“You know yourself, yes? Your choices are correct,” she says, proving her English is quite good regardless of the fact that she’s been mumbling in German the entire time. “Take them all if you wish. For him, you may take them all.”
“What?” I say, startled by the amount of clothes she’s telling me to take. I’d only meant to try some on, not take the lot.
“He has never brought a women here. You must be special, yes?”
I giggle to myself at the thought and begin taking my boots off. If I’m leaving here with some new clothes, I’ll start with wearing ones that make me feel in control.
I throw my jeans and socks to the corner of the room and begin getting myself into a burnt orange winter dress. It hugs every curve I have. A high, thick polo neck helps to increase my boobs and a hidden corset cinches me in as tightly as possible around the waist. I look at the effect in the mirror, smiling to myself as I do and beginning to understand how much my clothes affect my state of mind. She scurries behind me, producing high-heeled, long tan boots and a tan bag to match it. All of it fits to perfection, as if it were made for me somehow. She loops a wide black belt around my waist and then disappears outside for a moment, only to return a few seconds later with a full-length brown leather coat. It also fits beautifully, and I gaze at the finished effect. Empowered is the best word I have to describe the feeling that starts circulating, as though maybe this is the kind of product I need to feel truly in control. My reflection is striking as I stand there staring at myself. Is this how he feels when he puts on his finery? Does the cut make him feel as I do now? Stronger, less inclined to accept imperfections. I scowl at the clothes crumpled in the corner and then look at my rail as the woman begins packing them into a large suitcase she’s produced from somewhere. Why is she doing this? Who is she?
“He’ll pay y–”
“He will not,” she cuts in softly, folding an amazing red trouser suit and covering it with another dress. “He has given me enough.” I don’t know what that means. I can only assume they have some kind of business deal going on. It’s none of my concern really. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop me being interested in what he’s done for her. This is a lot of money she’s giving away. He must have done something pretty decent to warrant such a gift. And decency is something I’d like to know more about when it comes to Pascal. Honesty, truth. You know, all the things that could prove to me that the man inside those suits, the one who gives me snippets of softness and love, is worth the ride I’m signing up for.
“You need jewellery, ja?” she says, getting up from her crouched position and opening another door with a key. I don’t really, but as her hand beckons me in and I gawp at the clear boxes lined with gold and silver, I can’t help but let out a little giggle of excitement. The room is a wondrous cave of bling. Chokers, rings, long necklaces, broaches, it’s all in here, sparkling and shining.
After several minutes of looking, she loops a thick gold chain around my neck, and clasps two wide cuffs on my wrists just as my phone pings at me from the other room. I turn to leave and grab it from my bag just as she hands me a large black bag filled with yet more jewellery.
- My nerves are fraying.
I smile at the message as I hear the key turning behind me again and wonder if he’s ever had to wait for anything, other than Alexander that is. He really doesn’t strike me as the sort who’s ever known patience, or been made to endure gaps in time he finds unacceptable. Tough. He’ll wait for me. Although, having dressed myself ready for the kill, I can’t help but want to get back to him.
“Look after him, ja? He is one of the good ones,” she says behind me. I look up to find her smiling at me. She’s probably slept with him, too, hasn’t she? I mean, who hasn’t?
I laugh a little. I’m not sure many would dare to call him one of the good ones, but the very fact that she has tells me that she’s done more than just sleep with him. She’s had a connection of some sort, something that’s allowed her to see deeper inside him than he allows others.
I nod at her with a smile, which she returns, but that’s all. That’s what us Dommes seem to do. We don’t fuck around with unnecessary words. We don’t discuss matters that aren’t relevant. We offer what we feel like giving away. It’s up to the recipient to decipher the meaning. She doesn’t need to say any more anyway. The very fact that she’s said such a thing only holds her higher in my esteem. If he trusts her, she’s worth trusting.
“Thank you for your help,” I eventually say in reply, smiling wider and bending to zip up the case. She just nods again and then walks out of the door, leaving me alone to find my way back out through the rabbit warren. I didn’t even get her name.
I finally walk back out to dark clouds and an ominous looking sky, but for some reason I find that comforting. Maybe it’s the clothes or my heels as I clip my way over to the car he’s leaning on and watch him watching me move toward him. He stands abruptly, as if he’s just remembered he has manners, and smirks at me as I hold the suitcase out to him.
“This becomes you, my love. It is better, hmm?”
I don’t answer his question as I walk to the car and slide in. I just stare out at the sky with a smile on my face and cross my legs to the world. I feel better. Better in myself. Better in the dark. Better now that I know he’s had other decent encounters in his life. I feel stronger, more balanced in myself. It’s as if the simple act of dressing has somehow transformed me. Link that with the way Alexander has made me think and, well, what else do I need?
“What did you do for her?” I ask, the moment he starts the engine and begins to turn the car out into the road again. He chuckles, lowering his window and holding his hand out to me.
“If I tell you, will you still take my hand?”
“Regardless of whether I do or don’t, there will be no lies between us anymore. No half-truths, and no unanswered questions. I expect the truth from you, just as you expect honesty from me.”
“Mmm,” he hums, presumably weighing up his options.
“Don’t think, Pascal. Do.” He barks out a laugh and turns to face me. “And preferably with your eyes on the road this time. I want your tongue on me at least one more time before I die. You owe me that much.”
His hand hovers on the steering wheel for a while, seemingly deciding which way to go. The irony of the moment is not lost on me as I watch the indecision in his eyes.
“I owe you much, my love, it is true,” he eventually says, his face suddenly serious as he, once again, begins to navigate the road and taps the steering wheel with his fingers. “You will come to Rome?”
“Mmhmm. Depending on how you answer the question.”
Snarling sounds emanate from his mouth as he flicks his eyes between me and the road, sounding just like the man who hung me up in that dungeon and making me want to do all sorts of things on the aggressive side of tense.
“You see, you leave me with no option but to lie to you. The truth will beckon visions and sentiments you do not agree with. I will not risk such things. It is therefore better to not tell you.”
That’s not bloody happening anymore. One more time with this shit and I’m out of here. My body shifts so I can calmly gaze out of the window, trying to control the storm that’s brewing inside me.
“Bullshit. You tell me the truth or you stop the car. What makes you think I can’t handle the truth?” I reply, thinking of all the things he doesn’t tell me, and how that affects us as a unit. I’m so tired of not knowing, not understanding. I want depth, truth. “This is not going to work if you can’t be honest with me. I’m not having it anymore. Fuck this. Stop the fucking car and let me out before I do something I regret. You think I’ll have you treating me like a baby with kid gloves…”
“You, my love, deserve anything but kid gloves,” he mumbles, to himself I think. Fucking man. My head shoots round at his sarcastic tone, just about holding back the need to slap him. He snarls at me again, raising a brow and challenging me to continue. Pr
obably because he’d enjoy it.
“What the hell does that mean? Stop the fucking car.” He throws his hands off the wheel and swings the car to the side of the road, brakes screeching, and turns to face me as it slams to a stop.
“Why must you do this? Hmm? You probe and you dig through layers to which you are not entitled. When will it be enough? What new torture will you rip from me?” he snaps, abruptly exiting the car and leaving me sitting there, stewing in my own irritation. No, he’s not getting away from this. He chased me. I was walking away. He’s the one that refuses to let this go.
I huff at the dashboard, kicking it for effect, and then get out to keep up the momentum. I will not let this drop. He will answer. And if I have to dig and probe for eternity, that’s exactly what I’ll do. He wants love, and this is the way he’ll get it from me.
Six paces is all it takes to round the car and put myself in front of him as he idles on the side of the road, furious with either me or himself. I look him over as I brace my hands on my hips, checking for twitches or lies. There’s nothing but honesty looking back at me. He has a look that almost radiates little boy lost underneath all that masculinity. He’s beautiful, and I could become hopelessly lost in that if I let myself fall.
“Tell me you love me,” I say, desperate for him to say the words. Not for me, for him. So he can realise the urgency of my need for truth. His head hardly moves as he watches me. “I’m serious. This has to stop if you need any further conversation about anything. I’m giving you the choice to end this or continue onwards before I do it for you.”
“I simply wish to feel comfort in your arms, to love, Lilah, and feel love in return. It is not necessary to drag up my past. We move forward, yes? Where we can become whole,” he says eventually.
I stare into his eyes, steeling myself for the rest of this and hoping it goes the way it should. This is what he wants from me. My arms, my love, and he can’t have it unless he lets himself weaken for me, or more importantly, shows me his strength.
“Fucking great, perfect actually. What did you do then? Tell me. Because from what I remember of the teaching you asked me to partake in, for you, at the hands of Alexander, his parting words on our first encounter were, and I fucking quote, ‘We must all break to become whole.’ Which, by the way,” I continue, poking him in the chest, “I’m assuming you told him first, didn’t you? Master.” There’s some rather snarky sarcasm going on now. Fucking man. He’s more than aware he has to tell me these things. He’s just stalling, and I’m not having it. “So it’s not like you don’t understand what it means, is it? You damn well know what is necessary for us to work, and it’s not me being more. I’m there. I can feel it every time we’re together. It’s you and your constant hiding. Truth, no matter what. You must trust me to do the right thing by you, by us. I’m not a child, Pascal. I want it all from you. You asked me to take it from you. You offered it. How am I supposed to provide comfort if you refuse to let me?”
He chortles to himself, brushing his trousers and pulling out a cigarette. If I wasn’t so enamoured by the fact that I know this is working, I’d slap the thing out of his mouth.
“If I must,” he says, raising a brow at my little tantrum and licking his lips. “You are indeed becoming ready, my love.”
“Quite,” I respond curtly, hoping to God he just answers the damn question so we can find a space to fuck. His smile comes back, too, which really doesn’t help. He begins peeling his coat off, revealing a rather ornate waistcoat over more than attractive shoulders.
“We should fuck, hmm?” Yes.
“No, answer the question.”
“I disposed of her husband for her,” he says calmly, continuing licking his lips, and biting on them, too, just to increase the pressure between my thighs.
“Oh…” As in killed? “You mean you–”
“Indeed,” he cuts in, taking a step towards me and reaching for my waist.
“Oh.”
“Is this enough truth for you?” he asks, yanking me to him and running his lips along my jaw. “You ask, I give in return, hmm? You are ready now?” His grip couldn’t be more possessive if he tried. It’s enough to remind me of what those soft hands are capable of once they’re employed more readily.
“Yes,” I say assertively—not that I’m feeling all that assertive any more, given his tightening fingers. I could very well give in to this moment and just do what both our bodies are screaming for. Although, I want to know why? And who? And when? “No, let me go. I need details.” His head gradually moves back to look at me, a slightly perplexed expression on his brow, along with that amused smirk that suits him so well.
“You do recollect your earlier conversation about slaying the masses, hmm?” Oh good lord, he smells good. Like edible. I could eat him. I should really, especially as he’s doing as he’s told.
“Well, yes, but I work in the law. It’s murky in there. There are sometimes reasons for things that make it okay.”
He could say anything now. I really wouldn’t care. I’ve just become a horny teenager standing on the side of the road, ready to hitch my dress up and fornicate in back alleys. Perhaps we should just do that instead and forget all this other informative stuff.
He runs his tongue across my bottom lip, barely containing the need to bite into it and make me bleed. I can feel that. I can feel it in his hold on me, the way he’s nudging his hardened cock into me, the way his breathing is becoming shallow and needy. Then, just as I’m beginning to let the moment take me away, just as I’m letting him win and softening whatever blow he’s about to give me, he brings his lips to my ear, grasping me closer and assaulting me with more of his heavenly smell.
“I covered his head with a pillow, my love. I smothered him. Hmm? And then I shot him while he slept. It was most illuminating to watch life draining away for the first time.”
So much for hoping for a decent reason.
Chapter 7
Never had he felt the need to fuck quite so acutely. It was not rational, nor was it acceptable to sully such beauty with foolish street fumbling, but needs must. He was desperate to get inside her. The air was profound, fraught even, and the heat building because of her constant probing was divine. His judgement was clouded, something few achieved, and his cock was on fire as he nipped and bit into her neck. Divine, truly and utterly breath-taking. Here, on a back street in Berlin, they would fuck the indecision away. After this, they would be whole. She had made it so, asked for him to be truthful and certain in his decision to give her everything, and the words had fallen from him with little resistance. She was aware now. He was a killer, as evil and corrupted as Alexander in some ways, yet not so obvious about it. Knives had never been of interest, only guns. Guns, he had been taught to use many years ago by a father who should have used it to kill his mother.
“Where?” he mused, scanning the street for an appropriate location as she ground her deliciously sinful form into him.
“Here,” she growled, grabbing his ass and pulling him further into her. It was an appealing prospect, but one that, for some reason, he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic about. Privacy was needed. He would not share her delectable cunt with the world, and nor should she. It was precious, and deserved to be adored behind locked doors. He skimmed again, frantic for a doorway to occupy, preferably one that could be paid for. A small art shop caught his eye, an English ‘open’ sign hanging in its doorway. Perfection. He released his hold on her, just enough to drag her across the road as he alarmed the car and hurried their steps. This moment would be cemented, concreted into their very beings. If she could hear that offering and still be in need of him then they would be bound together. The location didn’t matter, nor the quality of the act. It simply mattered that she would have his seed buried inside of her in the moment of their true understanding, and that he would hear her calling his name as her cunt clamped around him. Love. A true and worthwhile reckoning, as far as Lilah James was concerned.
The doorway
burst open as he kicked the obstruction in, trying, somewhat in vain, to minimise the disturbance to the frontage.
“A room, Sir,” he announced, delving into his pocket and launching thousands of dollars across the space. The shopkeeper stalled, paintbrush in hand and eyeing up the pair of them as a father would. Lilah giggled. It was the most erotic sound he had ever heard as she finished it off by mewling in his ear, still grabbing his ass at every opportunity and licking his neck.
“How much was that?” the old hound asked, walking around the counter from his oil painting and wiping his hands as he picked up the scattered notes. How would he know? He did not count money in his pocket. Perhaps three thousand? Irrelevant as far as he was presently concerned.
“I shall write a cheque on my return,” he replied, pushing Lilah towards a door in the corner. The shopkeeper laughed a little and pointed to another door.
“Up the stairs will be more comfortable.” Comfortable? He was not bothered by comfort, and neither was Lilah, although the thought of luxury was intriguing to a degree. “That’s the storage cupboard. There are breakable things in there.” Hmm. Breakable. A most endearing term at present.
He turned in her direction and watched her nod at the old man, smiling as radiantly as she could given the clear need pulsing between her thighs.
“Three more when you’ve finished,” the man called as her heels clattered on the wooden steps. Pascal could not have cared less about the amount. He would have paid fifty for the privilege of fucking her again. In fact, he stilled owed her that money.
Her ass turned the moment the entered the space so she was facing him, backing away as she did. A large, dark lounge area greeted them, a chaise longue in the centre half covered with a red velvet sheet.
“Calm down,” she said softly, removing her long coat and beginning to unclasp the belt around her waist.
Serenity's Key Page 10
