. Not that I have a clue what I’m about to walk in on, but I’m going in. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I try for one last moment of decorum before stomping towards the door to find out what the hell is happening.
Frozen – that’s a good description of what happens when I reach the hall. My feet abruptly come to a halt as I stand in shock and stare at what’s in front of me. A perfectly naked Tara is beaming at me as the eyes of the man I love gaze at me over her shoulder. There’s a small hint of amusement in the lifted corner of his mouth as he trails his fingers along her stomach and rests the other hand on her hipbone. Thank god he’s still fully dressed in the remnants of his tux, although why that matters to me I’m really not sure. My body’s damned reaction to the fact that he’s rolled his sleeves up to highlight those hands and forearms is worrisome. Put that together with his open collar showing me his throat, and I’m thinking all sorts of inappropriate things I really shouldn’t be thinking, given the situation in front of me.
My muddled mind reels over a few different responses to this scenario. I could go at him in style, I suppose, let loose all this bubbling anger and fly in for the kill. I could whimper and crumble into a pile of wet tears and snot. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Pascal is still floating around in my head, and before I know what I’m doing, my feet are carrying me nonchalantly towards the bar with a flick of my hair, because that’s where my bag is, and that means my phone. Also, there’s alcohol there. I’m not completely sure what I’m doing, but the fact is I know he’s doing this to wind me up for some reason. I’m still confused as to why, and while that inner slut of mine doesn’t seem to care much for logical thought, my brain’s trying to keep me calm. I’m not entirely up for whatever game this is, but I’m also not prepared to show him, in any way, that it’s affecting me. And given that she is, in fact, a slut – a slut that he doesn’t care about in the slightest – I have no reason to be worried that anything else is going to happen. Other than the fact that he’s currently got his hands all over her. Arsehole.
Snatching a tumbler from the unit, I reach towards the decanter of brown liquid and pour a large shot of whatever it might be. I don’t even care. It could be turpentine and I’d still drink it because the vision behind me is very disturbing, regardless of my grace in dealing with him.
“Put the drink down, Elizabeth,” he says firmly. My head wants to turn at the authority there. To be honest, my eyes want to look at the floor, but I carry on with my ambivalence and lift the glass to my lips. Before I know what’s happened, the glass has been knocked from my mouth and smashes on the floor ten feet away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I very nearly scream as I jump backwards, away from him.
“I fucking meant it. Do as you’re damn well told.”
I’m open-mouthed gaping because there’s not a hint of anything nice in those eyes. Not one inch of love or connection of any sort is being shown to me, just what I’m beginning to realise is the Alexander White I don’t know, the one who’s told me he’s going to teach me something. Or rather, show me someone.
“Alex, I don’t know what-”
“Look at the floor.”
“What?”
“Are you struggling with English? In fact, get on your knees.”
“I…”
“Do you want me to put you there? Look, I’ll show you how simple it is. Tara, down.”
Of course the bitch drops to the floor like a stone, knees spread and head lowered as he continues to stare at me. Nonchalance has left me completely, it seems, because I’m actually shaking. I’m not sure if it’s from fear or anger, but I get the distinct impression I’m going to have to use it wisely.
“No, this game isn’t one I’m prepared to play,” is my eventual calm response.
This isn’t what we’re
about. It never has been, and given whatever the hell is currently happening, I refuse to be on the back foot. He said this was about him being honest? Well, he can have it back if that’s the way he wants it. “And I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to do but it’s not working. After what you’ve just told me, now you’re out here doing this? What is wrong with you? Are you going to fuck her while I watch? Is that the plan? Piss me off or something? Don’t you think what I’ve just heard is enough to confuse me?” Suddenly I’m on a roll. I can’t even begin to stop my mouth, so I don’t even try. “Well please do. Crack on, but I’m not having any part of it. I thought this was about you telling me the truth, about us getting closer or something, but ... Well, I haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re trying to achieve here, and-”
I am abruptly cut off as his hand clamps over my mouth, and he begins to drag me across the floor towards the bitch. I wrench around in his grip but I haven’t got a hope and I know it. One last final shove at him is enough to send the damn sheet skimming away from me and onto the floor.
With a clearly practiced manoeuvre of my body, he has somehow managed to get me on the floor and on my knees next to her. My eyes swing to the left to find her still calmly resting there as if nothing else is going on in the room, so just as his hand begins to leave my arm, I try to scramble back up onto my feet again. I am not being naked in this room with the bitch from hell and Alex the dickhead.
“Don’t push me, Elizabeth. Stay there.”
It’s venomous, deadly even. Just like in that room in the Lake District, there is not one ounce of warmth, and he seems to be becoming even more devoid of emotion, if that’s possible. What the hell is going on here?
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