The sound of footsteps echoing outside the door brings me back to the moment I’m in, rather than the dizzying heights of tragedy and conspiracy I’m presently visualising. It’s all completely irrational. Not that sucking chloroform through my nose wasn’t, but there’s no way anything really terrifying is going to happen here. Why would it? I’m a civilised professional, and Blaine is obviously a sane man, one I trust, regardless of these proclivities he indulges in.
The door cracks open then widens fully, and my brow rises at the entrance of the man himself. He’s still just as attractive as he’s always been, and now he’s also draped himself with another expensive cobalt blue suit. He doesn’t look at me as I attempt to cross my arms, showing my displeasure at my circumstances. Unfortunately, the chains stop my effort, clanking awkwardly as I let my hands rest in my lap again. He looks at the floor instead, a slight sneer cornering his wide lips until it breaks into a grin.
“You haven’t cleared your mess,” he says, taking another step in my direction but still not looking at me. “Stupid girl.”
“Take these off,” is the best response I’ve got. It’s ludicrous that I’ve got chains on. What civilised human wears chains and sits in a room full of nothing. And I need to pee, anyway, which is going to be rather difficult in this position without a toilet.
“No.” What?
“Screw you.” The speed of his strides increases, his face turning into the one I saw earlier, which I’m sure should scare any rational personal. Not me apparently. “What? You’re going to beat me? Fine way to show your dominance. This is all utterly ludicrous.” He stops, his face half shocked by my outburst before he replaces it with an expression of annoyance. Good. I cross my legs instead of my arms, letting the black silk declare my superiority in the room. This is not a free for all at Alana. I will be shown respect while this happens, whatever it is. I’m here to learn. That’s all. I will not be treated like some fuck toy or disregarded as pitiful and malleable. This is a professional engagement, regardless of my foolishness with the chloroform. The only thing I need is a sense of what Dominance is, and what it is to submit to that. Anger and fear are not part of the game plan as far as I’m concerned. “And I swear to god, if you lay one aggressive hand on my body I will have you imprisoned by the end of this.”
“Mmm.” I’m not sure what that means as his mouth quirks around the sound.
“I need to pee.” We might as well get that sorted before anything else starts.
He wanders closer, skirting my vomit on the floor with some kind of grin developing. I don’t know why. I’m talking about needing to pee, for god’s sake. Nothing is funny about that as far as I can tell.
“You’ll need a vessel then.”
He bends, his fingers reaching for the bucket beside my feet. I’m not sure what to think as he lifts it. Perhaps he’s going to swill the sick away. I don’t really care in all honesty. I just need to pee and then we can get on with whatever is going to happen. It’s only in the half second he swings it back that I realise what’s coming. The sluice of it straight into my face makes me scream out loud. It’s freezing, drenching me and dripping into every crevice. It makes me stand up, shocked and horrified that he would do such a thing as I dance around, trying to get it off me. He’s fucking chuckling, like saturating me is funny. Fuck him. I swipe at the material then try to scrape my hair back, which I can’t fucking reach, as I choke on the chemical taste that’s exploding in my mouth.
“Fuck you,” I splutter out, spitting out the sluice as I try to get the disinfectant out. “What the hell is your problem?” My dress is soaked, and I’m shivering as I try to get my feet away from the water beneath them.
“You are,” he says, calm as fucking day. Me? I’m his problem? What the fuck is he talking about? I glare at him, stupefied by his answer as he takes a step away from the water that’s encroaching on his brogues. “There’s a vessel,” he continues, dropping the bucket onto the floor beside me again. “Piss in it.” I don’t even know what to say to that. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out of it as I gape at him, wishing I could actually straighten my body. “You’ll learn, one way or another, Alana, that this is not a fucking democracy anymore.”
I’m still gaping as he backs away, his eyes hard and drilling into mine as he pockets his hands, so much so that I half forget about the water still running down the inside of my thighs until it tickles me, reminding me of what just happened.
“How dare you throw fucking water at me?”
Two steps forward. Just two, bringing him within three feet of my face, and then he stands still again and draws one of his hands out to rub his face.
“Apologise well, or I’ll make you learn how to do it properly.” Screw that.
“What for? Swearing? Fuck you.”
I don’t know what happens next. The speed of it has me on my knees before I have a chance to speak, my face being pushed into the water that’s still sluicing around as he holds my neck down. I try to fight back for a second or two, writhing my frame around to gain some leverage, but he’s too strong for me, and his grip is bruising as he grinds me into the floor. The chains clunk about, my hands grabbing out for purchase on anything, all to no avail. The water smells of disinfectant, the vile taste of it seeping back into my mouth.
“I despise swearing from a woman’s mouth. Do you understand?” I nod, my cheek rubbing against the wet marble. I feel myself do it and hate the fact. Who the hell is he to tell me what to do? If I could get my body around I’d spit at him for doing this, but his hand on my arse makes my whole frame still beneath him instead. It’s not tender or relaxed. It’s hurting as he grabs at it, rucking the material of my dress and pulling it upwards. The fabric strains at my thighs, digging into me as he yanks it again to try to expose me. It’s enough for me to start bucking again, attempting to get him off me once more. He’s not having his hands anywhere near me in this circumstance as far as I’m concerned. I might not be terrified, and I know this is all for show to some degree, but I’ll not be forced to do something I’m not ready for.
The chains somehow loop themselves as one of his hands works them, criss-crossing them to shorten their length to a foot or so. I watch as they buckle into each other, holding me down in place and not allowing any room for escape. It doesn’t matter how much I turn, twist or try to kick out, he’s just there, covering every attempt and halting each panicked movement. He’s so damned heavy as I feel the buttons of his jacket scuffing my spine. He’s like a blanket of pure male, drenching every attempt at freedom with nothing but himself. There’s no threat. No weapon. No snarl of aggression. He’s just there on top of me, offering a sensation I’ve never felt before and breathing into my neck.
I begin to feel myself giving in, just like I did in that damned pool. It makes me wonder if he’s doing it to me, or whether I’m doing it myself. I don’t know. I’m confused all of a sudden as I start relaxing into his weight on me. I’m smothered. Cocooned. And the more I let myself give in, still pitching the occasional weak roll at him, the calmer I seem to become. Relaxed. Quiet.
“Now, I suggest you apologise correctly, or I’ll happily make this more painful for you, Alana.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m still too busy trying to assimilate the sensation of him on top of me. I’ve given up, haven’t I? Again.
I suck in a breath of air, letting the watery disinfectant fall into my mouth, not disturbed by it too much anymore. I don’t understand that. Why wouldn’t I be fighting this? It reminds me of rape scenes I’ve written, being pinned and under the influence of something stronger than me. I should be battling him, forcing him off me. Screaming and shouting out in terror. But I’m not. I’m just here, breathing. And his hand is still roaming my arse, the material higher than it was before as I feel his fingers grazing in between my thighs. He’s so close, close enough that I should be worried about him putting them inside me, certainly questioning if I want them there, but I’m not feeling either con
cern. I’m willing them inside without too much thought about why. It just feels okay, desperate in fact. Like him doing this will cement something in me I’ve not processed before now.
“I… I’m sorry.” I don’t know why that came out. I’m not sorry, not for swearing at him anyway. It makes me frown and mouth the words again to myself.
My eyes seem to refocus on my surroundings the second his weight lightens on me. He doesn’t get off, just moves to the left, his fingers still lightly flicking at my barely covered nether region.
“Good girl,” he says, his other hand slowly releasing the pressure he had on my right shoulder. “Shall we see what you’ve got inside you?”
My eyes creak round to his as he leans on his elbow beside me, his suited body lying in the water along with mine. I find myself gazing into them, as if it’s the first time I’ve done so. I know I’ve looked at him before. I know I’ve noticed how attractive they are, but I don’t think I’ve ever really seen into them. There’s something so old about them, which is a useless description. He’s not old, maybe mid-thirties, but at this moment I can see depths there I’ve not discerned previously. They have a small pinprick of light in the middle of the dark walnut brown, a black contour rimming the edge of his pupil, darkening the colour to a pool of murk and gloom. I stare, transfixed by his gaze, both of us simply quiet in the middle of the wet floor and breathing as my hands stretch out into my chains. That’s all there is really. No thought. No concerns. No sense of the outside world. It’s just me and him and this quiet he’s created.
“Blaine…” It comes out so quietly I barely know it’s left my lips, but the small lift of his lips tells me he’s heard it.
“Open your legs.”
I don’t feel anything until his fingers inch inside me. I hardly knew he was moving them, or that my legs opened of their own accord, and the gasp that leaves me echoes against the floor between us. It makes him smile some more, his lips curving up into something quite beautiful. So beautiful that I sense my legs widening further to give him better access, just to get another glimpse of such a thing. His eyes soften, the pupil dilating further and rendering another gasp from my lips. And then he shoves his hand, his fingers driving in deep and causing me to groan at their impact. It hurts in some way. It’s not a pain I can’t take, but it’s not delicate or gentile either. It’s bruising with no attempt from him to make it any less so.
“It will all be like this,” he says, a slight hitch to his words I’ve not noticed before now as he keeps watching my face. I gaze at his mouth moving around the sounds, not really hearing his actual speech as he slowly glides his hand out and then shoves it in again, putting pressure on my bladder as he does. “Painful. Can you take that?” I think I’m nodding as my head lolls on my upper arm, my legs widening again to let him push in once more, and the broadening of his smile tells me that’s what he wanted to hear. He braces his head on his hand, his other one forging inside me as if he’s testing me out. Each touch is like a dull flash of lightening, some making me gasp and moan, others making me cringe as spasms of pain shoot through me. My frown descends again, as my body searches for an orgasm that’s nowhere near. I’ve never had someone do this so methodically. It’s like I’m a test case. It’s not fumbled. I’m not being mishandled by some juvenile. He’s clearly intimately acquainted with the female anatomy. It’s just measured, as if I’m being shoved around and probed. It makes me look away from him eventually, sensing no intimacy at all and beginning to feel like a toy for his amusement. “Look at me again. Learn, Alana.”
I slowly creep my eyes back up, embarrassed by this whole thing as his hand keeps foraging around, his thumb beginning to stroke my clit as his pressure increases. Learn what? That I’m nothing to him? That this is just an entertainment?
“Of all the others who’ve ever been inside you, how many took the time to understand you?” There’s a sense of passion about his voice now. It’s only a quiet husk of need, one that fills the space between us with some degree of warmth again, but it’s there. “Who are you, Alana?” It’s not disrespectful or rude, and not a philandering question. He expects an answer, one that’s honest. “How many dug in deep enough to find you?” I gasp out again as his fingers suddenly do something I’ve never felt before. They grind at something inside of me, pulling my crotch towards him as I slide in the water. “Our kind understand each other.” There’s another shove, followed by him beginning to push in and out of me, building a rhythm I’ve never encountered. It’s unique, and tempering the edges of me with a madness I’m not sure is normal. My body starts to writhe again, my groin helping him build the momentum. My breath begins to labour, a smile widening further on his face with every gasp that comes from me. “Your cunt’s delicious.” He tugs again, sliding me further into him and dropping his hand to wrap me into his hold. “Give me your mouth. I want that scream that’s coming.” Oh god, it is coming now. I don’t know where from, and the pain is so intense, making me buck and groan, but along with it there’s a sense of ecstasy. It’s coursing through me, my mouth hovering around his as he licks his lips and rubs his cock into my leg.
“Fuc…” He swallows the end of the word, our mouths meeting and sending me delirious with the need to come. Teeth clash viciously. It’s animalistic as I try to move myself into him more, filling me with visions of nakedness and biting. I don’t know where that comes from either. It’s like a dream as I climb higher, focusing on his fingers as they hitch me around, rubbing and pushing at bits of me I never knew were there. And then he just stops. He just holds me in this moment, leaving my insides aching and reaching for something I can’t get to on my own. His hold is tense around me, bruising, hanging me in seconds that I can’t come down from nor climb higher into. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move at all. He just lets his mouth arouse me further, nipping at my lips, creating a bite or two and lengthening the time we roll our lips together, and then finally, just when I don’t think I can take the pressure anymore, he twists his hand. The orgasm that crashes is instant, blurring me with shivers and moans. There’s no light exploding. No sense of elation. It’s just dark and obscure, with flashes of his eyes and mouth joining the chaos in my mind. I’m panting, the air unable to find its way inside me because he’s still there, filling me with thoughts of decadence and need. It’s something new. Something in my blood. Perhaps like a heartbeat bursting out, maybe even giving up. Quieting. It’s the most visceral feeling I’ve ever had, flooding me with emotions I can’t deny as he begins to pull his mouth away.
It eventually leaves me completely, rendering a loss I’ve never encountered. I’d touch my lips if I could move my hands to check that they were still there, but I’ve somehow ended up on my back, my arms stretched above my head, still restrained by the chains. They yearn for him, though, still reaching themselves towards him in the hope he’ll drop his own lips back down to me. The thought makes me question my rationality. It makes me question life itself, let alone if I’m awake or not as I gaze up at him and watch him settle himself over me, a strange look on his face.
“What was that?” I ask, barely able to form thought around the whole experience as I feel his weight on me again. He looks bemused immediately, a slight smirk appearing.
“An orgasm. I assume you have had one before.”
Well, yes, but not like that.
“Yes, but it was connected. We were…”
His slight smirk almost immediately disappears, stopping me mid-flow and leaving me wondering what I’ve said wrong. It’s replaced by anger, or at the very least resentment. For what? Me saying we had some sort of link, some moment of beauty in the middle of whatever this sleazy thing is? I gaze at him as he moves, his hands bracing himself above me before he finally shifts backwards and stands up. I’m in the middle of my transfixed gaze, wondering what’s going through his mind when I realise he’s looking at my body rather than me, specifically my open legs. A blush rises through me, clearly telling me I should close them, perhaps stop t
hem lolling around, but I don’t. Something makes me feel empowered or emboldened here. It’s not me or my ability to feel sexy. It’s something about the room, or the fact that I can see his eyes on me, travelling the length of my body and then slowly meandering back to his starting place. I think it’s him in general, actually.
He eventually moves a step away, still frowning and not giving me any hint of happiness or contentment. I don’t suppose he should. It’s not like we’re a couple. For a brief second I imagine my last one-night-stand, his copper hair flashing in my mind as I watch the water dripping from Blaine’s suit onto his hand. I’d left in the middle of the night, unimpressed with the best efforts of a reasonably attractive man. He didn’t give me a stitch of the feeling I’ve just had. In fact, it was barely conscious compared to this. The whole act was ineffective. The fucking was insensitive, normally just the way I like it. The orgasm, weak. His hands, light and only attempting sensuous. Nothing about it was desperate or involved. Not like this. Not that anything about Blaine seems desperate. I, on the other hand, am very open to suggestion. I’d take him now if he got on with it, but something tells me he’s not going to. He might have done if I hadn’t mentioned connection. I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his weight on me, but not now. For now, it’s done.
“Clean the floor,” he says quietly, picking up the rag beneath his feet and tossing it near my thigh as he walks away. The splash of water spits at my face causing me to turn away from it, rolling to my side with one arm still stretched behind me by the chain. “Before your vomit encroaches on your cunt.”
If there was any way to destroy a moment’s beauty, he’s just shown me how to do it. It instantly sickens my stomach, making me question what the hell I’m thinking. I’m here, on a floor covered in disinfectant, rolling around in my own vomit while he finger fucks me. What is wrong with me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as my nose snuffles in the water, my legs pulling up into my body in an effort to shield myself from him. And then the door slams, showing me how little care he really has for me or how I’m feeling, more importantly how he’s made me feel. Why has he done that? Perhaps I was alone in my moment of connection; perhaps it was nothing but a woman and a man, one who knows exactly what he’s doing with my body. After all, that’s what I asked for, wasn’t it? For him to show me something. Presumably that’s what he’s done. Nothing other than that.
Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1) Page 19