Feeling White

by Charlotte E Hart

  I feel Alex begin to lift me upwards slightly as my eyes flick to the panel. Fifteen flashes a few more times so I send my refusal again and leave my hand on the scanner. His rock hard tip brushes against me and I moan out as he rubs it across me. I watch my man lining up a redhead who reminds me of myself and I groan at the thought. His cock juts out in front of him as he pushes his fingers into her arse and then drives himself into her. Her head tips back as she takes him deep inside her and pushes back against him.

  “Counter,” Alex says. “ Concentrate.” I swing my eyes over to the panel and enter my rejection just as Alex pulls me down on top of him slowly. I stop breathing completely and let the sensation consume me as he fills me bit by bit and then begins to rock me backward and forward on him.

  “Oh god that’s good,” I rasp out as he hits every available surface inside me and puts his fingers back on me. My man on stage is going at it like a jackhammer now as the woman begs him to fuck her harder. That’s exactly what I want, more, harder, faster. My number flashes again so I punch in and push back on Alex with force, causing the delicious friction I’m craving. He drives in deep and begins to fuck me with long, slow movements.

  “You’re good at this,” he whispers. “Shall I try harder to distract you, baby? Do you think you can keep going if I make you come?” I have no idea but the woman is now licking her way around two cocks as my man keeps hammering into her. I’m doing okay at keeping it together but frankly I’m beginning to lose the will. Everyone is screaming their pleasure out, my core is tightening with each thrust from Alex and his circling fingers are threatening me beyond belief. Fifteen flashes again and I’m struggling to think coherently, let alone move my hand to focus on numbers. He pushes me forward a little and growls as I try to move my fingers to the numbers. It seems my ability to stay reasonably self aware is irritating him so I smile, punch in and watch my man close his eyes and give in to his own release. My core ignites as if I have no will at all.

  “Oh god, Alex...” I moan out as he grunts behind me and I feel him thickening inside me. I haven’t got a hope. I’m going with this and I hope to hell he’s going to deal with the keypad because I couldn’t care less as he keeps driving in and pulling me back onto him.

  “Fuck, you’re amazing. Come for me, baby. Let it go.” He groans as he removes my hand and punches something into the pad. I do and watch as my man collapses on top of the woman he’s been screwing while I gazed at him doing it. I made it happen, and Christ, that feels unbelievable.

  “Yes,” I hiss out as everything starts to explode behind my eyelids.

  Alex growls as he continues with his deep rhythm, pulling me back down onto him with harsh fingers as he thrusts in a few more times before grasping me around the waist and pushing me down onto the floor. My hands connect with the carpet as he raises my hips up and begins slamming into me with reckless abandon. Long, hard, punishing strokes as he grabs the back of my hair and tilts my head up, forcing me to keep watching the show in front of us.

  My core constricts around him instantly as I see my man move towards a woman and grab hold of her legs so he can bury his head in between them. I’m panting. I haven’t got a hope of containing anything because the feel of Alex thickening, the brazen sights in front of me, and the combined sounds emanating in this room have me instantly ready to come again. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to. I can hardly breathe at the feelings swirling and tightening and riding me over the wave of assaulting stimulation.

  “Fuck me, please. More,” comes stuttering from my mouth as I dig my nails into the carpet and watch the woman arching her back into my man’s face. My core violently begins to explode as Alex rewards me with more aggressive pounding and his hand around my throat. More stars, more lights, more... Oh god, more everything as my legs shake into oblivion and he uses his strength to keep me aloft.

  “Fuck, yes,” he growls out as he grabs my thighs to hold me to him firmly and finds his own ecstasy. Widening my legs, he pushes into me further as I open my eyes to watch the rest of the show. I feel him filling me with his release and revel in our connection. His mouth kisses my shoulder languidly as I ride out my tingling and allow my breathing to calm down a little. My man eventually raises his head and is immediately accosted by a different woman who licks his face clean. Another stuttered gasp escapes me as he casually wanders off the stage with a salute towards our booth and winks again. Alex chuckles behind me. I have absolutely no fucking idea what’s funny about any of this. It’s the single most disturbingly erotic thing I have ever been a part of.

  “Well I hope Felix had a good time because I damn well did,” he says as he continues slowly, moving behind me. I seriously don’t have any words for what I’ve just been engaged in. “Are you okay, baby?”

  I rise up to rest myself on his lap and put my arm behind me to finger his hair as I watch people starting to disperse from the stage and wonder exactly that. Am I okay?

  I’ve just been completely lust driven by a sodding orgy, which I not only enjoyed watching but helped to happen by buying a man to be part of it. That man performed for me while I was thoroughly fucked from behind by my devilish boyfriend and was more than likely surrounded by other people doing the exact same thing inside their little rooms. It’s a mystery to me as to whether that’s okay or not. And all the time we’ve been wagering against each other and spending money as if it’s going out of fashion, which for once I’m actually quite happy about. But should I be? Alex is clearly okay with this. It’s probably quite normal for him and his unusual hands. So do I feel okay about this? Surprisingly, my gut is telling me that I do, and funnily enough, it’s telling me and my inner slut that I’d joyfully do it again.

  It suddenly strikes me that my number is no longer flashing on the panel. Thank god because I handed him the trust to deal with it and hoped he would. And why didn’t he get flashed, so to speak?

  “How did you stop the game?” I ask quietly as I turn my head and let my lips wander across his. Shit, he tastes good. I mean, he always does but something about this whole thing has made him taste more... primal maybe.

  “I punched in an amount to stop them asking for you, upped the ante so to speak,” he replies as he grins wickedly and nips at my lips.

  “And how much was I worth in the end, Mr. White?” I ask with a giggle as I move away from him and try to sort myself out. I can hear doors opening and closing all around us so I presume it’s nearly time to leave. He gets up and downs the rest of his Cognac with a chuckle, looking absolutely gorgeous as his eyes sparkle playfully. I could easily drop down to my knees for him at any given moment.

  “We’ll find out in a minute when I sign it off at the bar, where I’m sure Felix will have something to say about being pushed so hard. He’s not been challenged that vehemently for quite some time. Being an Earl tends to gain him a certain leverage in here so let’s go and buy the man a drink, shall we?” he replies as he gestures toward the door.

  Oh shit, an Earl? Of where? That could be little awkward. Actually, given the surroundings, it might be quite good fun because I daresay they’re all very comfortable with their little game, which is now mine, it seems.

  Sod it, I’m all in.

  So I smile and walk out, feeling just that bit more empowered than I was before tonight. Mr. White is quite clearly turning me into a sex fiend.

  I think I quite like it.

  Chapter 21

  Alexander

  S taring at his desk, he tapped his fingers and continued to try and hold in the fucking explosion of fury that was about to come out. Deep breathing wasn’t working. Pacing wasn’t working. Even rational or logical thinking weren’t working because he had come so close to losing her and he knew it. If Andrews had been ten minutes longer, or if she’d decided to look at them rather than think they were Belle’s, she would have seen it all. She would have suddenly known everything he was desperate for her not to know.

  It was bad enough that he was going to have to disc
uss this with his apparent father figure, but the thought of having to somehow explain himself to her was just... Well, there wasn’t a word strong enough for how he felt about that.

  She was upstairs sleeping and he’d managed to avoid this conversation all day because he’d made himself too busy to be available for Andrews, but unfortunately he did need to know. If the man was going to do his job properly then he would need to know where the photos had come from and why Alex was in them, with a knife and a dead man at his feet.

  At this point, he wasn’t entirely sure whether Andrews would even stick around to help him at all. If there was one thing a Special Forces guy didn’t like, it was being kept in the dark. And he had most definitely been kept in the dark.

  It had happened a long time ago and he hadn’t got a fucking clue who had taken the pictures. He’d been so caught up in the act of violence itself that he hadn’t been as careful as he had later on, when it had become more of a business for him, something to be planned more accurately with a little more restraint. He did know that there had been two people in the room with him that night because he was looking at the corpse of Keith Drummond, a bent private detective looking into Aiden Phillips’ drug involvement, which AP hadn’t been happy with in the slightest. So he’d done his job efficiently, coaxed the information out and then ended the threat to his boss. Ben Levington and Mark Jacobs had been the other men with him, people he had assumed he could trust at the time. He’d assumed he could still trust Mark but now he was reconsidering that thought process. Maybe he couldn’t? And Ben, well he didn’t even know if Ben was still alive.

  Christ, now he needed to talk to AP, the last person he wanted to be associated or seen with in his current life. He was the equivalent of a mafia boss, but needs must so he stared at his phone for a few minutes. At least if he got some fucking control over what the hell was going on, he might be able to keep this shit from surfacing any more. To do that he needed Andrews to be all over this like the professional he was - if he even would, that was. There was no point avoiding it anymore so he hoped Michael Andrews would forgive him his sins and help him sweep them the fuck away. He’d just found his reason for living and he was damned if it was going to be taken away from him.

  He picked up his phone and dialled Aiden then pressed the button for Andrews. He might as well witness the call. It might give him a clue as to who the hell he’d been working for all these years.

  “Alex.” Aiden’s brusque tone and shortness were clearly exactly the same as usual. He never was much of a talker unless it came to the principles of death. It had been fine by him at the time. Andrews walked in the room so he put the call on loudspeaker, nodded at him to sit and leaned back into his chair.

  “Aiden, how are you? Good, I hope.” Treading carefully round AP was a necessity of life. There was a certain mutual respect but it only went so far.

  “I’m well. Life is as good as it can be. What can I do for you?” Alex chuckled a little. The man was still as straight to the point as he always was.

  “How are Amira and the family?”

  “Cut the shite, Alex.” The man snorted in derision. Alex chuckled again. Okay, he’d cut the shit.

  “Do you remember Keith Drummund?” he asked as he stared at Andrews, who sat there completely motionless, his face an impassive gaze of unknown emotion.

  “No. Who is he?”

  “Was, an attempt at a private detective,” he replied as he looked at another photo on his desk and scanned for evidence of someone else in the room. There still wasn’t any.

  “No, a bit fucking irrelevant for me to be bothered with.” Well, that was true.

  “Is Ben Levington still around?” he asked as he shook his head at his tattoo. If it wasn’t for that, you wouldn’t know who was in the photos. There weren’t as many lines but the distinct writing was there as plain as day. Apart from that, it was only his back view and a switchblade in his hand. He chuckled to himself as he moved across the room and opened the hidden cupboard in the shelves. Fourteen numbers later and the safe clicked open.

  “No, Levington became overzealous with his mouth, drugs. I have no idea why these people take them although I’m obviously glad they do. How’s that going for you?” Dickhead. It was AP who’d started him on the road in the first place. Not that he’d minded at the time, but the constant lure back was irritating to say the least.

  “Fuck off,” he seethed in reply. He could throttle the man for his influence if he was honest. As much as he’d found some kind of solace in his previous life, it was screwing up his present, which included the angel upstairs. Andrews still sat there, immobile. He was probably memorising the entire conversation, and given his raised brow, he had more than likely worked out who AP was.

  “Now, now, check that temper of yours. You know I don’t like it, and it’s not useful to me anymore.” He took a deep breath and tried to regain his control. The bastard always could get a rise out of him, but he definitely wasn’t a man to piss off. Andrews narrowed his eyes as he watched him backing down. To be fair, it was a very rare occurrence and probably quite confusing for the guy. He pulled the offending blade from the safe and threw it onto the table. He’d need to get rid of it, which irritated the hell out of him because it truly felt like a piece of him, an extension of his arm somehow.

  “Aiden, I received some photos that could only have been taken by one of two people. Ben is one and Mark is the other. Do you know anything about that?” he asked assertively, being careful not to cross that thin line of disrespect as he watched Andrews pick up his blade to examine it.

  “I hope you’re not accusing me of something? Because that shit’s not going to end well for you, Mr. White. I don’t give a fuck who you think you are,” AP snapped in reply. He rolled his eyes. The man was as suspicious as he was. Maybe that’s where he’d learnt it.

  “No, no, not at all, Aiden. I just need to know what I’m dealing with and you’re the link here. I thought Mark was okay but now I’m not sure, and I have no idea about Ben,” he replied as he stared at Andrews who was beginning to look a little hostile. Alex poured a drink and pushed it towards him as he filled another for himself. There was silence for a minute as AP presumably worked out if his paranoia was in control or if he was.

  “Let me dig around. I’ll meet you on Tuesday for lunch. It should give the tabloids something to talk about, and as I’m trying to show a professional image these days, you’ll do me the world of good.”

  It wouldn’t be doing him any favours at all, but if the guy wanted to do this face to face and it might help him figure out who the hell was after him, apart from Henry, then he’d do it. In fact, was this all linked to Henry? He hadn’t processed that thought yet. Was Henry trying to warn Elizabeth off before he struck in some other way? The fucker clearly liked her, no matter how disgusting he’d been about her at lunch to try and throw him off the scent. Could she be in some sort of danger? That wasn’t acceptable at all.

  “Right, thank you. Tuesday it is. Text me where and when,” he replied quietly as he started to sift through the photos again and rubbed his eyes.

  “Mark told me about your little outing the other day, says you’re still a special motherfucker, but then you always were,” the dick said as he chuckled. Andrews’ eyebrows shot up. Fuck, now he’d have to tell him about that as well.

  “It was necessary,” he replied as he downed his drink. It was time for this conversation to end. He knew where it was going.

  “Did it still feel the same? After all this time, did it still give you that buzz you always needed, cleanse the turmoil?” Aiden asked. Andrews sneered. He had no idea why because he’d probably killed hundreds of people in his time.

  “No, but it didn’t stop me. It still wouldn’t. I suppose once you’re good at something, it’s just muscle memory,” Alex replied as he looked over at his bodyguard come chauffeur and wondered what was going through his mind. He supposed the man just thought he was a loose cannon sometimes, a frustrati
ng child to have to deal with while being paid. It was a shame he ever had to know the truth because he kind of liked the fact that Andrews thought of him as a son.

  “Ha, fucking muscle memory. Jesus, I miss your disinterest, Alex. You always did make me laugh,” Aiden replied with a hearty chuckle, as if they were talking about riding a bike. But they weren’t, were they? They were talking about murdering someone, and something inside started biting him with that fucking irritating guilty feeling again. He looked up at the ceiling. She couldn’t find out about this. She would leave him. She would hate him and probably rightly so. It wasn’t going to happen. He looked at the floor and sighed at the thought. How the fuck was he ever going to explain this shit to her?

  “Aiden, I have to go. I’ll see you in the week, and thank you again,” he clipped. He had another chat to get on with and then he wanted her arms, because they might make some of this annoying fucking crap go away or at least quieten it somehow.

  “Okay, see you then. And, Alex? Make sure you’re in a suit. I need you at your best,” the dick replied as the phone clicked off. Wanker. The man had far too much information about his past for his liking. He had a damn video somewhere that he’d threatened him with on occasion and he’d never be able to get at it. Mind you, if he ever went down for any of it, he’d take the shit with him.

  He sat quietly and refilled his drink as Andrews stared at him. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion or anything to give away how he was about to react to the enlightening conversation. So he waited. He really wasn’t sure what he was waiting for but it didn’t seem appropriate to talk for a while so he just continued to sit and stare back. Andrews wouldn’t run to the police; that much was clear. There was too much about the man for him to entertain the idea of being a snitch, but he might just walk out of here. Not because he was offended, more because he didn’t know the facts and that would be irritating the fuck out of him. What does a man who believes he knows someone think when they hear that sort of information? What would Conner think if he ever found out?