Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  My mouth is still gaping. Have I not told him I want him enough? Have I not told him and shown him that I’ll give him everything? How much more does he want from me?

  “Is that what you do? Just let him do exactly what he wants?” I eventually reply as I look at my shoes and try to summon up the courage to accept an uncontrolled Alex. He chuckles and reaches for his hipflask and a two glasses.

  “There would be no fun in that, and he cannot have his own way all the time. He would die of boredom, no doubt. However, you should know by now that when he needs his own way, it is always prudent to let him have it. It cleanses him. You must choose your timing cautiously.”

  How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m still not sure if I want any further interaction with him anyway, other than getting me home and telling him what a twat he is.

  Pascal passes me a drink and waves his hand at me, indicating that I should down it. I feel a little sick if I’m honest, and the thought isn’t all that appealing.

  “Drink it,” he demands, with a tone he’s only ever directed at me a few times. Funnily enough, I find myself relaxing a bit at it, not jumping ten foot in the air like I used to. Perhaps I’ve really got a hold on this dominance thing now. The corner of his mouth twitches as I giggle quietly to myself at him. Tyrant, he may appear to everyone else, but not to me. Loveable rogue, maybe – distinguished, charming and somewhat deviant gentleman, definitely. But he’s beautiful in his own unique way, and still trying to help me understand the man I’m unfortunately still very much in love with. I must be because I wouldn’t be in this car if I wasn’t, would I?

  I blow out another long sigh and lean my head back against the seat.

  “Why me?” I mumble as I close my eyes for the first time in over twenty-four hours and try to relax.

  “Because you are the one he chose, my rose, and because it is your position to choose the rest of his life for him.”

  Chapter 5

  Alexander

  Where was she?

  H e’d been waiting for over eight hours and was getting beyond pissed off with the irritating man. Why he’d allowed Pascal to persuade him into letting him go after her was still a mystery. He should have just turned the damn car around and sent it back towards the airport. The current floorshow of debauchery wasn’t helping his mood in the slightest.

  Sitting there, watching varying women in slutty attire parading themselves about for their significant others was becoming tiresome and bland. He had no idea where Tara had gone. He didn’t fucking care either.

  The room reeked of that old-school elegance that Pascal managed in all his clubs. They were basically the same in every city, with just slight changes to layout and format to accommodate the individual needs of the natives. Alex had never been to this one before. For some reason, Pascal had left the old venue and moved Eden here. Christ knew why. The other place was fine, but this New York version of Eden was slightly more polished than the last – slightly more chrome orientated and modern. It didn’t quite have the same graceful, dirty feeling that all his European venues had. That air of age and distinction was lacking, to say the least, although the clientele were certainly no less high-class.

  “Sir, would you like another cognac?” some random waitress asked him as she sashayed past in little more than a French maid’s outfit. What the hell was that all about? Was it some sort of dress up night he wasn’t aware of? Ridiculous. He nodded at her and scanned the doorway again for Elizabeth. Pascal said he would bring her here straight away. He clearly hadn’t, and that was getting beyond frustrating.

  “Alexander,” a woman’s voice called chirpily from over his shoulder. He was in no mood for chirpy behaviour, so he slowly turned his head to see who it was. He found Vixon stalking towards him – a domme of the highest repute who was, quite literally, dragging two large men along behind her on leads.

  “Vixon,” he replied with a nod of his head as he noticed the thigh-high red boots and smiled a little. She still had very good legs. “Still using two?”

  “Always. New ones, though, from the last time, I reckon. Where did I see you last? Berlin? Stop checking out my thighs. You know you couldn’t handle them.”

  “Mmm, we both know we’ll never know the answer to that, don’t we? And yes, Berlin.”

  She pointed her finger at the floor, which caused one of the men to drop to all fours and the other to crouch across him. She then sat down on them and reached for his drink.

  “You don’t mind, do you? I’m quite exhausted,” she said as she picked it up anyway and drank some. Luckily, the French maid returned with his next drink at the correct moment. “So why are you here? I can’t remember ever seeing you in here before.”

  “I’m waiting for Pascal,” he replied. He had little else to add to the subject and couldn’t be bothered with niceties.

  “Someone’s grumpy. My boys here can help if you need something?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Where’s the fun in you gone?” she said as she slid a crop across his leg. “You used to be a right giggle, Alexander.” He’d grabbed it and thrown it over his shoulder before she had a chance to blink.

  “I’m not in the mood for fun. I just need Pascal to get here so I can deal with some issues that have cropped up.” He’d have pardoned the pun if he could be bothered...

  “I think he has a room here for you. I know he changed the layout from the old place, but I’m pretty sure it’s up on the third floor. Why don’t you go on up and I’ll get some food sent up for you? You’re clearly not comfortable here.”

  Comfortable? What a fucking thought. The only time he was even vaguely comfortable anymore was when she had her arms wrapped around him, and for the briefest of seconds, he could forget his true nature. Just a few minutes of those legs entwining with his own seemed to somehow create just enough peace for him to hope for more of it. He scanned the area with the exits to the upper floors. Vixon was right. He did need to go and find some silence for a while. He needed to be ready for when she arrived. He needed to try and rid himself of all this anger and frustration so he could be in control of the man he wanted her to see. He couldn’t find the doorways and turned back towards the woman for some sort of guidance.

  “I never could manage that eyebrow thing,” she said in response. “Look.” She wiggled them about, presumably trying to lift one of them. She couldn’t achieve it in the slightest. He felt the corners of his mouth lift in amusement and blew out a much-needed breath. “That’s better,” she said. “I’m not sure what you’re fixing to do, but you’ll get it wrong if you go at it in that mood. And I quite like Pascal.” Clever bitch.

  “Are you trying to play with me, Clarissa?” he asked, chuckling a little at her screwed up face.

  “Do not call me that in front of these imbeciles,” she replied as she hit big chap number one on the head and stamped on number two’s hand. “You know I don’t like it, and master or not, I won’t be humiliated by you at any point. I was just trying to help.”

  “Well, could you help a little more by pointing out the door?”

  “It’s over there,” she replied as she stood and took his arm to lead the way over. On reaching a quiet corner, he noticed the thumb pads encased in the wall and nodded at her again. She smiled in response and smacked number one around the head again. “I’ll get some steak sent up. Enjoy the peace for a while,” she said as she wandered away and leant across the bar area. Imbecile number two seemed to have found his tongue attached to her legs all of a sudden.

  He drew in a long breath and reached his fingers towards the pad. Two bright red flashes and the heavy, dark wood doors swung open to reveal a long, green corridor. It was typically Pascal, all low lighting, with some sort of chanting type music drifting along the passageway. He smiled a little and continued towards the end of the walkway where it seemed an elevator awaited him. Once again, he pressed his thumb against it and the doors instantly opened to reveal a mirrored space and no other buttons wh
atsoever. He stepped in, and as soon as he turned around, the elevator rose. Pascal really had gone to town on this outfit.

  The doors swung open again after very little time, and a small foyer greeted him with fresh, white lilies in tall, crystal cut vases either side of two more heavy, dark wood doors. Which one was his? He moved to the right and noticed a small card on the table. He picked it up and turned it over.

  The choice is yours, dear boy, as it always will be.

  He smirked to himself, knowing full well that Pascal would be taking the room next to his. Whichever one he chose would be his, but his friend, his mentor, would be within arm’s reach if needed – still there to help him through his turmoil, or at least to feed his own masochistic needs.

  He moved to the right and pushed his thumb against the door. The lock clicked and opened into a large suite decorated in dark blues, with hues of pale grey adorning the windows. Chandeliers separated the space into three distinct areas. Start, beginning, end: the start being a simple grey rug on the floor and a set of drawers off to the right; the middle being a cross, a bench and, yes, suspension hooks above his head; and the end being a king size four poster, which matched the one in his suite in Rome. It was covered in appropriate tie holes and ropes, as usual. In fact, on further examination, the room was entirely set up like his suite in Rome. Apart from the colour scheme, there wasn’t any difference at all. He sighed and scanned the area again. It felt comfortable to some degree, homely, if that was a word he could use to describe the lair of a sadist. The very thought had him picturing Elizabeth’s eyes again when he sliced the dress off her, a move so easy, so comfortable for him, and yet shame had held him back again.

  The room would do. Pascal could have the other one. There wasn’t going to be anything else in there that he needed or wanted. At the moment, given that all he needed or wanted was for her to be there, he couldn’t see any point in venturing into the space next door. Wherever Pascal was with her, he wasn’t there. The room would do.

  Before he had time to close the door behind him, a young man knocked on it and dropped to his knees beside a trolley of food. He widened the door again and watched as the moron scrambled to his feet and pushed it inside. He then hovered about, looking a little sheepish about something.

  “Are you waiting for something?” Alex asked as he damn near collapsed into a leather armchair and stretched his head back.

  “Um, no, Sir. It’s just that I wondered if you knew.” What was the little shit talking about? And how the fuck did he know who he was anyway?

  “I’m assuming you know who I am, somehow. Well done, you. But what the hell are you talking about? I’m in no mood for conversation.”

  “No, Sir. No. I’ll just leave then,” he said as he began to back his way out of the room, bowing and scraping as he went. Definitely a Pascal sub – overdramatic to say the least.

  “Wait. What were you going to tell me?”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, Sir. It wasn’t my position to say anything, and-”

  “Speak, for fuck’s sake,” Alex shouted as he heaved himself up again and wandered toward the bathroom. He needed a shower and a change of clothes before he ate anything. The boy shuffled from foot to foot a bit and then hovered again.

  “It’s just, well, he told me not to tell you. And then he used that wink that he does, and now I’m not sure if that means I should tell you or not. He’s very confusing, and I don’t want him angry with me for not doing the right thing. It’s just, I’m new here and I don’t really understand how I’m supposed to know everything.”

  Alex continued to undo his shirt as he turned on the shower and then wandered back out to face the boy. He looked scared, and it didn’t take a genius to know whom he was scared of.

  “What is it he told you not to tell me?” he asked as he unclasped his cufflinks and pulled the shirt from his body. The boy shuffled again. “If he told you not to tell me, it means that he doesn’t trust you enough yet, and therefore presumes you’ll probably tell me anyway. More than likely because you don’t know what you’re doing and will be as scared of me as you are of him. So in reality, he told you to tell me. It’s the way he is. You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

  “Oh,” the boy said. “He doesn’t trust me? I’ve given him everything and he still doesn’t trust me?”

  He sighed again and put his hands on his hips, then smirked to himself at the position as her face raced into his brain. The poor boy shrank away from him, and he watched as his face began to turn white with fear. Lessons in Pascal were difficult to say the least. How he managed it with apparent ease most of the time was still beyond him.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked as he noticed the bruises around the boy’s throat.

  “Three months.”

  “You’ve given him nothing then. He will play with you for at least another year if you interest him long enough, and then maybe he’ll be a little more open with you. At the moment, you’re nothing but a passing fad.”

  “But, but, I love him,” he stuttered with a look of sheer terror. Alex shook his head and turned again for the bathroom.

  “I would suggest you stop then. He doesn’t do love. Love complicates everything,” he replied, hearing Pascal’s own words ringing in his ears. How right he’d been. “Now, tell me what he asked you not to tell me.”

  “He said he didn’t want you to know that she was here.” Alex’s steps stopped instantly as his body swung back around to face the boy.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. He carried her in. I think she was asleep, maybe drugged,” the boy replied, still shuffling and fidgeting from side to side.

  “What did she look like?”

  “Long, red hair. She looked very-” He was past him and out of the door before the boy could finish his sentence. Had that bastard had her here all along? There must have been a way in that he couldn’t see from inside the club.

  Three strides and he was at the other door, wondering how the fuck to get in. The choice was his? He pressed his thumb to the pad and the door opened to reveal the room. Pascal sat there in an armchair with a cup of coffee, smirking like a fucking arsehole at him. He was just about to bellow several expletives at him when the shit raised his finger to his lips and nodded towards the other end of the room.

  There she was, lying on the bed, fast asleep, that red hair spilling all around her as her languid, barely covered body lounged gracefully underneath deep red satin sheets. He flicked his eyes back to Pascal. Had the bastard undressed her, too?

  “Did you touch her?” he seethed quietly. Someone had clearly undressed her.

  “No more than I had to, dear boy. It was quite a hardship to behave myself, though. As you said, her skin feels just like silk. Would you like some coffee?” Wanker.

  “I should kill you for this,” he said as he walked over towards her to see that she was okay. “Did you drug her?”

  “Dear boy, really, what do you take me for? She is simply exhausted, and very much in need of slumber. The poor thing is very confused, interestingly still extremely spirited, though.”

  “Mmm,” was all he could force from his mouth as he stared down at her, picked up a piece of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. Her mouth opened and a whisper of his name left her lips before she rolled away from him to reveal her glorious backside. He gazed like a love-struck teenager until he eventually sighed out some of his tension and drew the curtain along the side of the bed to give her some privacy. The shit had probably been leering at her for far too long already. He wandered across to sit in the chair opposite Pascal and picked up the already poured coffee.

  “You look thoroughly exhausted yourself. Still beautiful, thankfully. However, did you have to come in here half dressed? You know how it unnerves me,” he asked, another sinful smirk plastered on his face.

  “Why didn’t you bring her to me?”

  “I did. She has been here all along.”

  �
�You could have told me.” He would have been in here hours ago.

  “I left a note. The choice was yours.” Scheming bastard.

  “I didn’t know she was in here, though, and you knew I didn’t. Had I known, I would have come to her.”

  “Obviously, but she needed rest, and you’re right handed.” What?

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

  “I brought her to the left hand room. You always favour your right. Right handed predictability, and as I said, she needed rest. Also, you are not thinking clearly enough to be with her yet. Have you eaten the food that Reubin brought for you, cleansed yourself? Hmm? Slept, even?”

  “I am not predictable.” The thought disturbed the fuck out of him.

  “You are to me, very predictable indeed, actually. In the most volatile of ways, of course.”

  “That makes no sense at all.”

  “To me, it makes perfect sense. You have always made perfect sense. Now, what do you need?”

  “I just need to…” He didn’t know what he needed, and Pascal’s raised brow as he stared across his coffee cup at him and smiled indicated that he was very aware of it. The man still said nothing to interrupt or give any direction whatsoever as they looked at each other, which was unlike him. She did that, too, lately, didn’t help him find the emotion or word he was after, almost pushed him harder to find it himself. He sighed again and looked across his shoulder at the bed. What the hell was he doing? What did he need? Sleep was probably a good idea. “I need her to understand.”

  “Ah, yes,” Pascal replied as he placed his cup on the table, loosened his green tie and stripped himself of his tweed jacket. “This comprehension of a murderer… I assume that you feel if she learns what true hatred feels like then she’ll understand your ability to kill with no remorse, yes?” He didn’t move or speak in response. What was the point? Pascal clearly understood him better than he did himself most of the time. It was irritatingly comforting. “It is an interesting technique, not one I have ever used before. One can only try, I suppose.”