Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Alea iacta est?”

  “Hmm. It has indeed, my love. Thrown for you to maul, yes?”

  I don’t know what that means, so I stare at his smiling face in hopes of an explanation. I seem to do that a lot. Perhaps one day it will all just fall from his lips without me needing to ask. Or maybe I’ll just know without having to ask in the first place.

  He kisses my forehead as we turn onto the huge white landing as if I’m sweet. I’m not. Nothing feels sweet about me anymore. The days of sweet and innocent Lilah have gone. Not only were they taken from me on the streets, but I’ve now abandoned any thought of them ever being acceptable again. Sweet gets you nowhere in life, least of all able to deal with the man who’s currently carrying me into a bedroom.

  “It’s quite the castle for a little girl to grow up in. How’s the plan working out in your head—you know, the fairytale you’re trying to deny? I assume Roxanne’s not coming. Actually, where is she? I can’t believe she just let you take her.”

  “Can we not talk about the bitch when I am about to ravish you, hmm?” he says, throwing me inelegantly onto a four poster bed, which has definitely seen better days, and then standing there in all his glory. I just stop myself from licking my lips. After all, I’m the one in control. It wouldn’t do much good for me to drool over his every whim, regardless of the fact that he’s completely worth drooling over.

  “And what do you think you’re going to do with that?” I ask as he wanders back towards me, somehow having produced a teaspoon out of nowhere.

  “Fuck you with it.” Interesting. Not something I’ve been fucked with before, but then this is Pascal, and nothing appears to be out of bounds where his hands are concerned. Alexander mentioned something about teaspoons once.

  “He told me about Venice. Can we go there? I’ve never been to Venice.”

  He doesn’t answer, just crawls his way up the bed, smirking and letting me watch every sinew of his frame coming at me. I don’t even think about retreating. Nothing scares me. He’ll do no harm, no more than he intends. And I’ll take it. I’ll take it because of the pleasure that descends in the same moment. I’m here beneath his hands and bared open for anything he feels like entertaining himself with.

  “Heated, or not so?” he asks. How would I know? I can’t even comprehend what the teaspoon’s about to do to me, so I don’t reply. I just keep staring into tempting eyes and sharpened teeth, becoming more and more lost as I do.

  His fingers begin to trace my sides, delicately at first, almost tickling my ribs to make me shift around. It works. My giggle splutters out into the room as he does it again and lowers himself between my legs. Warm lips travel their way around my thighs as he lifts them and spreads them wide.

  “This will hurt, my love.”

  Oh, great. What fun. I grip onto the sheets, hoping to stave off the inevitable without disappearing into my black hole. Tonight, I don’t want to. I want to be with him again, just as I was in the art shop. I want to stay connected and watch his features as he enjoys himself. I want to let him see me, let him understand that whatever he’s capable of, I’ll take it, as long as there are no lies between us.

  The pain that suddenly reverberates around my clit is dangerously close to my tolerance levels. I scowl down at him, only to see his mouth descend straight onto the area he’s just attacked. Warmth pools over me, surrounding me as I feel his tongue lap liberally just beneath my clit, soothing the feeling away a little. Then teeth bite and the pain hits me again. Jesus. I try to close my legs automatically, but he shifts his weight, holding me wide open and spreading my legs further.

  “You like, hmm?”

  “Fuck off.” He rewards me with a chuckle. Beautiful as it might be, my clit hurts. “Don’t do that again,” I snap out.

  My legs are pushed back so quickly I barely have to time to realise where I am as he wraps something around them. I search wildly for handholds, something, anything to keep me grounded in the middle of what he’s about to do. My arse tries to scoot away from him, trying to make the position more comfortable, only to find that something is holding my thighs apart and fixing me in place.

  “Anything can be used to bind, hmm? I am surprised he has not taught you to be quicker.”

  What the fuck does that mean? I look down at my thighs to see the sheet somehow tangled around my left leg, holding me open. What it’s anchored to, I don’t know, but no matter how much I wrench, it doesn’t move anywhere. His entire weight rests on my right leg, giving me absolutely no chance of escape.

  “Will you stay with me, hmm?” he says, propping himself up so that he can achieve a better angle to look at me, yet not removing any weight from my thigh. “Most pass out. I wondered if you could endure such abandon without dispersing yourself away to your safe haven.”

  “Fuck off.” It’s all I have with this anger beginning to travel through me. I welcome it, though, knowing it’s what I need to help him have his fun. It’s what keeps me strong enough for him, what keeps me calm in the middle of his liberation. And there will be pleasure, too. I know that it’s coming as metal spoon hits my clit again. Over and over, it spanks the nub of nerves, occasionally followed by his teeth, or soft warm lips. It stings, causing me to screw my legs, hoping to alleviate the ache, but nothing works in this constricting position. His smirk at my discomfort only charges my blood more, readying me to launch at him.

  “There are kinder ways, my love. However, your abilities perturb me, therefore you will be fucked without care, yes?” My voice wants to scream fuck off again, so I suck in air and close my eyes to what he’s doing, scowling at the thought of the next wave of pain, but knowing he will at least let me come. He wants that from me. For whatever reason, he needs his little bit of control tonight, and he can have it if it lets him know I need him.

  Teeth bite into my stomach the second after the next strike, moving the pain away from the intended area and driving a new feeling through my skin. Pleasure. It renders any speech incoherent. Other than my moans, there’s nothing coming from me. No anger, no questions, no fucking answers either. Just this now. Us fucking. The way we do so well. We can say anything, do anything, be whatever we need to be with no fear of verdict. I reach to his back, twisting myself a little so that I can touch him, somehow feeling that as long as I can hold onto him, I’ll be able to stay here and watch, feel. His scars linger beneath my fingers, the ones I put there, still healing and turning under my nails as I dig into them again.

  I feel something slipping inside of me. It’s barely recognisable under the sluice of liquid that’s already pouring out of me. Dulled yet somehow sharp edges roam around, hitting surfaces inside of me and causing strange sensations, almost as if he’s inspecting me. He turns the spoon over, letting it grind against bumps and ridges, creating pressure and then releasing it again until my insides are a melting pot of bliss. There’s no pain—not enough to be concerned about, anyway. There’s just a wash of sensations gliding around inside. It’s not quite enough to cause an orgasm, but certainly enough to evoke pleasure. My body begins to writhe around in his grip as his other hand holds my leg firmly, pushing me open wider as he drops his weight from my thigh. I open my eyes slowly, daring to believe that this might be just a relaxed fucking session, and yet knowing, within the blink of an eye as he smirks again and then lowers his head to my core, that it absolutely is not going to be.

  Chapter 11

  “Fuck off.” It’s about all that has come out of me this morning. I can hardly move, and the fact that I’m having to be motherly is really not helping as I stroll through the sunny grounds. He smiles and wanders off towards a highly excitable Claire, looking every inch the European gent in his white linen shirt and soft tan trousers. Arsehole. How dare he do that to me? And with a teaspoon of all things. I’d rather be racked. Frankly, it hurt less the next day, and I wasn’t even there to feel it at the time. I disappeared into my dark place. Fuck staying around to witness his debaucherous ways. Being close? Screw that
. Next time, I’m switching off while he has his idea of fun, disappearing into my safe little cave where pain doesn’t happen. If there is a next time. Bastard. Still, I didn’t pass out. That’s something to be proud of.

  “Would you like to go into the city for lunch?” he calls back, smiling like the elegant little ray of sunshine he is today. Apparently, he got his sadistic fix. No, I want to crawl back into my bed, or perhaps call a doctor to see if I need stitches. I scowl in his direction but instantly brighten my face into motherly love as Claire bounds up to his side holding a plethora of flowers and walks towards me. Sweet. Ish. Not that much is filing me with sweet thoughts today.

  “We picked them for you,” she says. “Look, they match your dress.” I grin at her, reaching for the lemon and orange flowers and lifting them to my nose as she runs away again. They’re lovely. Innocent, unlike me and Mr. Wicked Fingers next to me.

  “They are quite beautiful against your skin,” he says.

  I scowl at that, too, attempting to walk towards the fountain without screaming out my discomfort, then swishing my dress in a display of dramatics.

  “Are you much distressed?”

  I don’t even answer that. Who sticks a spoon inside someone and tears them open with it? I’ve never come so hard in my life. It fucking hurt. Even my toes hurt and they had nothing to do with the experience that I’m aware of. I don’t even know what he did with the damn thing. It dragged in places I didn’t even know I had, and then he did some shoving thing with it, followed by more spanking, and to top it all off, he spat on me. Apparently, I needed lubricating and there wasn’t anything else available. Also, had I chosen the ‘warmed’ version, it wouldn’t have hurt so much. I turn to look back at him, imagining the same thing happening in his arse. Perhaps Alexander can teach me that technique.

  “I did tell you to stay still.”

  Of course he did. Wanker. It’s bloody impossible to stay still when that sort of thing is happening inside you. Honestly, I could kill him.

  “Seems love blooms brightest after the storm, my love, hmm?”

  I think I just growled.

  My cream heels aren’t helping my cause as he catches up with me and wraps his arm around my waist, possibly for support. Good. Frankly, I deserve a little help.

  “We could go to the Vatican for lunch. I do so enjoy milling with all those clerical types.” I bet he does. I can only assume most of them are as debased as he is. Or perhaps he just enjoys fucking with their minds, too. I gaze over at Claire as she starts picking more flowers and wonder how this all slots together. What are we going to do? Wander around Rome and play at happy families? Pretend Roxanne doesn’t exist? Sadists and their children, is it? Christ, it’s a disaster waiting to happen regardless of the fact that he’s been the perfect father this morning. He even cooked her breakfast. Well, that’s pushing it a bit. He made her toast, then gave her a pot of Seville marmalade as if she should endure such torture and like it, which ended up with me digging about in cupboards for jam. Because Seville marmalade for a five year old? No.

  “Where’s Roxanne?”

  “Not here.”

  “Are you asking me to be a mother?”

  “Not if you choose not to be.”

  I stare at the ridiculous fountain with all its renaissance over the top decoration, trying to gauge what I want out of this conversation. Maybe I should just stick a teaspoon in his arse and be done with it. That might rid me of my mood.

  “This fountain is horrendous.”

  “It is Minerva, and you are not equipped to understand its merits.”

  What the actual fuck? I swing to him so quickly he barely has a chance to stop smiling before my palm reverberates off his cheek.

  “I might love you, but don’t push your bloody luck. As if last night wasn’t bad enough, now you’re having a go at my mental aptitude? Honestly, you need some serious advice on how to deal with women, me especially.”

  “But you shine brightest in your displeasure, my love. And you bite so very easily,” he replies, rubbing the side of his face and threatening a brow at me that could have me fucking him on the spot if my insides weren’t so sore. “And the sensations you deliver when angered are most rewarding. I am quite hard, hmm?” My eyes swing to his groin, which he flexes at me. God, he’s strange.

  I blow out a breath and continue walking without his help. Regardless of my crippling insides, it is quite beautiful here. The sun’s rays are warming my bones, the view is to die for, and the grounds seem to go on endlessly, wrapping themselves around the house like some kind of protective armour. I didn’t see it all last night as we came up the drive. Obviously, I did a little meandering around, haunted by the magical fairytale of it all, but this? This is magnificent now that I can actually see it clearly. There are fields and fields stretched before us with not anther building in sight. Many small wooded areas appear to give a barrier along the left side of us, and there is the lake on the right, still as tranquil as a millpond and relaxing gracefully beneath the house. It feels confined here in a pleasant way, as if the world outside doesn’t exist. Only the towers of Rome over the other side of the water let me know civilisation is not far away.

  “Are we safe to take her into Rome? Is there a plan with regard to Jon?” I say quietly, flicking my eyes to his and watching his brow furrow. “What do you think is going to happen?” Because I do want to go. I’d love to, but not if it puts Claire at risk.

  He swings himself around to look at Claire behind us as she squeals at something, smiling as he does, then walks backwards a few steps to continue watching her rather than me.

  “It is under control. Jon is not in the country yet, but he is coming for me, no doubt. You are correct in your assumptions.”

  “Why? What did you do?” I ask, continuing onwards and watching his face for untruths.

  “I am unsure as yet.” My feet stop instantly. There’s suddenly too much clarity in his voice, losing all his honesty as he clips the response at me.

  “No you’re not. You’re lying to me. I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your tone.” I skim my eyes over his frame again, noticing all the tension that only I see, perhaps Alexander, too. “Please, just be honest about this. She’s your daughter, Pascal. I need the truth.”

  “Always the mind thief, hmm?”

  “Is it the thing you’re ashamed of?” He stares for moment then flicks his gaze back to Claire as she comes hurtling past us towards the rose bushes and he turns to keep walking after her. I catch up and stay silent, just waiting for him to respond as I cross my arms and look out towards Rome.

  “The story I told you of Helena? Andreas deserved to die, do you not think?”

  Deserved to? I’m not sure if I can agree with that, but the planet is probably better off without a rapist roaming the streets, I suppose. I don’t look at him as he ambles beside me, pointing over towards Claire and nodding.

  “We should do much to protect those we care for, hmm?” Well, yes, but murder is still murder and he didn’t care for Helena, not in the way he’s attempting to tell me he does for Claire, anyway. “I did not find out until sometime later that Andreas was a part of Jon’s family. A distant relative. It has come to haunt me now, it seems.”

  “So you think Jon’s coming to kill you?” He snorts in derision.

  “Not. Jon is unlike Alexander. His nature is based in destroying and humiliating, not in the execution, hmm? He is after my wealth and my daughter. He will try to break me using Claire. He trades in abominable kinks into which, I can only assume, he intends to drive Claire.”

  “Are you talking about paedophilia?” I snap out in shock, immediately slamming my hand over my mouth and searching for Claire. Shit. Thankfully, she’s still bouncing around without a care in the world, seemingly happy regardless of Roxanne not being here. He doesn’t answer me as he reaches for my elbow and continues walking so we can keep up with her.

  “She must be protected at all costs, Lilah. It is why I have bro
ught her here. Why I sent you after her. Jon will know of her location only when I am ready.”

  “But how do you... I mean, how can you defeat that? You should go to the police about this. He can be brought to justice for things like that.” I’m still staring in shock that anyone would commit such horrific crimes against children. A shiver crosses my body as I remember him touching me, and then anger fuels through me, appalled that I even allowed the man to hold Claire’s hand when I saw them on the plane. “Is he one of them? Does he touch them? Oh my God, I feel sick. He touched her, Pascal. I watched him touch her. Why didn’t you tell me on the phone at the airport so I could have snatched her away?”

  “I could not risk the safety of either of you in that moment. He himself is not involved in such things, my love. He simply trades,” he says, still calmly talking as if this is a legitimate conversation. Trades? TRADES? What an arsehole. He makes it sound like its normal business practice. I sneer at him, shrugging my arm from his hand and backing away a few steps to glower at his calm discussion.

  “You’re fucking insane,” I seethe out, suddenly disgusted with the shell of perfection in front of me. “How many other children, hey? How many has he done this to? And you knew? How long have you known? Christ, I thought human trafficking was bad enough, but this? You have allowed this. YOU.

  You could have done something about this. Saved children from God knows what. Instead, you…”

  He hangs his head, pocketing his hands, rightly fucking so. I back another step away, all the time watching him and then Claire.

  “You allow it. Did you bury your head in the sand? Is it just another kink that some people need? Perhaps you should tutor in that art, too, you sick fucking–”