Baiting?
Swift strides. Fast. We’re out into the brighter hallway before I even catch up with what’s happening, his feet travelling up the steps away from the other two. I look back, watching Malachi smirking about something. The woman, Faith I assume, moves towards him and laughs.
“Put me down, Gray.”
“No. You’re going home.”
Every inch of the energy I have inside me explodes. I shrug and scratch, bending my body to force him to stop or let go. I’m not going home. No fucking way am I leaving until I’m ready to.
“Get off me.”
“No.”
Another rally of movement bursts from me, my legs and arms kicking and fighting until I’m breathless from trying. Still, he keeps me clamped tightly and carries on through the halls.
The walls and doors and corridors blur in my frenzy, but nothing seems to stop him from going backwards. I’m not going backwards. Backwards is my apartment and memories. I don’t want it or them. I want that room and this place and more.
I sag, think, keep fighting to try and find a way out of his clasped hold. Nothing. And then my legs weave around his waist, gripping tightly to get me in front of his face, and I do the only thing I’ve got left.
The second my mouth meets his he stops his movement. Firm lips clamp closed under my own, as I wrap my arms around the back of his neck. I shrug in tighter at the feel of them, using my body to weave in closer, and soften my mouth. Quiet lips. Loose on his. Relaxed. My tongue flicks over the warmth of his mouth, slowly moving to tempt it open. A kiss. Deep. Sensual. I want that from him. I want touch. Pain maybe. I don’t know.
My back hits a wall harshly and the shock of it makes me groan onto his mouth. A puff of air labours out of me, my eyes flying open at the impact, and yet still his lips are firm and closed, refusing to open for me. I pull back away from them and roll my shoulders into the wall, grating them back and forth on the hard surface. Everything’s hard. His body, too. Solid.
I giggle and let my hands roam the back of his neck, thumbs trailing along his cheek and jaw, as my crotch rubs against his stomach muscles. Tight. Firm. My tongue rolls over my lips, wetting them. So handsome. Especially with this unyielding stare and the usual callous eyes.
“Why won’t you let Malachi have me?”
No answer. Nothing but more staring, his eyes occasionally going to my lips and his hands holding my ass firmly.
“You could watch. Enjoy it. Did you jack off last time?” Still nothing apart from his chest heaving in and out and his eyes staring. I back up a bit and slide my hand inside his jacket, reaching for that pot of pills. “Maybe you’re pent up.” My lips move in again, fluttering over his, as I unscrew the cap. “I want to see that happen, watch you as you watch me.”
One swipe of my tongue over his lips again and I feel him shift me slightly, lowering me until I’m resting on his groin. I groan at the feel of his cock hard against me, widening my legs to get it right where I want it. Another groan from me, my head tilting back as I slide myself on the rigid width and delve a finger into the pot. White, pink, orange. What does it matter? The pill slips into my lips between us and I swallow it down, another pill left on the seam of his. He won’t take it, though.
Silly.
I suck it into my mouth, swallowing it down too. “You should learn to relax, Gray. Kiss me if you want to.”
He drops me the moment I’ve said the last of it and I slump to the ground, my hands gripping the wall for stability. The pill pot tumbles from my grip, a few of them spilling onto the floor.
“I can’t, Hannah,” he says, sharply.
I look up at him and slowly crawl back up the wall until I’m on my feet again. Can’t or won’t? Does it even matter? Malachi will. He’ll do whatever I want, perhaps whatever he wants. Gray is confusing. I know he wants me. I could feel it, ridged against me. Probably angry. Aggressive.
Hmm.
“You have no right to stop me then.” I pick up the chain dangling from my wrist and scrunch it into my grip, dismissing the rest of the pills for him to deal with. “I want sensation, Gray. Light and dark. Everything. It’s all so pretty here.”
I smile and turn from him, my feet wandering me back along corridors we’ve just come down and my hand dragging the wooden panelling. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Lovely. All of it. This place. The people. Me. I’m burnt and heated from that lash that landed on me, body swollen and bruised from something I’ve yet to comprehend. And even the smell here is lovely. Old, aged. Attractive. Maybe it’s a castle.
I should go outside and look at it, stare up at the precipice and think about flying from it. Especially with all the snow. It’ll be pretty. Barren and cold maybe, but there’s something beautiful about that. Desolation seems appealing right now - wretched. I’ll find quiet in that. Amusement maybe. I need a door.
Castles have big doors.
Where?
Music starts playing somewhere after a while. Piano. Long notes. Morbid notes. I listen to them and keep tapping on the wood, letting my fingers find a new cadence to play with. Melancholy. Sad. But it’s calling me. Smooth and languid, as if played by someone who knows the ache of remembrance.
Each step in search of it becomes laboured by the gloomy outlook, and I sway to its rhythm, letting the feeling travel through me to my still tapping finger. Halls pass by me. Each one giving me a new era of age. Armour on the walls now. Cross swords as if lords fought battles to defend these boundaries around us.
Louder and louder it builds, until it’s only a wall away from me.
I stall in the large hallway, ears focused on the sound reverberating through the walls. Beautiful. Achingly sad and dejected. Whoever is playing it needs a hug. They need pulling into my arms and wrapping in care and love. My hand pushes on the door quietly so I don’t disturb the player, and I’m immediately stunned at the sight. Malachi sits there at a grand piano in the window, his fingers flitting over the keys as if they’re designed to flow as part of him.
My head tilts at the contradiction, feet walking me forward quietly. He hit me. Hard. He shoved and dragged me as if I was something to be discarded and toyed with under his hands. Veins in his face. And yet here he is – playing so beautifully.
“I thought this might tempt you back,” he murmurs. “Sad little Mrs Tanner. Unsure of her future.” I frown and move closer, wondering what that means. “Why fight him to stay when you don’t know what you’re staying for?” His fingers keep playing, his gaze directed out into the snow and ice, and he sighs. “There’s a robe on the back of the door. Put it on.”
I stop and look down at myself, a light giggle rolling through me. Near naked. I’d forgotten that. It’s felt normal for a while. Sexual. Real.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Robe?”
The piano comes to an abrupt halt, keys faltering notes, and his body swings to look at me. “Because I want to hurt you. I’m stopping myself.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s smitten. And that amuses me past my sordid thoughts.” He looks me over. Slowly. Head to foot. No particular interest in my body, or spark of life in his eyes given my naked state. Still nearly black orbs. Maybe endless. I step closer, drawn to their distraction. “I can only assume it’s because of this sad look you have. Or the sinister edge. Are you sinister?”
“Not that I know of.”
He gets up and slams the fallboard on the grand, enough so that I jump slightly and back off a few paces, as he passes me, heading towards the door. “Clearly not sinister at all. You should talk to my wife,” he says, coming back to me with a robe in his hand. “Put it on and tell me why you want to stay here with me.”
“Unusual. Different. New,” I reply, taking the silk and brocade robe from him.
He stares some more, as I slip into it, and then holds his hand out as if I’m supposed to take it. Why? We all know this isn’t a date. Nothing is here. I shake my head and wait for whatever he’
s about to do, or say.
He snorts and walks away from me, crooking his finger to follow.
More corridors pass us by, as he walks through them, and I try keeping him fixed in my sights. He’s nothing like Gray. He’s languid, as if everything’s an amble to him. Maybe that’s me actually. I giggle at the sensations beginning to travel through me again. Everything is starting to feel like it’s floating, or I am.
My arms stretch out to the side of me, feet spinning me in a small circle as we keep moving. And nothing about him seems to fit with this place he owns either. Juxtaposed. I glance at his forearms, looking over the plaited bracelets and dark tan. He should be surfing somewhere. On a beach. My stomach hurts. Why does it hurt?
“Where did you leave him?” he asks.
“How would I know? I don’t know where anything in here is. Is there an outside?”
“What?”
“Outside? I want to see the gardens.”
“Like that?” he says, tuning to look over my bare legs and feet. I stumble to a halt at his sudden proximity, reeling slightly at him up so close.
“Pretty,” muses out of me, as he sways in my vision.
“Me? I know. What have you taken?”
I shrug and move around him, spinning again as I keep moving through halls and open spaces. Who knows what I’ve taken. Does it matter? Over and over again I spin, laughing as I go. Lovely. No memories or thoughts, just this place and people who don’t care for outside of here. That thought makes me remember my quest. I want outside. Outside here, anyway. Not outside away from here. Just here and outside of here.
“I want to feel the cold on me, Malachi. Sensations.” And I’m hot. Scorched. “Cooling.”
He chuckles and nods, as if those words mean something to him. Maybe they do. What would I know about men like Malachi Jones? He’s odd, but somehow nice. Honest. I’m sure everything he says is honest, as if he has no care for anything hurting anyone by the process of his words. And then he grabs my hand.
The feel of him on me breaks my calm, my body suddenly tense and wound tight.
“You’re in safe hands.”
Am I? I look up at him, letting myself fall into that feeling. Yes. Safe. I was safe in his arms dancing. And I was safe in his hands when he strapped me up. Calmed or laughing. My shoulders roll at the memory of that, quiet descending again, and I squeeze his fingers. Malachi’s safe. He is. He’s everything to me in here now Gray isn’t with me.
I’m towed somewhere, long strides pulling me around corners and through more rooms, until a heavy wooden door looms in front of him. It creaks behind me as he starts climbing stone stairs and my own feet follow again. Up and up. More steps. Never-ending. I bump on the old brickwork, as my mind wonders where the luxury has gone. We’re bare bones. Nothing but brick and dust, nails and rusty metal work.
I laugh at that and keep chasing him up the steps, listening to his own chuckles.
“Nearly there,” he murmurs, his hand still pulling me.
Nearly there.
The gust of frigid air that suddenly hits me freezes me to the bone. My body charges into it, eyes directed at Malachi’s broad back blocking my view, and then light hits my eyes. He tugs again, pulling me out into the open air. Vast.
I tuck in tight behind him, my other hand going to his upper arm to steady myself as I gaze around in awe. We’re on top. At the top. Turrets and brickwork seems endless around us, all of them staged against the backdrop of blue skies and mountains.
“Beautiful,” falls out of me. It is. All of it.
He walks forward, letting me go, and I linger in place, mesmerised. Blues and whites. So much of it. The precipice. Here it is. I want to spin on it, dance. One step, two, and I suddenly realise there’s snow under our feet. Deep. I giggle and start spinning slowly, arms out to keep me upright as I move in random directions. So cold. Fresh and new. Like me. It just needs to be night-time and I can be dark, too. Dark and dirty, deadly maybe.
Sinister?
I stop and search for Malachi in this barren world, trying to stop my mind spinning as my feet plant solidly. It carries on, though. Spiralling and turning. Colours amplifying and whirling around me. I can’t see the floor? Where is it?
“You’re quite mad,” his voice says from somewhere. “Maybe the fear of losing you will help him.”
What? And mad? Maybe. Don’t care.
As long as I’m not who I was, I don’t care.
“Spin some more for me,” he says. “Spin like this is doing.”
Like what? But yes. Spin.
Chapter 4
Gray
E verything seems fractured inside me, splitting open regarding her.
My head tips back and I look at the ceiling, eyes trying to find sense in the intricate patterns above. It would be so easy to fall. Too easy. Soft lips. Soft skin. I’ve never contemplated it before her. Never wanted to, but here I am – contemplating. Malachi’s idea isn’t worthy of thought. It’s not even something I want really. Maybe it would be a barrier, a way of me not physically touching her, but it’s pointless. I’ve touched her now, already felt the heat of her on my dick and the weight of her in my arms.
Five minutes was all I could bare in that room while he touched her. Five minutes of watching her and yearning for her, and wanting something so much I ached for it. The result was an attempt at a claiming of sorts. And then she damn well kissed me and sank more pills, tempting me further.
I want her. I want inside her without any drug in the way or thought of another man doing it for me. She was so small in my hands, fragile, like a delicate toy to break. And if I don’t Malachi will. He’ll make her feel safe, give her the words and feelings she needs, and then he’ll just play until she’s nothing but bits and pieces of what she was before, scattered and discarded.
“Why don’t you just fuck her and get it over with? She’ll be as forgettable as everything else then,” Faith says.
Sadly, that thought isn’t true.
“Go away, Faith.”
“No. This is my house. You’re the invader.”
Fair point.
I rise from my chair and look out into the snow, wondering where she is and what Malachi’s done with her, doing with her. I heard the music, watched her walk in the same direction. Clever fuck. Always is. Just the right notes to pull a mixed up head towards the sound. He did it with me at first, let the sounds mix with the drugs to elongate the thought of pleasure.
“Is he interested in her for any other reason than me?” I mumble.
“Possibly. She’s pretty. Maybe he’ll hold onto her for a while. He’s as much in need of distraction as the rest of us.” I chuckle at that and turn back to look at her, eyes floating over her bare legs draped across the chair she’s in. Barely any clothes now. Lingerie only, but for the scrap of thin diamonds clamped around her upper arms.
“Clothes?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not Malachi and I want to fuck.”
“But you never do. So sad, Gray.”
I smile at that, another chuckle coming out of me. “Tease.”
“I’m available if you’re desperate. I won’t moan like she will, though,” she says, getting up and walking to me. “I’m not as fascinated with you as he is.” I know. “Why aren’t you just getting on with it? Given that your mood’s improved.” I frown and wonder on it some more myself, confused. It has improved. I’m calmer now, less interested in denying anything. “I’ve never understood. All these women and you just keep watching and pleasuring yourself.”
She knows why, or I assume she does, but she can’t comprehend. It’s not in her to withhold or think past her own satisfaction. It’s one of the things I’ve never understood about their marriage. Malachi is so much more than her. Deep. Thoughtful. Even if it is just for a game or amusement.
“Do you know where they are?” I ask.
“No.”
I nod and turn to walk from the room. I’ll find them, talk to her
and see if I can get her to come home again. For whatever reason, I’m not comfortable leaving her here, and I’m also not comfortable being here with her. Everything blurs here, makes sensible thought impossible. As she’s finding out. But she’s had her time to be distracted. Life isn’t here, no matter how amusing the thought. Her life is back there, in my building without a husband.
“Gray?” I stop at the sound of Faith, and look back at her. “It’s just one fuck. One little fuck.”
One little fuck.
Maybe she’s right. One fuck. One need fulfilled with someone who seems able to tempt me past sense, and then it’ll be done. I’ll move on, forget, remember my responsibilities again and discard the thing that allowed me to feel density again for a short time. What harm would it do?
I watch my feet, as they walk along the corridors, and think of her legs wrapped around me. Tight. Soothing. Her lips were so soft, as they quivered on my own. Real. But then she swallowed another pill hoping for distraction. It’s a lie. All of it. The moment we leave everything will go back to normal. We’ll both be alone but for a few floors separating us, and neither of us will be able to act on the sensations we’ll need all the more because of our time here. Even the thought of me fucking her is a lie in reality. One fuck and I’ll have to pretend it never happened.
The music room is upon me before I get a chance to catch my bearings. The fallboard’s closed. Which means he’s closed down his emotions with it. I waver and frown, unsure how I feel about that. He’s more menacing without emotions than he is with them. Lacking emotions means mayhem, and mayhem for him means rebellion. War. That’s what he’s doing here – starting a war. He’s toying with me on a border and pushing me to cross a line. He needn’t bother. I crossed the damn line anyway when I lifted her away from him and let her push her pussy on my dick. But he’s still waiting for me somewhere, baiting me. No point.
Whether he knows it or not, he’s already won.
Swift feet take me from this damned room in search of them. Where? My head leads me, the ache in there making me scour for the scent of her or the low tone of him. He’ll have taken her somewhere nice, somewhere where she can enjoy her drug and he can watch her move. It’s probably her stance that intrigues him, her sense of disenchantment and then her sense of happiness in the middle of her trip.
A Torment of Sin Page 2
