“Are you taking me to Blaine?” I ask, nodding at the key in his hand and hoping to deflect the conversation away from wherever he’s wanting to take it.
“Mmm.” His eyes go vacant again, his leg moving slightly closer to me as he reaches for one of my pieces of paper and begins reading. It makes me more nervous than ever. The thought of him reading my words has me panicking. I don’t know why. I don’t even know who he is. I certainly shouldn’t care for his opinion, but I do. He’s the first person in the scene to read them.
“You have too much sense of love here,” he says, chuckling as he picks up the next one and starts reading again. “What makes you think love has anything to do with us?” I don’t know. The thought makes me frown, wondering why I wrote it like that. I did. I remember the feelings associated with the words as they flowed out. They were consuming, as if one would have those harboured desires only in the context of love. “We fuck the way we do because nothing else makes sense, not because we have feelings for someone.” He drops the sheet back down, carelessly letting it flutter to the floor as if it’s rubbish. It instantly deflates me, making me question the entirety of my last few hours work as I gaze at his lips. “Someone hasn’t experienced the real thing yet, I think.” Perhaps not, I suppose. I haven’t been in the middle of the club Blaine took me to. I haven’t practised that sort of thing, which, now I think about it, didn’t appear to have much to do with love. But with Blaine it does seem deeper, like it means something more than just fucking, as he says. It’s connected. Merging both sensation and sentiment. “Shall I show you?”
No. That’s not going to happen.
My head shakes in response as he leans forward and starts unlocking my chains, hardly touching my skin as he manoeuvres the steel around, like he’s choosing to avoid contact deliberately. It makes me question his intent given his demeanour around me. Why would he choose not to touch me? Perhaps he’s been told not to. That would make more sense than a man like him not just getting on with whatever he wants to do.
“There we are, all free.”
“Thank you.” I rub at my wrists, glancing down at my wrinkled dress and wondering if there’s any chance of a shower, or even a change of clothes. “Do you think I could change before we go?”
“Why?”
“Because…” I wave my hand down at myself, indicating the state I’m in, and then holding up my blackened fingertips to cautiously wiggle in his face. “I could do with cleaning myself up.”
“Why?” Oh, for god’s sake. He might seem strange, but he isn’t an idiot.
“I’m tired, in need of a change of clothes, ready to use a bathroom, and probably desperate for a new layer of make-up.”
“Bathroom, you say?”
“Yes.”
“You can do that here.”
“What?” He inclines his head at the bucket. “I’m not going to do that in front of you.”
“Yes, you are.” He grabs at me too quickly for my brain to catch up with let alone do anything about as he hauls me upright and moves me two feet over towards the bucket. “The choice is yours. Here, or hold it.” I stare, open mouth gaping at the idea of doing this in front of someone I don’t know. He can’t be serious. He just smirks, as if this is funny, or strangely erotic in some manner. I’m not sure which. It’s neither for me. I can’t think of anything worse than doing this in front of another human. I don’t even go in front of Bree, let alone strangers. But I do need to go, and now he’s started whistling, helping the need to go quicken further as I squeeze my thighs together in hope. He backs off a step, nodding at the bucket and then just staring again, tapping his foot to show his impatience.
“Do you need help? I have tricks.” I bet he does, and I’m sure they’re not enjoyable to endure. I look at the bucket again, knowing I’m not going to be able to hold it much longer. Perhaps I could wait ‘til we get to Blaine, though. Maybe he’d let me... What am I thinking? He was the one who told me to pee in the bucket in the first place. I can’t believe I’m thinking about this, but the bouncing carries on as I cross my legs and scan him again.
“What do you think I’m going to do, pretty? Rape you while you’re pissing?”
Possibly.
I feel the moment my body gives way to the idea the second I feel a little bit escaping from me. It’s quite vile, making me curse human physiology and then glare at him as he smirks again at my predicament. His lips purse again, another whistle leaving them, high pitched and long. Fuck. I’m so quick to hook my fingers into my g-string I hardly count the moments between them coming down my legs and the pee flowing out of me. It’s almost orgasmic as it comes, my insides sighing out in relief as I watch every fucking move he makes.
“You could at least turn round,” I snap, hovering my arse over the bucket and wishing the sound wasn’t quite so loud.
“Well, that wouldn’t be any fun at all.” Fuck him. If I had even the slightest bit more nerve I might say that out loud, but given my peeing condition, I don’t. So I just keep my eyes locked with his, hoping it’s enough to show he doesn’t scare me, even if he does. The second the sound stops, he takes a step into me, his hand reaching forward. It makes me scoot away, hauling my knickers back up my legs, nearly knocking the bucket over, and then glaring at his advance for fear of him trying something. He just chuckles again, pulling his hand back and turning for the door.
“Trust. You have to ask first, Alana. We’re not all rapists and lunatics.” It doesn’t fill me with confidence, regardless of his offering of courteous intent after the act. And what does he mean by all? Does that mean some of them actually are? “They all ask for what we have to deliver.” Really? Well, I’m not asking, not from him anyway. “Most beg.” The thought doesn’t surprise me given the attractiveness of the man, or Blaine. I still don’t want this one anywhere near me, though.
“Are you coming?” he asks, his body gliding across the room as if this is all perfectly normal. I walk after him barefoot, at least thankful that I’ve got the pee out of me. A shower would have been nice, though, given I’ve been rolling around in disinfectant and vomit, which has now dried onto me. “If he does offer you a shower, I’d consider leaving the make-up off.” My eyebrow quirks at the information, remembering Blaine not liking lipstick as he turns us out into a corridor, ambling his way along it and pointing out at a side window. “It matches your eyes,” he says, carrying on and not even glancing at the view. What does? I grind to halt, mesmerised by the sight of the blue waves crashing against the low cliffs in front of me. Where on earth are we? It’s glorious, spellbinding. I’m so in awe of it that I just stand here, transfixed by the thought of going down to the beach and dipping my toes in. I could wash all this off me and come out cleansed. Wet maybe, but at least I’d be clean. It’s all so blue and vibrant. Beautiful.
“I wouldn’t bother. He’ll only get you filthy again,” Priest says, suddenly standing beside me. Yes, I suppose he will. It’s not like he appears to care how dirty I am.
“How long have you known him?” I ask, glancing at him and then back to the ocean.
“Long enough to know him. Not long enough to talk to you about him.” He smiles a little, his hand reaching for mine and lifting it to draw on the condensation in the window as I fight his hold. It makes him hold tighter until the word draws out, but I don’t need to read it. I knew it by the second letter. Blaine. He lets me go as the word finishes, leaving me to just stand there as the water drips along the surface, falling downward and creating long streams of droplets from each letter. “That’s all you need to know about him, for now,” he says, walking away and chuckling to himself again. I turn from the word, watching the way Priest’s body seems so in tune with him. He’s so confident about his movements, as if he owes the world nothing more than what he chooses to give it. In fact, the more I watch him walk, the more I feel at ease with his presence. The thought makes me frown again as I look back at the window to see Blaine’s name dispersing into nothing but stains on a
window pane. My fingers automatically draw up to it again, blending the letters into each other and brushing over the word until it’s nothing but a blur. “Tears run deep when he delivers them, pretty thing. Are you ready for the outcome of such confessions?”
I don’t know what that means. Confessions of what? I’ve got nothing to confess. I’ve never done anything wrong, short of writing dirty sex scenes my mother is mortified about.
“I’ve nothing to confess.”
“We all have something to confess.” I leave the window, hurrying to catch up to him as he turns another corner and disappears from view.
“Well, I don’t, and if you…” My body slams into him as I round the corner, his fingers wrapping around my neck and drawing my lips to his before I’ve even got a chance to pull back. Everything happens at the same time. I’m pulled and then pushed, my body deposited against the hall wall with little ability to move away. And my damned mouth, regardless of my brain’s disagreement, just follows his as he mingles us together and leans his weight into me. I feel so small. Tiny. And barely able to breathe as I let him kiss me, partly fighting his hold on me. I’m not even battling as his tongue licks its way over my teeth and then gently pushes in. I end up grabbing onto him, my fingers digging in at the thought of fucking without any real thought to why I shouldn’t be doing any of this. And then his knee nudges my legs open, his hand hitching me into him as he pushes yet more weight against me and breaks his mouth away.
“You’ll be begging before you know it, little thing,” he whispers, his mouth running over my exposed chest and hovering around the top of my breasts. I’m panting, and if this feeling inside my body is anything to go by, he’s probably right, much as that might infuriate me. I struggle again, exciting myself with the prospect of it getting physical and enjoying his weight countering me every damn time. It’s similar to the sensation with Blaine, the same sense of desperation regardless of me battling against the strength, but it’s not right. It doesn’t have to connection, or the warmth.
My mouth opens as it tries to say no, or perhaps protest in a way that shows my own fortitude, but my body betrays me too quickly. I’d let him fuck me here, even with his peculiar sense of foreboding. It’s as if I want him to just take me, rape me even. Something about him makes me feel deprived of air, just as Blaine does. Whatever it is makes me tip my head back against the wall, my legs widening further as he pushes into me again and chuckles. “Still nothing to confess?” Apart from the fact that I want to be used here? That I want a man to do whatever he wants with neither consent nor fight? No. I pant again, a sharp and glorious shiver gliding through my crotch and promising me relief from the tension Blaine created.
“I just...” I don’t know what I want. This is all wrong. So wrong. I came here for Blaine to show me something, not this man. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not him I want. It’s not. It’s Blaine that I want. Blaine made this happen. He deprived me of himself earlier, leaving me desperate for something, anything. The thought makes me gasp at the realisation that I want more than simply teaching, as I struggle again and push back at him. “I’m...” Desperate. Absolutely and irrevocably lost to what he’s making me feel about Blaine.
“Ask me.” Oh god, that was groaned, his voice dripping with sex as I feel his hold come up to my chin. It echoed with my own inner voice, the one that’s fraught with need for Blaine to make this sensation go away. “You have to ask, pretty thing.” His eyes look into mine. There’s no backing away, no moving from his stare, just the damned awareness that I want someone who’s not here. His eyes are luminous as the colours swirl, almost laughing at me in my state of disarray. “You’re not mine to take until you ask.”
“I’m…” I’m not fucking functioning, is what I am. I push at him once more, letting the dull ache pivot away as I tug my chin from his hand, all the time longing for Blaine’s there instead. “I’m not interested in you.”
He immediately backs off, almost to the point of my body tumbling to the floor without him supporting it as he leans on the other wall and smiles.
“Now you have something to confess.” My eyes snap up to his. No I don’t. Nothing happened. And it shouldn’t really matter if something did or not, anyway. I don’t belong to Blaine. We’re not engaged to be married, for god’s sake. “Although, rape isn’t as unusual a request as you might think.” I clamber myself upright again, straightening what’s left of my dress and running my fingers through my hair in an attempt at strength of mind if nothing else. How he fucking knows I deliberated that sort of thing, I don’t know. And it’s not relevant anyway. This is simply a research mission, one that, when I regain full control of my wits so I can think again, I’ll find he’s probably just helped me with in some way.
“You’re hardly a confession, more a bump on the journey. A lesson learned perhaps.”
“Oh, pretty thing,” he says, shaking his head and turning from me to amble away, hands in his pockets and arrogance smothered across his every feature. “I’m not your confession.” What? What does that mean? Nothing else has happened. What other thing do I have to confess? “He’ll have his fun tearing you apart.”
I want to scream a fuck you at him, but I don’t. So instead, I just follow him, keeping myself a few steps behind and trying to understand how I fell into his hold so easily. It means something—something I’m not aware of. It’s the same as when I rolled on the floor with Blaine, letting thought disappear to nothing but sensation. The same as when I let myself drift beneath the water, simply waiting for rescue rather than scrambling my way out myself. It’s all meant to tell me something and the only thing I know is that it tells me Blaine is necessary in some way. That I want more than just the teaching I asked for.
I watch the swing of his gait as he eventually turns another corner, then opens wide doors letting the wind whip into the entrance hall we’ve arrived in. He looks back, a smile still hovering around his mouth as if he’s amused at what he’s taking me to. The very thought makes me glance around the outside of the building, looking for threat or concern. There’s nothing there but a blue sports car and the view of the ocean again.
“Take a good look, pretty,” he says, making me swing back to him, my arms wrapping around me at his sudden sneering tone. I’d like to say he repulses me, or that I’m in control of the way my body reacts to his stance, but I’m not. He looks almost edible stood there, his frame filling the doorway with a strange aura of control. It’s unlike Blaine’s, though. It’s calmer. Less palpable in the air. And as the wind whips me again, fluttering what little dress I have left, I realise the difference between them. He’s less violent, regardless of his current tone. He’s not hiding anything at all. He is exactly what he seems. It’s all on display with little in the way of concealment. I bet if I asked him whether he’d ever been in love, he’d answer immediately with no lies attached. “It’ll be the last nice thing you see for a while.”
“Quite the romantic, aren’t you?” I say, smiling to myself and remembering the way his lips caressed my skin. There was nothing obviously heavy about them, not like Blaine’s. No teeth biting in. No cruelty in his grip, no matter my initial thoughts on his demeanour. There’s no sense that he might explode any minute. He just is. It’s quite refreshing compared to Blaine’s intrigue. “I’d say you’ve loved on several occasions. Passionately.” He quirks a brow at me, then shakes his head and walks to the car, pointing at the other door as he does.
“Cunning little thing, too.”
That’s all I get as a response as he gets in and starts the engine. The only other thing I get is a piece of black silk handed to me. I stare at it, not knowing what it’s for until he offers it up to my eyes and nods. Oh, a blindfold. Really? I stare at him again, wondering what the hell that’s going to help me with, then assume it’s another thing that may cause a sensation of use so slip it over my eyes. The world goes dark as I tie it around my head and the car pulls away. It’s all I get as we drive to wherever we’re going. W
e drive in complete silence. No music. No conversation. It’s just a meandered drive through what feels like country roads. Bumps and turns, the occasional heavy breaking, causing me to shift and slide about, which is apparently funny by the sound of the sporadic chortling beside me. It seems to go on for hours. Complete silence, only accompanied by the rush of other traffic passing us by every now and then. And, after a while, all thought of concern leaves me as I relax back into the seat, letting the wind take me wherever this man blows. I’m going to Blaine; that’s all I need to know. Whoever Priest is, I have to trust him. He could have raped me back at the house. He could have done whatever he liked without applying much more pressure to me. He didn’t. He’s either a gentleman, and given his romantic bones it wouldn’t surprise me, or he’s under orders not to do anything to me, the second of which I’m doubting he cares anything about. It makes me smile to myself as we round another corner, strengthening my sense of understanding as I listen to his breathing and wonder where I’ll end up.
“Priest?” There’s no answer. “Why do I have to ask?” I say, musing over those other books that seem to delineate all Doms as freaks or sadistic arseholes who lose control at any given moment. Priest seems nothing like that to me now. He seems anything but, in all honesty. “Should a power exchange not be taken, rather than given.”
“Those who take have less capability than those who are asked,” he says softly, a slight sigh leaving his lips after the response. Right. I turn my head to him, not able to see but feeling better for looking in his general direction.
“Why?”
“Little things can’t be liberated when forced. Compliance is essential for progression.”
My brow shoots up behind the silk as his words sink in. He thinks this is freedom of some sort? I’m blindfolded, not knowing where I’m going, having been drugged to get me here in the first place, and then chained. It’s hardly freedom. Let alone liberation. Although, I suppose I did ask for the help, therefore I can’t say I’m being forced.
Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1) Page 23
