Once Upon A (Stained Duet Book 1)

by Charlotte E Hart

  “If I asked you to take me home, would you?” He chuckles, his hand suddenly stroking across my face, causing me to jump a little.

  “Do you want to go home?”

  “No, I just want to know that I can if I ask.”

  “He’ll let you go if you ask. I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not my obligation, you’re his.” Right.

  The car goes quiet again for a minute as I try to assimilate the information and find use for it. Layers begin filtering through my mind, a sense of obligation I hadn’t thought of before creeping to the top of the pile. Scenes unfold, ones that offer a connection through responsibility rather than simple matters of love or passion. I’ve read that sort of thing, and always wondered how the Dominant feels about his requirement to protect at all costs.

  “But, presumably you’re taking me to him, therefore you’re currently responsible for my wellbeing because he’s asked you to be, yes?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “So, if my wellbeing is best served by letting me go home, then you have to take me. That’s your position at the moment?” He chuckles again, the car turning a corner and pushing me into the doorframe a little.

  “No, no, pretty thing. You’re not getting this, are you?” Apparently not. “Your welfare is best served by me taking you to someone who can make the best decision for you. That’s what you asked for, I assume.” Did I? I don’t remember asking Blaine to make decisions for me, only to show me how this all works. “It’s why he brought you out here, to his home.” That’s where he lives? “Seems you’re worthy of true consideration.” I really don’t understand that reference. It causes my brow to furrow under the silk, searching for an answer to what consideration I would be placed under. This is a job, nothing more, one we both have a part to play in, both Blaine and I, but it’s not a relationship.

  “And what about my opinion? Where’s my say in all this?” I think the question is more mused than actually asked. I’m not entirely sure he’ll answer, and even if he does, I doubt I’ll understand the answer anyway. It’s all just a blur of inaccuracies at the moment, neither defining answers nor exposing truths, other than the slutty ones my body’s reacting to anyway, and the occasional pumping of my heart in completely the wrong direction.

  And then there’s a silence for a while, making me wonder what he’s thinking about as I settle into the seat and begin listening to the rumble of the wheels instead of waiting for his mouth to offer a response. They’re calming in some ways, reminding me of the silence in the room I’ve been in, the dull clunk of the typewriter keys causing a rhythm of sorts. And after a few minutes or so, I seem to give in to the noise, letting it lull me into another dreamlike state of near arousal, or infatuation. Perhaps it’s physical exhaustion, or maybe just mental fatigue. I don’t know, but it is what it is, somehow comforting me as my heart inclines into thoughts it shouldn’t dare. I feel safe here in some ways, cocooned by men I don’t know. It makes me smile as I drift off, knowing that I’ll be with Blaine again soon enough. Whatever this all is, has become, is becoming, it’s what I asked for. Kind of. I just have to believe that time will tell me why.

  Chapter 14

  Alana

  “ Alana?” What? I peel my eyes open, my fingers reaching for the blindfold only to realise it’s not there and it’s actually my eyelids struggling to open again. Oh god, I feel so tired. Still. My mouth yawns, my arms stretching high and knocking into the roof of the car as I attempt to wake up. Everything’s blurry, hazy, as if I’ve forgotten how to function. I could use some of my pills. Several, actually. When was the last time I had some? Christ, I can hardly even move my shattered limbs I’m so exhausted. I hope my bag’s been brought with us.

  Eventually, I turn to look at Priest and find him sitting quietly, smiling, and filling up the whole car with a look that could be considered dangerous to my libido. “We’re here.”

  I peer out of the car past him and am astounded to find a church looking back at me, although why, given his name, I’m not sure.

  “That’s almost laughable.” A church, really? I mean, I’m not religious, but the suggestion connected with it still leaves me feeling uncomfortable. The sudden thought occurs to me that he might really be a priest. I don’t know what I thought beforehand, when I had his mouth locked on mine, but I don’t think I ever thought any of this was real. It makes me look back at him, for some reason scanning his hand for rings that might tell me if he really is part of the clergy. “You’re not really a…” I can’t even bring myself to say it, not after I ground myself onto his thigh in the hope of orgasm. He just stares, not one hint of truth or honesty belying anything useful. He can’t be. He’s too handsome for priesthood. Good looking guys don’t turn celibate, not that he has done, obviously. “Because that’s just not right, if you are. What we did, this whole situation. I mean, you can’t do this sort of thing and be…” He just turns away, his chinos leaving the car the moment he decides our conversation is finished.

  I scrabble at my belt, my legs removing me from the car quickly so I’m not left behind with unanswered questions. “Priest?” He doesn’t answer as he walks the steps up to the frontage, an easy gait rendering the holy ground beneath him of no concern. I glance around as I try to keep up, noticing the lack of anything in the vicinity. It’s just this white stone church, acres of land, a few small graveyards and nothing else. “Where are we?” Still there’s no response. And as he enters the church, swinging the massive wooden gate wide for me to follow, I find myself scanning the grounds again, a sense of foreboding creeping up behind me. I turn, trying to fathom the feeling and gazing out into late afternoon sun. There’s nothing there, only the car we left and the driveway into the grounds. Yet still the eerie sensation comes, making me think someone, or something else is here. I’m not so easy with my own pace as I navigate the last few steps. My hurried feet scamper the stonework, stubbing my toe on them as I go and swearing without thought to the venue.

  “Fuck.” The word makes me gasp, my hand immediately shooting to my mouth for fear that God heard, not that I’d normally care. Maybe I still don’t. Maybe it’s just the thought that Blaine might slap me for it. I’m not sure why that doesn’t piss me off more than it does. Who is he to tell me what I can or can’t do? No one. A no one who has very talented hands, no doubt, but he’s not someone I should bow down to.

  I wander through the door, looking up to the rafters and smiling at the architecture. Whatever my feelings for God, or lack thereof, churches are lovely structures. They dominate effectively, providing that sense of power people of God must need for their blind following. I never understood that. It makes me think about my time beneath the water at Blaine’s house as I gaze around. Perhaps it’s the same visions that keep their faith intact. Perhaps they just believe that no matter what, God will rescue them, keep them safe. I suppose if it’s half the feeling I got, and it’s more of a constant in their lives, then that’s exactly why they come here. Maybe that’s why I write books, hoping to disappear into worlds I create to escape the organisation of my hectic but tidy life. Maybe it’s a way of lightening the load and relaxing, listening to another voice to clarify intent. Not that it’s been all that enjoyable of late.

  Old pews surround the outskirts of the interior, the floor in the middle of the chapel devoid of any covering. It seems odd to stand in a place like this that has been wiped of familiarity. It’s not that it’s not here, it is. Same structure, same gilded leafing on ornaments and objects, same stained glass windows surrounding the walls, but with the main floor being empty other than the inlaid, cold stone beneath it, it all feels less welcoming somehow.

  “On your knees. Middle of the space.” My head swings round at the sound of Blaine’s voice, echoed from the top of the building somewhere. He can’t be serious. I walk towards the front instead, glancing around for his frame, but all I find is the gilded balustrades as I enter the area. It seems to encompass the space, providing a
barrier around where the pews used to sit.

  Steps clatter the floor behind me, light and rushed, making me swing back in that direction to peer between the cloisters. A man crosses quickly, carrying something and skirting the peripheries of the walls. It’s only when he comes into full view that I realise it’s Tyler, carrying a large box and hurrying towards where you’d imagine a priest would change his clothes. The vision makes me think of priests again, which leads me into wondering where Priest has gone to as I scan the corners of the place.

  “I’d like a shower first,” I call out, hoping it might give me a ten-minute reprieve. I need to acclimatise to the options around me, not that I seem to have many, other than asking to leave. I think that would work. Priest said it would, although I haven’t heard it directly from Blaine’s lips yet, not that I’ve asked. “And a change of clothes.” We might discuss kneeling after that.

  Steps sound the floor again, this time in front of me making me look up in their direction. They’re Blaine’s; I can tell by their cadence. They’re unhurried, heavy, and affirmative, just like his whole demeanour. He walks out from behind a tall column, his body framed by the wide sweep of steps up to the chancel. I stare, suddenly focused entirely on him. Something changes in me, but I don’t know what. He just appeared and he’s all I can see. The room evaporates around him. And just a slight lift of his lip as he glances me over is enough for my insides to churn. My heart races, making me clamp my arms tighter around me for fear it might fall out of my chest. It’s something about the way he moves, or maybe just the fact that he’s had his hand inside me, which is preposterous given how many other hands have had that privilege, but his, well, they seemed to own being inside me. Like he has a right to touch me however he chooses. And I so wish he would again. I do. I can feel the need to move towards him engulfing me, no matter how much I try to stop its spread across my skin. It’s like I’m on fire all of a sudden, and he’s the only one who can put out the flames. Possibly with a bucket of water again, but I’d take anything for another shot at those orgasms he produced.

  He smiles, truly illuminating the church with an open offering of pleasure. It’s quite beautiful, complementing his dark eyes and making them sparkle with undisclosed humour. It makes the need to run to him grow stronger by the second as I imagine some kind of relationship with a man I hardly know. The man who’s brought me out here into the middle of nowhere to show me something I’ve asked for, begged for really.

  “Take your clothes off.” I glance around, wondering why he’s not answering my question about showers. “And kneel. I’ve now asked twice. I won’t ask again.” I’m not sure what that means. What’s he going to do, force me to kneel? I thought all this kneeling was made up for the stories, showing submission by way of bowing and scraping. Okay, I did see some of it in the club I met him in, but not much. I can’t see why it’s relevant to me at all.

  “No. I came to learn, but that’s idiotic,” I reply, stepping forward again and making my way towards him. “And why? What am I supposed to kneel for? You’ve shown me nothing in the way of kindness. There’s no love here, no sentiment of attachment or connection. I am not bound to you like one of your other things.” No matter what the hell this feeling is winding its way around my heart. His stare hardens a touch, reminding me of when I called him Daddy and rambled on in my little horny world of excitement. “Surely one needs to prove one’s worth before someone submits to kneeling?” He pockets his hands instantly, his foot moving him back a step from my advancement. “Those women in the club you first took me to, what do they kneel for?” I’d actually like an answer to that one, because while I’m not about to do it, I’d like to know why they do. I stare at him again, waiting. I’d rather not wait for anything, to be honest. I want my shower and then I want to get on with whatever’s about to happen. I did come to learn, and writing on that machine, no matter how incongruous, is definitely finding words and flow in me I’ve never used before. “And you never did answer me about whether you’d been in love before, did you? Is that why they do it?” He stalls, his eyes narrowing to nothing but slithers and his lips hovering around something that’s almost out of them. I wait again, folding my arms and tilting my head for answers that might prove useful to my manuscript, or muddled emotions regarding him.

  “Priest says you have a confession.” Does he now? That’s not an answer to my questions.

  “Nothing that’s relevant to the two of us, or me learning. Let’s discuss the kneeling instead.”

  “Yet you would have let him fuck you in a corridor?”

  “I said no.”

  “It was hardly a no from what I’ve heard.” It damn well was, because of him I might add. And oh, he likes the avoidance, doesn’t he? At least he’s intelligent enough to play that game, I suppose. Most men aren’t.

  “I said I wasn’t interested,” I snip, remembering the way Priest’s fingers dug in less efficiently than Blaine’s do. It was lifeless in comparison to the heat I know this man has.

  “Which was a lie,” he says, his feet inching forward again.

  “No. Had I wanted to fuck him, I would have. You’ve got no hold on me.” His brow rises, his lips amused at me for reasons unknown. “Does the thought make you jealous?” Because that would be extremely interesting…and somewhat debilitating now I’m thinking about it. I really could do with not having these odd thoughts of attachment. They’re not helpful to my research or any sense of realism. And then he moves again, still smiling, but now managing to turn what was a plausibly amused smirk into irritated charm. “I really wish you’d stand still.”

  “You have quite the sense of ownership, don’t you?” I keep gazing as he halts, his arms mirroring mine as he folds them, his tongue running over his teeth in contemplation.

  “I own me. Not you or any other man here. I only came here to find out how you manage to own everyone else you fuck with that dick of yours.” He nods and backs away again, his tongue laving his lips until he takes another, then another. Why does he keep moving away? It’s exasperating and unnerving. “It’s a puzzle I can’t work out. You’re a puzzle, frankly.” I find myself moving forward again, refusing to allow him the space he’s trying to create between us.

  “I don’t fuck, not with my cock.” Oh. What?

  “Why not?” Because that really is interesting. Why wouldn’t a man like him actually have sex using the very organ designed for the experience? “And why did you even tell me that?”

  “There’s a bucket in the corner. Go wash.”

  “Okay, but why, and why not?” Another bucket, really? I want my shower. If churches have one. Do they? Frankly, I’m suddenly too interested in the cock thing to give a damn about buckets anyway. ”Well?”

  “That is as unsuitable as your question about love.”

  “How is it unbefitting? You’ve been described as, what was it, a master of deviancy, and yet you don’t use your genitals to actually penetrate anything?” His mouth smirks, his hands leaving his pockets as he halts his backwards progression. “Honestly? You can’t fuck with it? Or won’t? Does it not function properly?” His smirks widens into the most animated version of lovely I’ve ever seen, and, yet again, my heart rushes for attachment as I gaze at his lips and try to think logically.

  “You carry on, Alana, and I’ll drive the damn thing down the back of your throat in a minute.”

  There’s a laugh somewhere in the church. I raise a brow at it, trying to suppress my own smile while wondering which of the other two it is. Perhaps we’re going to have that gangbang I was discussing with Bree. I move another step closer, enjoying the fact that I wind him up so effectively and searching for the next button to progress this onwards.

  “Please do, perhaps then I’ll have something to kneel for.” There’s a look that flashes across his face. I don’t know what it is, but it’s innocuous compared to the fun face of ten seconds ago. “That’s what I’m here for, Blaine. For you to teach me. I need honesty for that, not a re-ena
ctment of some florid club scene.” He blows out a breath, stepping back away from me and turning to leave. “I want to learn to love you, if that’s what’s needed.” I’m not convinced that’s going to be too hard to achieve in all reality. The man is unfathomably intriguing, slightly exasperating, and gloriously attractive. And this bloody heart of mine keeps interfering with all sense of logic. Unfortunately, rather than answer me, he just keeps moving away again, pointing over towards the other side of the church as he goes.

  “If you must, bathe.” That’s all I get. I’m not convinced it’s acceptable to me, and this is confirmed by me huffing my way back to the middle of the church, wrenching at my dress until the slightly crusty remnants of it leave my skin, and then lowering myself to my knees.

  “Better?” I snark, staring at his back as he halts, waiting for whatever this will mean. One thing’s for sure—no matter how much I wind him up, he always seems to have the ability to back away from me. I mean, even rubbing my own clit in front of him didn’t stop him from wandering out. Most men would drool over such things. Maybe his dick doesn’t function properly. Although, it did get hard; that’s a certainty. I felt it. It was large, and unfortunately not inside my vagina.

  “Do I need to do the Daddy thing again?” There’s still no movement. “Priest, I’m ready for that confession. Something about rape, wasn’t it?” I shouted that rather loudly, hoping that the thought of me near naked in front of another man might spur him into action. It does. His foot slowly spins him round to look at me. He doesn’t look at my body, just focuses on my eyes. He just stays like that for the longest time, staring at me. No blinking, no change to the features on his face, which at present seem somewhere between tense and bored, and there’s certainly no lovely smile. It gets to a point where I begin to lose any desire to talk about anything. In fact, my eyes begin glancing away for a way of finding comfort. He’s so intense, just like he was when he had his hand inside me. His eyes are hard, but with a hint of hidden thoughts, ones I wish I understood. I flick my eyes back, then immediately away again. The moment I do, I notice the grey of his suit trousers moving a step towards me. I look back only for him to halt again so I turn from him once more. It doesn’t take long to figure out the game. I look at him, or challenge him, and he leaves me, or turns away. I look away from him, or at the floor, thus not challenging him, and he’ll move toward me. Presumably he’s trying to train his dog. I’m not a dog, but I play his little riddle anyway waiting for him to get close enough before I start questioning again.