Absorbing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  He raised a brow at the thought and wondered if Pascal knew what was coming. He probably did. He’d probably brought Elizabeth here, made her sleep and ready herself. He’d also probably calmed her, maybe given her a little information about himself to help her feel connected to him, safe even. She wasn’t, and he could feel that consideration coursing through him as he tapped the steering wheel and stared at the door again. He should leave. He should stop himself right now and just go home. He should call her and tell her to get a taxi back so that they could talk, have a drink, relax and unwind together like normal people did. She would be scared, worried, anxious. She just needed a night’s rest and to be held, to be told how precious she was and that he’d never leave her alone again.

  That’s not what he wanted, though.

  He wanted to sink so far inside her that he’d forget the day and remember only her at the end of it. He wanted to exploit every malicious thought to its full advantage, use her, use Pascal, and bind them all together in a hell that only they could endure. He wanted to hear her scream for him, and he wanted to watch Pascal bleed for him. He could feel his own fingers tightening at the possibility as he scanned the door yet again and tried to push away the image of his father. He just needed to stop the fucking noise. Brother, empire, worthless, useless. He couldn’t stop them. They kept fucking assaulting him and driving him to just open the door and get out.

  After another ten minutes deliberating the idea, he did just that. Got out. He walked across to the door and banged on it so hard it shook. He was going to get her and take her home where she’d be safe. The door opened and another faceless man waved him in, so he walked straight to Pascal’s office in the hope they were there. They weren’t. There was only a maid who looked shocked at his intrusion as she cleaned the bookcase.

  “Where is he?” he asked.

  “I think he’s in his suite, Sir,” she replied efficiently as she curtsied, stared at his bloodstained shirt in horror and then looked at the floor. He shook his head at the dramatics and turned for the corridor again. Why Pascal had to have everyone bowing and scraping was beyond him. Two turns and a staircase later and he was opening the door to the apartment. It was open, unusually. It was a good job, given the fact that he didn’t have a key.

  “Alex?” her voice asked quietly as her face peeked around from the wingback chair she was sitting in. She smiled and lifted herself from the seat to walk towards him.

  “We’re going,” he said in reply as he scanned her for injury, again. She was wearing a skirt and a top that didn’t belong to her, but she seemed unharmed, and clean.

  “Okay, you need to see a doctor. We can stop on the way,” she said as she made it to him and put those silken fingers on his face again. “Are you okay?” He couldn’t stop his lip from curling as she brushed her other hand across his shoulder gently to inspect the damage, increasing his already aggravated state as she did. He snatched at her hand and pushed it away as he tried to tame the inevitable.

  “Get your things. We’re leaving,” he said again, hoping she would do as she was told so he could get her away from the possibility of Pascal tempting him any further.

  “Okay,” she said as sarcastically as she could manage, as she frowned at his hand and swung her body away from him. “Or how about, ‘Are you okay, baby?’ Or, “Thank you for putting up with my shite, baby.’ ‘I fucking love you,’ even. How about one of those instead of grunt language?”

  He scowled at her temper and stormed across to get her as she turned into Pascal’s bedroom. That’s the last place he needed her to be. He was hit with the vision of the man himself, reclining on his bed in trousers and a shirt that was undone.

  “Sir,” he said as he put his hands behind his head and smiled.

  “I’m taking Elizabeth home,” he replied, watching her like a hawk as she slipped some heels on as seductively as she possibly could and grabbed at a coat of some description. She had no fucking clue what she was asking for.

  “It seems Alex is being a dick, Pascal. We’ll do this another time, yes?” she said as she purposely pushed her breasts out and wandered over to presumably kiss the man.

  “Of course, my love. Whenever he is ready.”

  Ready? He was more than fucking ready. Ready to cause all sorts of harm to anything that would give him a chance. He screwed his fists tighter at the thought and turned out of the room before the need to fuck her and beat Pascal senseless overwhelmed him.

  Nothing happened as he waited for her, nothing, and then she fucking giggled. He turned back to find them kissing, Pascal’s fingers twirling her hair as she sat beside him on the bed and he pulled her closer. Then the moaning began, her voice calling him to her, her voice and Pascal’s hands, together. There was nothing he could do to stop the rush of adrenalin coursing through him, and there wasn’t a thing he wanted to fucking do about it anyway. His could feel his cock hardening beneath him as she kept mewling, and he could sense the need to have all of it plaguing him. He watched the man’s hand wander closer to her perfect tits, loosening her top from her skirt and then caressing its way across her skin until it reached its target. Sensitive fingers at first, as always, just to tease him, goad him to ask for more from the man.

  “Is this what you want?” he growled at her. She dropped her head onto Pascal’s chest. He could feel her questioning herself as she hid her face from him. “Look at me, Elizabeth, and tell me you want what you’re offering me.” Pascal kept stroking her hair, somewhat protectively. Alex stared at him until he got the message and looked at him.

  “I will look after her,” he said. “I give you my word.” His angel’s face peeked up from her hiding place and gazed at him.

  “Is this what you need?”

  “Yes.” There was no point denying it, and for once, the conviction in Pascal’s eyes was honest, true. Given what they’d just been through, he hoped it was anyway. He glanced at them both again and waited for her to speak.

  “Okay, yes,” she said quietly. His body had turned and left the room before his mind was completely convinced about the idea. She’d said yes. That was enough.

  “My suite, ten minutes,” he shouted back at them as he shut the door behind him and went in search of another man. Any fucking man. Anybody would do, maybe a woman, too. A sudden clatter along the corridor behind him made him spin to find her running at him, and then quite literally launching herself into his arms. He grabbed hold of her weight as she wrapped her body around his and kissed him so fiercely that he struggled for breath. Her teeth nipped delicately and her tongue laved with his until there was no noise, nothing, just the two of them leaning on a wall and finding themselves in a moment of quiet.

  “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she said between breaths as she pressed her hands into his hair and rained kisses down on his face, then pulled away to look at him. “You stay with me. You remember me when this happens, and prove to me how different this is, okay? I need that from you.”

  He looked back at her and tried to answer, tried to tell her that he would, that he’d see her face and not just use the lifeless form in front of him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get the words from his throat, and he wasn’t going to lie to her, so instead, he pushed her off him slowly and watched her lips tremble. He watched them until his cock was aching to just fuck her here and now, just slam her into the wall and ravage her before the throbbing was too insistent.

  “Come with me,” he said as he grabbed her hand and led her through into the main room. There was a party in full swing. Pascal had probably ordered the event for New Year’s Day, and the noise was excessive. As if he hadn’t got enough going on in his own head. He scanned for suitable candidates and caught sight of a man he’d had in the room before. He didn’t know his name, didn’t fucking care either. He walked over and stared him down until he bowed his head and nodded.

  “Now,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of his suite.

  “I don’t want any other... I mean,
I’m not doing...” She stuttered from behind him.

  “They’re not for you,” he replied as he raised a brow at two women dressed in leather, who walked by and giggled at him. They’d do as well. He flicked his head at the man who was making his way to the room, and they both trotted over like the good little things they were.

  He pushed his way through the crowd until he eventually made it to his suite and pressed his thumb down to gain access. His angel sneered at the other people waiting by the door, probably to prove her superiority. She really didn’t need to.

  Ripping what was left of his shirt off, he told the three to wait outside and made his way to the bathroom.

  “I need cleaning,” he snapped at her as she followed him. “And I need you naked. Now.” The time for excessive words of love was over. Her face was slightly shocked but she nodded and started to remove her skirt as he turned on the shower and dragged the rest of his clothes off. The water invigorated him to some degree, revitalised his bruised skin and brought back a sense of cleanliness he hadn’t felt since they took her from him. But he couldn’t get rid of the images still assaulting him: her being held captive, his father trying to kill him, again, and Aiden lying dead in the dirt as he pulled the knife from his body and wiped the blood on his shirt. Over and over again they rolled through him. Murderer – useless and worthless. But he wasn’t worthless, was he? He defended her, defended himself even. Nothing was planned. He killed to survive this time, nothing more than that. He killed for her.

  A soft brushing across his skin brought him back to the woman in front of him. She was gently swiping at the bloodstains on his body, no doubt trying to remove the image from her own mind as she worked meticulously. He grabbed her chin and kissed her perfect mouth again, kissed it until her hands wrapped around his cock and offered him an instant release. The heat, the smell and the warmth of her had him needing to come almost instantly, so he pushed her down to her knees and rammed himself inside her mouth as deep as he could. His hand braced against the shower wall as he forced her back to it for more leverage. The sound she made as her back hit it was electrifying. He’d hurt her, and the satisfaction that coursed through him at the thought made him fight to stop coming. On and on he drove into her mouth as she squealed. There was nothing soft about his hands as he took the first part of what she was giving him with abandon and reminded himself what he needed from her, from them.

  “Does it hurt, Elizabeth?” he said as he pulled out of her and tapped her chin up. She nodded and tried to keep the tears from falling from her beautiful eyes.

  “Yes, it hurts, but I want it, I want you,” she said quietly as she stared at him and opened her hungry mouth again. He was so quick to shove himself back in again that she coughed around him, so he got closer and kept still to let the vibration set him off. Her throat constricted and trembled as she tried to hold still for him, and he felt it start in his balls. Every nerve pulsed and quivered as her fingers suddenly dug into his calf to ask for mercy. So, he let go and groaned as he filled the back of her throat, then kept driving in until there was nothing left but a brief silence from the noise in his head. Silence. Her hands slapped at him again, bringing him out of his quiet place so he let her breathe again by pulling out quickly.

  “Fuck,” she muttered as she gasped for air beneath him.

  “Not yet,” he replied as he pushed his head under the flow of water. He heard the door close in the main room and smiled to himself as he pictured Pascal in there, waiting for him. “Are you ready?” he asked as he stepped from the shower and walked straight out of the bathroom. He couldn’t be bothered to dry himself or put clothes back on. What was the fucking point?

  Pascal was sitting there in the chair, a smirk adorning his face as he stared at the three imbeciles who’d been invited. The two women were hovering in a corner, one of them looking nervous for a Domme, while the man was smiling at Pascal as he winked back at him.

  “None of you touch her unless she asks for it,” he said quietly as a naked Elizabeth walked out and crossed the room to Pascal. He’d give her that much before he lost himself. She could make her choices herself if she chose to. “And why are you still dressed?” he continued as he walked to the wall and picked up a whip. Then another. He threw the first one on the bed and nodded at the cross. No one moved.

  “Do you want me to make you, Pascal? You’re normally so agreeable.”

  “I do not wish to be tied, Sir,” he said as he stood slowly and pushed Elizabeth behind him. Hmm, it was a considered point. He nodded in agreement and looked back at the cross again to wait for him.

  “Elizabeth?” he said as he heard the rustling of clothes.

  “Yes?” she replied.

  “Do I need to strap you down to ensure you don’t try to stop this? This is what he wants, he wouldn’t offer it if he didn’t.”

  “I...” That wasn’t a good enough answer, so he pointed her towards the cross, too. She looked confused for a second but obviously got the message as her perfect arse walked across to it. She wouldn’t take the first round; even in his agitated state he knew she couldn’t take that, but the safest place for her was by Pascal. He watched her walk and tightened his hold on the whip as the world quietened down. He couldn’t hear anything but the dull thud of his own heart and his breath – slow, calm, methodical, like a psychopath readying himself for fun. Nothing was off limits here. He could hurt anything in this room and they would thank him for it, be pleased with the results to their skin as they left the room on their fucking knees and begged for it next time. Pascal eventually walked past him and met his angel over there. She just looked at him and nodded when he pushed her back to the cross. How Pascal knew what he wanted was yet another confusing thing, but at the moment, he couldn’t give a damn. He just needed all the noise to stay quiet, and watching them, feeling the atmosphere around him and languishing in it, was keeping it at bay. There was no father here, no brother – just them and their loyalty to him.

  Her eyes widened a bit as Pascal pushed his body into hers, covering it, and whispered something into her mouth. Then she looked over at him and smiled nervously. They looked effortless there as Pascal braced her hands out to the side and opened up his back as the target. She just hid behind him and kept her face out of the way. Everything between them was in perfect symmetry, legs spread and arms out wide. He could hardly see her for Pascal’s precision as he covered her entirely and just waited for the first strike. But she’d feel this pain. She’d feel every grunt and shout as the man took what he offered and revelled in it. She’d see for the first time the level of damage these hands were capable of, and she’d be part of it.

  He watched a breath leave the man’s body and flung the whip at him so hard the sound of pain bellowed around the space. The instant raised welt only spurred him on to do it again and again. Different angles, higher, lower, more and more as he heard the man panting and swearing in front of him. Stripes littered his body as he felt his own arm muscles constantly tensing and relaxing. She screamed as savage strikes landed and he saw Pascal’s weight suddenly shove into her at the contact. Then she tried to move away, or maybe look at him, but the next strike had her hiding again as the man yanked her back inward to protect her from the pain. Pain. He rallied another hit, and then another, and stared at Pascal’s body, waiting for him to drop or surrender. He couldn’t give a fuck if he did or not, because this couldn’t stop. More and more the man had to take. More pain, more agony, more. It had to go on this time until all the fucking noise just gave up taunting him. He had to make it all end so he could give her that peace she was after.

  Fathers and brothers were suddenly there again, racing through him and reminding him of himself as he watched blood appear on skin and smiled at it. Murderer, killer, despised bastard child. Pascal grunted and fell against her, still trying to hold their weight up as Alex reeled his arm back and threw the whip at them again. He heard a yelp and half halted his swing as her hand wrapped around the man’s waist. W
as she trying to protect him?

  “Move your arm,” he managed to say as her face appeared over the man’s shoulder. She looked scared, horrified even, and his eyes tried to give a damn but his arm wanted the added expulsion. His own butchering hands and mind needed to see the man on his knees, bleeding, begging, calling out for mercy and howling in pain. She didn’t move anything, just kept staring at him and digging her fingers into Pascal’s back to help him stand. He swung the whip again with such precision the tail caught her fingers harshly, and he watched her face screw up in agony as she closed her eyes. She still didn’t remove her arm, though, just kept it there and then wrapped the other around the man too.

  He was still clinging to the top of the cross, still trying to keep himself up for more. That was his fucking job, wasn’t it? That’s why he’d collared the man, so he could do this, and as he let his arm fly again, the man roared in response and buckled to his knees. She sunk down to the floor with him and wrapped her arms tighter, trying to draw him away from the whip, away from him. He snarled at the image and walked up to them to pull her away. More. There was still so much more hurt to cause. He threw the whip on the floor in disgust at the man’s weakness and pushed her off him.

  “Move,” he snarled out as he grabbed Pascal’s arm and began dragging his weight back upwards. He’d strap him on that cross if he couldn’t keep his weight up by himself.

  “No, Alex, stop. He’s had enough. Can’t you…”

  He couldn’t hear a word she was saying as he pushed the weight up and started to clamp wrists into cuffs. More pain, more agony, less fucking noise. Peace, fucking quiet, and no fathers or brothers to criticize his mind with their endless fucking blare of voices constantly violating his harmony. There was no fight in Pascal’s body as he hauled it around, just some grunting and groaning as he tightened the cuff and let his body hang in front of him. Stripes and blood and welts decorated his skin, and he chuckled at it as his hand traced the lines by the man’s ribs. His fucking marks, left by only him, and more were coming.