I check my watch, noting the time and looking back at the building again with more thoughts of going to say my bit. It just stands there looking at me, its looming presence of grey stonework as constricting as my thoughts regarding it. I’m done with them. I’ll write my last ones and then I won’t sign up again with anyone. Bree’s right. I don’t have to be with anyone. I don’t even need the money anymore. I can be as free as I want to be, choosing what I write, when I want to write it, how long it should be, and for whom to read.
I texted her a while back, apologising for disappearing on her and telling her I was fine. I don’t know if she cares or not, or even if she forgives me for going, understands even, but she hasn’t texted back. I’m not surprised. It’s not in her nature to be undermined. That’s how she’ll see it, but that’s not what I did. I just embraced me again, what I wanted. At the time, and still, I want Blaine regardless of his intentions. I want whatever he has to offer, so I can complete whatever this transformation is. Where it goes after that, I don’t know, but I’m going to travel the road nonetheless, let it enthuse Alana Williams again, let him guide me back to where I want to be, or shunt me forward in a new direction, new horizons maybe. Either way, I don’t care. I’m going with or without Bree by my side. This recurring life I’m in has to stop. This fucking nightmare that controls my mind, my body and thoughts. It stops. And the damn pills I need to take daily to keep up, that stops, too. It all has to stop. I need control over my life back. I need me.
My dress skips across my knees as the wind picks it up, making me smile as I stand and begin my meander again, this time with more direction than before. I know exactly where I’m going, who I’m going to. I might not know what he likes to drink, or where he likes to eat, but I know him. I already know what he needs to do to my skin to feel complete. I felt a little of it last night, felt the way he hit me with that belt, my body reacting just as he probably thought it would when he climbed me to orgasm. I just have to keep trusting him to take me there, wherever there is. He’ll take me further, though. All I have to do is ask. I just need to watch whatever he needs to show me and agree to more. That’s all. I just have to love him.
~
“You’re early, pretty thing,” Priest says, his frame filling the doorway of the nondescript venue I’ve arrived at. Am I? I hardly know what day it is given this haze I’m in. I don’t know if that’s what’s been happening in my life or the fact that I haven’t taken my pills yet. I just walk under his arm, heading in with little concern for what’s coming. I’m not scared or worried, maybe a little apprehensive, but the blur around me seems calming regardless of what I’m about to witness.
“Is he here?” I ask, looking around the small deep blue foyer area. It’s like a theatre entrance, a tacky, sixties style lampshade at odds with itself near a ticket void on the wall, an equally tacky patterned carpet under my feet.
“He is.”
“What is all this, Delaney?”
“First name terms now, is it?” he says, his body gliding past me as he heads into a dark stairwell and begins climbing the steps. “I assumed you knew. He told me you did.” I watch him climb, the sweep of the old stairs filtering dust through the air as he carries on. “He’s never done this for anyone else. Why you?” I don’t know, but I follow anyway, letting the wooden banister beneath my hand ground me a little as I turn. “You look dazed. Are you alright?” Who knows what alright is anymore? A few weeks ago I would have called all these people insane, been judgemental, regardless of my thoughts of equality. Now, this seems more normal to me than the apartment I’ve spent so long working on or the life I used to lead.
“Fine,” I say as I look up at him, his tan suited legs continuing again and then disappearing. “Where are you taking me?”
“To see the show,” he calls back. “It’s already started.”
I hurry up the stairs, desperate not to miss anything as I turn at the top and look around for where he’s gone. There’s no one here. It’s just a maze of doors and little alleyways, all leading off in new directions. I scan them again, searching for clues, but nothing presents itself as useful.
“Priest?” No answer. “Priest?” I shout it louder, hoping for an answer but not expecting one in the slightest. He probably finds all this funny. Poor little, pretty thing that I am. If I wasn’t so hazy I’d snarl at his arrogance, but who am I to judge anymore? Perhaps he deserves his egotism for some reason. He certainly knows his scene, I’ll give him that. “Delaney?”
“Hello,” a woman’s voice says from a corner. I swing to look at her and find the woman from the church smiling back at me. “Can I help?” She looks as immaculate as she did the last time I saw her. Lipstick perfected, make-up perfected. Her body strapped into another black, figure hugging dress, calf length and finished with stilettos. “Are you lost? You seem it.” Something tells me she’s not talking about me not knowing where I’m going. I feel the fidget take over me as I gauge myself against her, hoping I measure up.
“Yes, I’m here for Blaine. Could you—”
“I know you are,” she replies, her arms folding as she sways towards me. “He’s this way.” I follow, almost entranced by the way her backside seems to have its own rhythm. It lulls me after her, making me stand taller in the hope I can achieve the same result. Sadly, I’m not sure I can. Well, not with such an elegant demeanour anyway. It’s probably the four-inch heels I’m not wearing, I suppose. That, or the fact that she’s a trained something. I can tell by her whole being. She’s superior to the others I’ve seen in clubs, perhaps been given some special status around these people. She might even do what Blaine does for other subs? Or maybe she’s a Domme. I don’t know. She gives hardly anything away other than perfection in her look.
“Who are you?” I ask, because it would be nice to know given the fact that she’s watched me have sex. Not that I mind, clearly. I’ve become a slut like that. It’s just that first name terms would be good really. Helpful.
“Tabitha,” she says, without turning as she keeps going forward. “I’m here to help.” Right. Help. I’m not sure how. What has she got to do with Blaine and I? “You believe me, don’t you?” she continues, her hand reaching back for me as she turns her head and smiles. “That I’m here to help you in any way I can?” I’m not sure I do, but I nod anyway, scanning all the rooms we pass, the noise coming from them making me wonder what’s going on inside. “I’ll hold your hand if you like, make it seem less frightening. Although, it always is a little. Still.”
I’ve no idea what any of that means, and I’m not inclined to take the hand that’s offered either. It seems fake somehow, or maybe it’s just that I don’t know her, or perhaps it’s just that, for now, the only thing I’m remotely interested in holding hands with is about to show me something I’m possibly not going to enjoy. So I frown at her instead as she keeps going, my fingers digging into my own pockets to show that I don’t need my hand holding. I’m here of my own accord because I want to be, not because I’m some scared little rabbit blinded by headlights too big for me to bear. I might be new to all this, but I’m not in need of a friend. I’ve got one of those in Bree, hopefully.
“But what are you here for?” I ask, more interested than I thought I would be as I catch up with her strides and attempt the same rhythm. “And why were you with Priest? When we... I mean, Blaine and I... When we…” I wish I could say these things easily. You’d think I would be able to by now given the company I’m in.
“Fucked?” she replies, a wink causing my insides to flip over. I hate to admit it, but she’s stunning. Not that I’ve ever considered another woman, but she has watched me so it seems natural to go that step further. “Is he very good? He always seems it. He seems more animalistic than most.” Well, at least she’s not had him then. The thought makes me smile, something akin to pride washing over me as we wander along a corridor and eventually stop in front of a door. “I’ve felt him once, but not inside me,” she says, turning towards me
and putting her hand on the door latch. Jealously sears through me, replacing the pride I had seconds ago and making me want to rip her eyes out of her skull. “Potent is a good word for him, I think. Don’t you?” I’m so close to pushing her over it’s horrendous. I’ve never felt this kind of sentiment before. In fact, I can’t ever remember feeling jealousy before in my life. She giggles softly, looking at me and then putting her finger up to my face at the same time as a thud emanates from the room we’re standing by. It makes me jump, my eyes swinging sharply to the sound. “Don’t worry, Alana. You’re here, aren’t you?” Her fingernail travels the length of my cheek, her face moving towards mine as she tips my chin up and inspects my neck for the bruising that I’ve covered. “You’re the one he wants, not me. I hope you’re ready for him.” Another thud happens, this time against the very door I’m hovering by, making me back away from it again. It’s followed by a groan, a woman’s voice making the tone seem aroused somehow. “Can I taste you before you run away?” Tabitha says. I look at her, stunned by the question and not moving any further from the thought, but she turns the latch before I can answer, a smile on her face as she giggles again and pulls her finger away. “Too late.”
Her hand grabs mine, hauling me into the room and quickly across to the back of it. My head spins, trying to find Blaine, but she hurries me past Priest as he heaves a woman past us, a smile on his face as if he’s amused. I’m speechless, my eyes frantically searching the skin as he drags her away from me. She’s loose in his arms, her body just hanging there, limp and lifeless. It’s covered in welts, large swollen areas all over her, glowing a fucking warning at me, blood even on her back and thighs. He picks her up eventually rather than dragging her, lifting her as if she weighs nothing and closing the door behind him. I stare back into the room again, my nerves creeping back from the depths of me as I wonder what the hell just happened in here.
“What did he do to her?” I ask, my eyes still focused on the door and wondering why Priest, anyone really, would do that to a woman. She looked almost dead as he carried her out. Tabitha giggles again, making me turn back to look at her.
“Still in love?” she asks, her lips curving further up as she takes a seat and pats the one next to her, inviting me. “It’s all so primal, isn’t it?” The thought makes me scowl at her then turn away, suddenly uncomfortable with what happened in my own home last night, let alone whatever this is.
It’s a large room and empty short of the few seats she’s sitting in at the back, a stage of sorts at the front. It’s lined with three women, evenly spaced, all chained to the walls and as naked as the day they were born apart from blindfolds. Two sets of cuffs dangle free at the end, one set’s rattle still audible in the silence that’s descended now the cacophony of Priest leaving has gone. I scan the women, looking for bruising or marks of distress, not one of them has any that I can see. One does seem asleep, or barely conscious, her neck strapped back in some rope work not unlike the sling he put me in, but the others seem alive and well, just patiently waiting for something to happen.
“Priest will be dealing with number four. Don’t worry about her,” Tabitha says from behind me. “Five has already been dispensed with. I watched earlier.” I look down, watching her smoke a cigarette as she gazes up at me. Numbers four and five. Is that what they are? Just numbers.
I eventually sit down next to her, regardless of my apprehension, trying to remain calm like the rest of the women here, but I’m not. I don’t know what I am anymore, but the haze has cleared. It’s been replaced with expectancy or fear, certainly a focused thought progression. I thought I wasn’t scared, but I am. I don’t think it’s for me, though, more for those women up there who are just hanging, waiting.
“Did you know he trains all the sadists in the upper states?” she says, a lungful of smoke puffing from her mouth as she crosses her legs and looks at me. “Of course, you must have known. You’d need to for your book, wouldn’t you? For the research.” I’m about to ask her how the hell she knows about that when Blaine walks in to the stage area, his top half free of clothing and his bottom half dressed only in blue jeans. There’s not a bead of sweat on him, or even a frown marring his face. He seems calm, relaxed even, which is now a complete contrast to the women who dangle around him as they begin squirming in their chains, one of them inching her feet up the wall as if she wants to get away. He doesn’t look out to me. He just stands there for a minute, his back on view and the muscles in it relaxed as he twists to look the women over.
“Two,” he says, his voice low and gravelly as another woman walks on the stage, her fingers fumbling with number two’s locks until she collapses to the floor and looks up at Blaine. She immediately seems frightened, extremely so as she glances around, her eyes wild and frenzied as she blinks. It strikes me the second I look at her that he did that to the other woman. It wasn’t Priest. Blaine did it. Is this what he wanted to show me? If it is, I don’t want any part of it. The thought instantly sickens me, making me question everything I thought I knew about him.
I stand up, ready to call a halt to whatever these proceedings are, but Tabitha yanks me down, her eyes turning aggressive as she curls my arm and shoves me back into place.
“How fucking dare you?” she spits, her hand slapping out at my face and colliding with it so hard tears spring into my eyes. “You stay there and watch what he offers you.” I’m so shocked that I just gape at her. “If you behave well enough I’ll make you come when it’s over.” My hand rests on my cheek, unable to process anything. She chuckles again, her mood switching as quickly as the fucking wind. “Look at you,” she snorts, disdain levying every feature as she turns back to look at Blaine. “Not having fun anymore, Alana?” No, I’m not. Not that fun was ever anything to do with this, but I thought love was. I thought this was all about love. My love for him, his for me. It’s not, is it? “You hardly deserve his time, let alone his emotions. Why this is happening is beyond me.” I glare at her, irritated with her opinion but too confused about the situation to do anything. Some of this is repellent. That woman who was dragged out couldn’t move. She was either exhausted or dead, I’m still not sure which as I glance back at the door. “Watch him.”
I don’t want to. I don’t know what this is becoming but the thought of turning back to that stage is terrifying. I can already hear a grunt coming from the front, a slapping sound following it. And then her fingers grip my chin, forcing me to turn. Instinct makes me fight her, the tears in my eyes as definitive as my need to walk away from this. It’s all wrong again. I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it. This is not my Blaine. It’s not.
I struggle, ripping my face from her nails and feeling them tear the skin as they leave.
“I’m not doing this,” I say, my body trying to knock her away from me as I stand again and try to leave. “Screw you. Get off me.” My hands push at her, my body trying to get her arm from mine as she increases her grip and begins dragging me back to the seat. I can’t even believe I’m doing it as I begin fighting with a woman. It seems peculiar, at odds, like my body doesn’t understand what it’s trying to achieve. My fingers just slap out randomly, in hope if nothing else. I haven’t got a hope, not even a small amount of one, and I can see that as her body comes at me quickly, forcing me towards the stage as she easily counters every move I make. She manages to get me into some kind of hold I can’t get away from, her body coiling around me and constricting further, her long fingers eventually getting my chin again as she stands behind my back and forces me to look at the stage. I gasp, instantly seeing Blaine in front of me and filling the room with nothing but his eyes. He’s turned to that man last night when he near choked me, his black holes narrowed as he stares at me from his crouched position and scowls.
“This is what you asked of him, Alana,” she says, her breath barely laboured as I pant in her arms and stare back at him. No, it’s not. I didn’t ask for this. My mouth opens, ready to disagree, but she pushes again, her leg hoo
king into mine and forcing me down towards the floor. My knees hit first, my face just about managing to keep itself away from the sticky carpet below me. It’s then that I notice the woman he’s hovering over. She draws my gaze to her, my eyes following the line of his arm to her body. His fingers are curled around her breast, twisting, digging into the flesh, and his other hand’s lodged inside her, the whole hand. I watch him slowly pull a little of it out, my own crotch squirming at the glistening image as his wrist emerges and then pushes back in again slowly. Disgust and arousal merge inside me, my body relaxing in Tabitha’s arms and then tensing again as she begins to let go.
“Just watch it, Alana,” he says, his voice as aroused as it was when he fucked me the first time. I look up at him again, my mouth still gaping as I try to process the vision. “Watch it and learn about me.”
Oh god, I’m provoked, sexually. I can feel it down there, stirring me up. It’s wrong. All of this. And the woman’s grunting again, making me look at her to see him crawling his hand up to her neck. She doesn’t look scared anymore, she seems like she’s enjoying it. Her body’s wriggling a little as she’s shunted along the floor, but her legs are widening, not closing. My mouth is still open as I eventually return my eyes to him, and try as I might, I can’t stop my tongue licking across my bottom lip, my own teeth biting into it and showing my arousal at the vision in front of me.
“Just give in, Alana,” Tabitha’s voice says, her hands leaving my wrists again slowly. “Become part of it like he wants you to.”
I just stare, unable to accept what my own skin craves. I want to watch this—I do—and I’m desperate for it to be my skin under his hands, not this other woman. It’s not sensible or logical. I know that, but there’s nothing but the filthy air around us and the smell beginning to creep into my nostrils lulling me into him, into it. It’s all pure sex, and being driven into my nose by the continued slow drive of his hand inside her as he smiles a little. His face is so peaceful as my heart hammers erratically, winding an excited anxiety up inside me. There’s no grimace from him because of his actions, no sense of wrong, no condemnation or sadness as he blinks at me and then turns back to the other woman again to crawl over her. Primal is right. It’s exactly the right word for what’s happening in front of me. It’s not even crazed or uncontrollable. It’s slow, considered, measured. His body stalks her skin, his fingers gripping into it like a cat that’s already got its prey, caught it and is now beginning to toy with it for nothing more than fun’s sake. He slaps her face, hard enough for the sound to course over my own skin, making me gasp at the sensation and sit myself more upright to accommodate it.
Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1) Page 39
