“Did you feel that?” he asks me, not her. I know he’s asking me. He might be trained on her, but his mind is all on me. I see it in the way he lowers his head and licks her neck, reminding me of last night and the way he held me in the same way. “Do you remember? Is my grip still there?” Oh god, yes it is. So much so that my own fingers travel to my breast without consent, gently teasing the skin as they crawl over me up to the bruises he put there. I finger my pulse lightly, widening my own knees for reasons unknown as I flick my eyes between his face and hands. It’s a riot of sensations again, making me shiver as I hear the squelch of liquid again. “Her cunt’s nothing like yours,” he says, his frame lowering as he licks his way down her stomach, still holding onto her neck. I should be disgusted as I watch the man I love sinking down her body and heading for the one place no other couple would allow, but I’m not. I’m giving in. I can feel it, as I will him further down, readying myself as my own hand travels down my body, too. I want my hand inside myself, or his, but I don’t want to feel empty. I don’t ever want empty again. Whatever all this is, it applies to a part of me that I’ve not known about before him. It excites me, regardless of the slight hint of self-loathing still coursing through me. I want it, need it even, and I watch him so intently I don’t realise where my own hand is until it’s too late. It takes one flick of his tongue against her clit for me to begin touching myself. “She tastes sour in comparison.” And then he drives his teeth into her, his other hand releasing her neck to hold her thigh down instead. She screams at the same moment as my own fingers slip under my knickers, two of them sliding inside me as my eyes roll back and a groan leaves me. It’s like they’re his fingers, his mind making me do it, and I’m not stopping. I’m already desperate to come as I open my eyes again and watch him yank her body so he can face me, his teeth still ripping at her clit and making her scream louder. Her arms flounder in my view, the sound of tears and pleas echoing in the air, but I can barely hear them as my fingers keep driving into myself and I watch him watch me. It’s all slow to me as my other hand joins in, my legs widening further still to gain more leverage against myself. And I wish it was him. I do, but the view of him on her, the way his shoulders buck as the weight of his mouth holds her in place, it’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever witnessed, making everything else I’ve ever been a part of seem unworthy.
“Harder, Alana, scream for me. Let me hear you.” The moans come then. They leave my mouth with little care for anything other than what he wants. Dark eyes bore into mine as I hitch my dress further out of the way, his mouth occasionally hovering over the other woman and then returning to biting her again. She glistens on his mouth, a slight hue of red only spurring me on to moan out more and keep searching for my orgasm. I’m as debased as he is, as filthy, irrespective of my lacking education. I want all of this. I’m reactive, wound tightly, my fingers furiously furrowing my insides, seeking an answer to my own attack on my skin. And then it starts coming. It comes as her howls get louder, her body being pushed around like a rag doll as he slaps her again and rolls her onto her side. The hand holding her thigh just moves to her arse, widening it and beginning to drive itself inside there. It reminds me of the bed we laid in, my hands cuffed to the bedstead as he made me fuck myself on his fingers. His tone, the weight of him behind me, the belt I took last night on my own arse, the same one I’m purposely digging into my boots to heighten the pain. Fuck, my eyes roll again, my mouth gasping for air as I keep riding my fingers, hoping, clawing, desperate…
Hands coil around me, my body hoisted and turned. They’re his, and they’re at full force, his fingers ripping mine from inside me and shoving me face first into the floor. I don’t open my eyes or try to fight him off. I give in, just like Tabitha said, letting him do whatever he wants with me. It feels calming, emptying. Everything disappears other than his weight, his breath in my ear, the continued gravelled tone of his voice, and the way he hauls me around. It’s nothing like before. No words of pleasure, no naughtiness. It’s like last night was, brutal. My body goes lax, just letting him shunt me into any position as I feel the back of my dress tear open. It’s as freeing as his weight on me, my skin finally open to the elements, open to him.
“Do it,” I moan, as I try to brace myself up a little, not knowing what’s coming and not caring either. I’m so wound up I’ll take anything he wants to do. Beg, scream, howl. I’ll do anything that woman has done. I know that because as my knees grate the carpet, widening themselves and offering myself to him, I’m smiling at the thought. “Anything you want.” Anything to keep this rush going, make it send me higher. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing. I just want him on me, in me. I want his mind holding me down, his hands bracing me into whatever he thinks is right for me. I can stop thinking here, stop all the noise and drift. Be like I was under the water, float in my haze knowing that I’ve asked for him, so he’ll help.
Pain ricochets along my spine, sending me straight to the floor in agony and wheezing out the breath I was pulling in. I just stay there for a minute, unable to process the feeling and barely able to hold in a whimper. It feels like I’m sliced open, a searing heat ripping into my flesh and buckling me in two.
“Another?” his voice asks, amused as I feel his hand slide under my stomach and lift me back onto all fours. I don’t know, and these tears springing from my eyes again don’t help me understand why my orgasm wants to come again. “I think so.”
It happens again so quickly I scream in reply this time, not only buckling under the pain that comes on my right side this time, but pulling my legs up too, trying to ball myself away from it. He doesn’t let me. His hold is immediate on my body, his hands dragging me over the floor somewhere, my own feet tripping on the carpet to get me wherever he’s trying to take me.
“Arms up.” It’s an order I don’t recognise, and a tone I only remember as angry, not the amused of a second ago, or the calm of minutes before then. My hands curl around my stomach, seemingly still in my haze, barely acknowledging reality as I’m pushed against a wall and his face comes in front of me again. “Up, Alana.” I lift them, and watch as they tremble past my face between our eyes. He doesn’t acknowledge the move, just keeps staring at me, asking questions I don’t know the answers to and making me do things I shouldn’t. “Good girl.” Oh, but those words coming from him flood me with peace again, causing the pain in my sides and back to disappear as he slowly lifts his hand up to mine, his body caging me against the wall. It’s like a dream I’m barely able to discern. Time and distance are evaporating around me. It’s all so quiet other than our breaths and the sound of whimpers coming from somewhere. I just stare at his chest, watching the way it surrounds me and keeps me safe. I’m not even sure I truly feel his fingers putting my wrists into the cuffs, although I know it’s happened. I just close my eyes, letting the quiet focus me on my orgasm, which is still so close regardless of what’s happening. “Turn around,” he says, soft hands working along my dress, occasionally touching my skin as he drags the rest from me. Good, he can take it all off me. All of it. He can take it off me, from me. He can pull the insides out and rebalance me again, find me.
“More,” I say. It’s not stuttered or stumbled. It’s a need I don’t know, but one I can’t deny any more. I won’t. I want this. “Please, Blaine. More.”
It doesn’t take long. The pain comes again twice as fast. And it’s levied with harsher strokes this time, ones that rain down on me causing me to bellow out at them as they keep coming. Right side, left side. Thigh, calf. Oh god, it just keeps coming like there’s no end to any of it. Over and over again, the snap as frightening as the landing that cuts in sharply. It makes me buck and twist, my fingers clinging to the cuffs for support, desperate to get away and yet wanting nothing more than the next one to strike. I can hardly hear my own screams anymore as tears start falling, travelling my cheeks like rivers of torment. It’s like a dark cave filled with agony as I try to say no, or beg him to stop, but the words do
n’t come. They won’t. My lips just stay clamped closed, occasionally letting a grunt slip through them to help alleviate the sensation as my legs start shaking beneath me, but I’m not stopping it. That’s his job. I trust him to do that. I asked for this, begged him. He’ll tell me when enough is enough. He has to because I don’t know where the answer is. I’m too lost to understand the questions, let alone find the answers. I’m so tired of everything, and this place, this place I’m falling into is filled with a noiseless cadence, making me focus on nothing but the rhythm of his beating. It’s soundless here with him. Spiritual in some ways. Cleansing.
My tears stop at some point, and my breathing does, too. I’m not panting like I was a minute ago. I’m just still, my body giving in to my wrists holding it up, my frame relaxing into that thought. I’m not in control of myself, nor do I want to be. I’m all in his hands and finally still because of it. I’m as stained as he can get me and as clean as I’ve ever been. I’m lost or found—I don’t know which as I slowly open my eyes and gaze at the wall in front of me, but I do know I feel free, if only for as long as this lasts. I’m naked and free. I’m home.
“You’re done,” his voice says quietly, an arm wrapping around my waist to lift me a little. I let him, unable to make my body do anything anyway. It’s as lax as the body of the girl Delaney carried out of here and as exhausted as it’s ever known. There are nothing but clear views and sleepy nights coming for me. I can’t even feel the pain as he lifts me from the floor, his hands wrapping mine around his neck after he’s taken my wrists from the cuffs. I couldn’t hold on if I tried, and besides, I don’t need to because he won’t let me drop. Not now I’ve asked for all this.
“I…” I can’t find words still. They’re lost, too, all my synonyms and dictionaries tossed aside, ridding me of the need to put them on paper, not that I could ever put this on paper. It’s a jumbled mess of tranquillity, leaving me with nothing but empty vowels and syllables to relay its message. It’s heaven, or hell—I don’t know, but it’s not earthly. It’s…
“Sssh,” he says in reply, his arms hitching me higher as he kisses my forehead and walks us by Tabitha. She smiles at me, her finger wiping a strand of hair away from my face.
“Well done,” she says. Well done? I can’t find any care for what that means or who the hell she is. It’s just too nice here in his arms. I’m loved, cherished.
He whispers something to her about the others, I don’t know what as we keep moving out of the door Tabitha opens and back down the hallway. I don’t care about that either. I don’t care about anything. I’m just here, with him, hanging as limply as the last girl was and ready for whatever he thinks is right for me. I’m all in his hands now, happily so.
I just watch his face as he levers me closer to his skin and frowns, his eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them and his mouth a slight sneer. It makes me imagine a happier face as I lift my hand weakly to touch him, one filled with laughter and warm summer nights, perhaps the normal kind of love.
“I want dates,” I manage to say as he turns us to the left. “Nights out together.” He smiles a little, but he doesn’t look at me as he keeps walking, a frown still marring the smile. “I deserve them after this, Blaine.” I’m not sure what that means. Acceptance? Reliance? It’s all just a blur of need, something I only know is essential in some way to bring me back in kilter. He just carries on, his lips kissing my forehead again as we eventually back into an open doorway.
“You can have the world if you want it, Alana,” he eventually says, his foot kicking the door closed behind us as he walks us over to a bed and throws me on it. Pain sluices through everything I have, the cold sheets reminding me of all that just happened as I roll into them, of everything I took. It rallies me back upwards, my arched frame trying to get away from the ache assaulting it again as I wearily turn at him. He smirks, his fingers undoing his jeans as he bolts the door and starts walking towards me. “You give me that again,” he says, his finger pointing at the bed I’m on, causing me to look at it. “And you can have everything you’ve ever wanted.” It’s covered in blood, the white sheets smeared with crimson stains already regardless of the few seconds I’ve been on them. I scan my body frantically, checking the wounds and realising the damage caused to my skin as I do. It’s a mess of colours, all littering me with bruising and welts, ones I hardly felt at the time, or didn’t seem to mind. But now I can see what he’s done, it intensifies the pain to the point of sensible reason returning. All this seems so… “I’ll give it all to you. Everything.” I look back at him, watching the way his brow hardens and the sneer develops again as he steps out of his jeans.
Everything. I can have everything. “This fucking heart, too, if you want its barren eclipse.” Oh god, my knees scramble me backwards as he cricks his neck and draws the belt from his jeans, his feet getting closer with every second that passes. Am I ready for everything? I don’t know. And his face now, the one I can see winding itself up to deliver more pain to my skin as he keeps coming, it’s savage. It’s the animalistic Tabitha said it would be. Full of malice and carnal intent. It’s damn well frightening. “If you’re asking for it.”
I’m not sure if I am or not.
I only have to ask.
THE END
(For now)
Are you ready for more of Alana and Blaine’s story?
You can search for Book 2 in The Stained Duet on my Amazon Home page.
Acknowledgments
As always I’d like to send out love and thanks to:
My PA - Leanne Cook, without whom I wouldn’t survive this booky world. She’s the calm in my storm. Mostly.
My beta Readers – Jodie Scott and Katie Matthews. You helped no end. Even if you did make me swear and spit. Yes, Slavey, you also helped with the swearing and will continue to do so, I’m sure.
My Editor – Heather at Heathers Red Pen Editing.
As usual, love you. Thanks for everything. You’re still a star.
My other half – Who is my world and gives me this chance. You don’t know how much you mean to me or my words. I love you.
Bloggers – You’re stunning. All of you. To offer the support you do for no other reason than the love of books, well, I’ve no words for how awesome that makes you.
And, of course, all of my readers.
You all amaze me with your kind words and encouragement. There will always be a story in me ready to come out, but it’s you lovely readers that help me believe the words are worth reading.
I can only hope that I continue to provoke thought with every novel and encourage your minds to search horizons new.
Also Available by the Author at Amazon
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The White Trilogy – Nominated for best BDSM Series of the Year
Seeing White (Book 1) - This book is Free on all platforms. Start the journey at your leisure.
Https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PPZZGCW
“OMG. Amazing writer, amazing books. Deliciously dark and …”
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Alexander White, the wealthy business man with looks to die for. Just like the other colours you’d think.......but no.
He came from a very different place and made some of his money a very different way.
And he keeps it well hidden because the truth would destroy everything he has. All that he’s worked for would be gone in an instant if they ever found out what he’s capable of, or what he really did and who he did it for. So he keeps people far away with metaphorical games and walls to deceive and confuse.
He doesn’t do relationships, he doesn’t do emotions and he certainly doesn’t do love.
He does money. Making it, manipulating it and spending it whist he plays with women who know what they’re signing up for.
Three people shaped who he is today. One damaged him beyond repair, another taught him to control the rage, and a decent one helps him to consider his options more appropriately.
But be under no illusions ladies, Mr Whi
te has not been a nice man, and he will probably never be a decent man, but as long as he keeps up his image, and nothing gets through his barriers, no one will ever see the truth.
Life’s good for Elizabeth Scott, successful business, happy kitchen and a great sister who deals with all the expensive people so she doesn’t have to. She just cooks, bakes and smiles her way through each day......well most of the time, anyway, that is when her great sister isn’t pushing her to, “get out there a bit more,” or “sort her shit out.”
Then the biggest contract of their lives comes up..... And the ever useless London tube, with her sister in it, catastrophically breaks down. Unfortunately, that means only one thing. She’ll have to deal with some of that wealth herself, and that means the devastating Mr Alexander White in all his glory.
Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1) Page 40
