He could still feel the rats that his father had given him as a Christmas present biting and crawling over him. He’d dumped them into the cupboard with him on Christmas Eve and whistled carols as he’d screamed for help. Help never came, only laughter and jeering. He’d killed every one of those fucking rats in the end, broken their necks and shoved them into a hole in the corner while he shook and cried like a child. His first kills, but not the last by a long shot.
Why would anyone ever come for him?
“Alex?” He squeezed his fists closed and pushed the memory away again as her voice softened all the edges. She’d come for him, the real him, in more ways than one. He smiled and turned to find her questioning face staring up at him. She knew something was wrong, could read it a mile off now, and fuck he loved her for it. She placed a hand on the front of his chest and crawled it up towards his throat. “Mine now,” she said quietly, softly rubbing her finger backwards and forwards. “You’ll be fine.” He smirked down at her and tilted her chin further upwards. If it was anyone else but her, he’d probably have to show them just how fine he could be. But she was too deep inside to fool anymore, and she deserved his honesty because of it.
“I love you,” he said quietly as he ran a thumb along her cheek.
“I felt that this morning,” she replied instantly, a very cheeky smile suddenly erupting. “Your hands were full of emotion.” Trust her to break his mood. “They’ll be here in a minute. Shall we meet them outside?” His phoned buzzed in his pocket again for the hundredth time. He went to grab it, but she snatched at his hand with pleading eyes. “Not today, Alex. Just put it away for today, please?” He hadn’t got a hope of defying those eyes when she used them to full effect. Deep liquid pools of chocolate bored into him and reminded him of decency, of honesty, of integrity, and of love. He smiled at her and imagined them later, preferably drowned in lust instead. He reached for his phone and put it on the mantelpiece, then took her hand to lead her towards the front door, now trying to push away every other thought that was of no use to him while meeting her parents.
“Anything for you, Miss Scott,” he said as he wrapped a scarf around her neck and opened the door. They were both immediately hit with a few flakes of snow. Nothing really, just a small flurry, but she began to jump up and down in excitement. He frowned at her heels and reached for her but she broke away from him.
“Oh, it’s snowing,” she said as she leaped off the porch area and twirled around, apparently trying to douse herself in as much snow as she possibly could. “We can build a snowman.” He frowned at the thought. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually ever built one or not. Perhaps he had at the home, or maybe with Conner. He certainly remembered having snow shoved down his shirt by the idiot at some point, and a hard shot to the groin by a snowball.
He watched her spin round and round, looking upwards at the sky as if it were the answer to all her prayers. She really did like snow it seemed. No wonder she could ski. He assumed that was why she was rambling on about carrots and coal last night, and big cocks. Although what James T. Kirk had to do with big carrots and cocks he didn’t know.
He ambled down to her and then dived in to wrap her up and help her spin safely. She squealed and grasped hold of his neck as they spun around together in a private moment of joy, forgetting everything else around them and being in love. No past nightmares, no thoughts of hatred, just a man alive and the woman who had made him realise it. His angel, and his chance at a new life, to make new life, children, his children, their children. A little boy who’d always be loved, protected, cherished, and a little girl with her eyes and smile.
The crunch of the gravel brought his attention back to the present as he heard her parents’ car coming down the drive and stopped the spinning. She giggled in his arms and wobbled a bit as he put her down. What the fuck was that thought about? Jesus, he wanted to rip her to shreds for making him think that he could ever be a father. How did she do that all the time, make him believe he was good enough? Murderers weren’t fathers. They didn’t deserve that right. What the hell had he got to offer a child other than money? He shook his head and linked his fingers through hers.
“Are you ready to play happy families?” she asked, with pink cheeks and a radiant smile as she brushed at the snow on his chest. Was he? For her he was. He’d play anything for her, and her parents did seem like nice people. As long as he kept the father away from his toys, that was.
The whirlwind of arms that was her mother exited the car and practically ran to her daughter for a hug, so he let her go and wandered across to her father to help him unload what appeared to be several hundred presents from the boot. They were all wrapped perfectly with intricate bows, just the thing normal people did at Christmas. They wouldn’t have made a call to Harrods and had gifts picked and tied. No, they probably spent days searching for just the right things, each filled with love as they’d sat in that farmhouse kitchen and poured all their hearts into individualising the presents, probably drinking tea from that old teapot and reminiscing over Christmases past. Love, parental responsibility and guidance, honouring your children with the best you could possibly be for them.
“Alex,” her father said as he extended a hand. He smiled back at the man and hoped to ignore their last awkward moment.
“I’m sorry about the last time we... Well, I shouldn’t have tried to, you know...”
Alex nodded in reply and remembered that hug, that fatherly intent of kindness, of decency. He wasn’t sure what to say in reply so simply smiled and started picking up bags instead.
“Quite a gaff you’ve got here.”
“I like it. I bought it a few years ago. It was a bankruptcy sale so I got it quite cheap. It still needs work but it’ll make a good...” Family home one day... He shook his head again and chuckled to himself at the thought as he gazed at the mother daughter exuberance that was still going on.
“Well, Dianne’s ready for a whole bunch of grandkids whenever you’re ready, and you’ve sure got enough room to fill the house up with them.” Alex stared in response. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Thankfully, blue hair arrived to interrupt the conversation.
“Mr. Scott,” Conner said as he stuck his hand out, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He smirked to himself at the vision and grasped hold of yet another bag. Christ, how long were they staying? This evening’s entertainment would have to involve a gag at the very least, tape too, maybe. He shook his head again and chastised his own thoughts, given the father figure standing beside him.
“You’re the computer genius then?” the man replied as he scanned Conner.
“Yes, Sir.” Sir? What the fuck was that all about? Mind you, he remembered saying the very same thing to the man in question. He chuckled again and began to walk back to the house to avoid the rest of the interrogation, hopefully her mother’s exuberance too. No such luck.
“Alexander White, put those bags down and give me a hug,” she yelled as he mounted the first step. It was shouted as if she really were his mother, that type of voice that demanded he respected his elders and yielded to her order. He rolled his eyes and put the bags on the floor to turn back toward her. She stood there, flapping her hands towards herself. Christ, Elizabeth looked just like her. The resemblance was uncanny really. She was still a very beautiful woman in her own right. “Come on, I need squeezes,” she called. He walked back and was instantly wrapped up into a tight hug, then she patted his backside a touch too energetically. He frowned a bit as Elizabeth dragged her away and sighed in disbelief.
“Mum, will you please stop groping him?”
“Can’t help it, darling. He’s just too delicious. And talking of delicious, Bethy tells me you’ve cooked it all yourself. Is there anything you’re not good at? You must marry this man, Bethy. Have you asked her yet?”
Jesus Christ. Fuck. The woman was very slightly insane with her directness.
“No, not yet,” he replied as he tried to think of a way to cha
nge the subject.
“Why didn’t you just put this rather exquisite ring on the other bloody finger? Honestly, you men. Tick tock, tick tock. You wouldn’t want anyone else to snatch her up, would you? She could be tied to someone else before you know it, and then-”
“Mum, please,” Elizabeth cut in. He stared at her mouth. It was safe there, and she would be literally tied to someone else soon, wouldn’t she? There wasn’t a thing he could think of to rebuff the discussion. He wanted her tied to someone else, fucking someone else, screaming and begging and panting. sweat pouring off her as she arched, then crawled...
“How old are you anyway, Alex? Those swimmers don’t keep swimming forever,” her mother said. What? He looked at his cock at the same moment she directed her gaze in the same direction. His swimmers were perfectly acceptable in their swimming task, often, as far as he was aware anyway. Did he need to get that checked out? For fuck’s sake, when was the woman leaving?
“Oh my god, Mum. Stop. Come inside so I can give you a tour.” She jumped at the chance and began to head away from him. Thank God. Was this what he was going to get all day?
He carried the bags to the tree in the lounge and took each one out carefully. Blue, green, yellow with spots, some ridiculous children’s Santa paper wrapped around what must be a jumper of some description, and white packaging wrapped in pink bows. He stared at the fluffy ribbons and bows for a few minutes and wondered if his mother would have done this for him? Would she have taken the time to show him how much she cared? Or would she have thought him useless, too?
A hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact and spun his head around.
“She got this for you to wear. We all have to, I’m afraid. Conner’s being made to put his on now,” her father said with a chuckle. He rose to his feet and looked at the man’s hand. He was holding a tie. The sneer that crossed his face was so instant he couldn’t remove it until it was too late.
“Problem?”
Yes, there was a fucking problem. No matter how Christmassy the tie was, with its snowman scene on it and flashy lights, there was no way it was going anywhere near his neck. She said he never had to wear one again, and he wasn’t about to let that bastard in his house now.
“I don’t wear ties,” he said as he moved around the man and headed for a safer place, anywhere but here, probably the study. Maybe he could do some bloody work instead of all this happy crap.
“Stand still, son,” the father said. Son? He kept walking until he reached the door then braced his hand on it to check his temper. “I don’t know what you’ve got going on in that head of yours, and I don’t care unless you want to make it my business. But I’ll tell you this once: if you let any of my girls down, if you think their laughter isn’t worth your pain, then you’re not the type of man I want involved with my daughter. Do you understand me?” He raised a brow at the strength of tone and stared at the hall floor in annoyance. Worth his pain? Her laughter and joy and beauty were worth every second of his pain, but a fucking tie, all day?
“Put it on, Son. Let’s see how much you can take. Make you stronger than the pathetic piece of dirt you are. That’s it. Now tie it to the banister. Reach for me...”
He took another step out into the hall and walked toward the banister in front of him. The spindles echoed misery every damned day. He’d chosen this house because of the curved sweep of the stairs. There was nothing harsh about the lines. They were soft and forgiving. Not like the straight, rigid contours of the house he grew up in. His fingers traced them as he thought about the importance of that, the decisions he’d made almost unconsciously at the time to shield his thoughts and keep him calm, safe. He turned back to find Elizabeth’s father hovering in the doorway, a firm, unyielding look on his face as he questioned the decency of the man standing in front of him, whether he was worth his daughter’s time or not. He wasn’t, in all reality, but whether he was or not was irrelevant. She wasn’t going anywhere anyway. He snorted back a chuckle and held his hand out.
“Give me the tie, then,” he said quietly. A small smile played around the man’s face as he took a step forward, handed him the tie and slapped him on the back. He flinched again at the contact and barely contained a growl as the man’s smile widened into a happy grin.
“Knew I liked you for a reason,” her father replied as he wandered off towards the dining room where everyone was gathered. He held the bloody thing in his hand for a few minutes and cracked his neck, trying to quieten the voices reverberating around in there, then closed his eyes, trying to sort them back into their appropriate boxes.
Piece of shit.
Worthless.
Murderer.
Sadist.
You’ll never be anything... Don’t worry, I’ll beat it out of you, make you more.
A sudden noise brought him back to the moment. Jingle bells? He opened his eyes to find her standing in front of him. There was just her, her and that halo she seemed to damn well wear. She smiled and ran her fingers over his. No words, nothing, just her eyes and lips as she curved them up into a smile and kept staring into him. Deep inside him. She could feel it all, couldn’t she? She may not have been the one to take the pain, but she could see it etched into him, see it riddled in his soul, and feel it in his expressions, even when he tried to hide them.
“You don’t have to,” she said quietly as the jingle bells music started again. He suddenly realised it was coming from the tie. He raised a brow at it and kept staring at her mouth moving. “I’ll explain and it’ll be fine. Just put it down somewhere.” How could she explain? And how would her father ever accept him afterwards with no explanation to clarify why?
“Put it on for me,” he replied gruffly. “Just kept talking, or do something with your mouth, will you?” She giggled and took the fucking thing from his grasp, pressing the tune again. “I’m going to hate that song by the end of the day.” She looped it around his collar and started her work, quietly, methodically, gently.
“You can whistle it while I suck your cock later. I might even let you fuck my arse if you’re lucky,” she said softly, flicking her eyes over his shoulder. Nice thought. In fact, could they do that now? Not enough time, White. “Got any rope handy? I’ve been thinking about dildos quite a lot recently, too. Perhaps you could double up on me. You know? Prepare me. And butt plugs, what sizes are available? And why haven’t you used a whip for a while? I enjoyed that... ” His brow went higher. It seemed she’d found her dirt-ridden vocabulary quite nicely. Pascal would relish that as he watched his come pouring from her lips. “I quite enjoyed that spanking I received, too, oddly enough. Perhaps we can discuss it when I give you your present later. This aggression’s all well and good, and you know how I love it, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got more kinky shit than that going on in that brain of yours. Please don’t go all dull on me just when I’m finally starting to understand.” He stared at her in amazement, suddenly fighting the rising issue in his trousers. “There, perfect. How’s it feel?” He couldn’t give a damn about the tie. Not one thought was targeted on the restriction around his throat as she crossed her arms and winked at him. Winked? Witch. Fucking angel in disguise.
“You’re not going to be able to walk tomorrow, so I’d start thinking of excuses to give your parents in the morning.”
“Christmas first, Mr. White,” she replied with a smirk as she jiggled her tits at him. “And I think your hand’s required up an arse again. Let’s go get on with it, shall we?”
He watched her stride along the hall towards the kitchen in awe. She was utter perfection. Her hair was twisted into some exquisite style, the picture of elegance with slut’s thoughts slowly embedding themselves into her. “I love you,” he whispered to himself as he continued to gaze at her legs and arse.
“I should fucking hope so,” Belle’s voice said beside him as she strode past him, too. He kept looking at Elizabeth and then followed them into the kitchen. Lunch was about to be served. He’d have to wait f
or his present.
~
“Check,” Elizabeth’s father said as he moved a rook and smiled triumphantly. He was quite a good player really, not that Alex had actually played to win. He assumed letting the potential father-in-law win was probably a good thing. The mother giggled and drank some more of her eggnog cocktail that Belle had been producing all day.
“Dad, you can’t possibly call that a win,” his angel replied from his lap, laughing gloriously as she did so and trying not to slur the words.
“Whether the man played to his full cipacity or not,” Alan said as he tried to get up, failing and falling back into the chair again. “I shall claim my vactory and bid you all a very goodneet.” He tried once again to get up, and failed miserably for a second time. “Dianne, where’s our room? Don’t you have a butler? Fuck, I can’t move...”
He relaxed back into the chair to watch the family at its finest with a smile. He could sit here all day and watch this, this honest, morally good family. They curled around each other like a cocooning blanket of safety, held each other together and supported one another in everything. The mother and daughters seemed to understand one another so well it was unnatural, or maybe natural was a better description. They were just as a mother and her children should be really, he supposed. They’d played so many games today he couldn’t even remember them. They’d eaten too much, drank too much, and now he was sitting here in a Christmas jumper, having thankfully been allowed to remove the fucking tie. He’d been subjected to too many rounds of jingle bells every time a Scott woman had been within ten feet of him. And Conner’s version of The First Noel at every available opportunity had been truly horrendous, but the day had been wonderful, happy, and serene. For the first time in a long time he felt like he was a part of a family, a family other than the one he grew up in, or the one he pushed away in Rome when he was a boy.
Absorbing White Page 34
