Serenity's Key: VDB 3 (The VDB Trilogy)

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Shame.” Arguing with another woman today is not something I’m prepared to do. I need a drink and to sit down. I was hoping for some snuggling with the man I love, perhaps finding out that last bit of information. Now, it seems, I’m going to have to explain myself to her, which I’m not particularly excited about.

  I walk past her towards the lounge, hoping to avoid the conversation. I don’t know what to say about leaving her at the hospital with Pascal. I don’t even know if she knows the truth about what really happened, or if she knows about my training. Alexander asked me not to tell her, so I won’t be answering any questions. That’s his job. She should go dig out her truths closer to home.

  “He nearly died, you know?” she calls behind me.

  I know. I was there holding him as he bled onto me. I took him to the hospital. I cradled him. I watched Pascal look after her and let her think that was alright, and I collared a nurse and made her tell me he was alive before I left.

  “Didn’t you fucking care enough to stick around?”

  Bitch. My feet have swung me back around to go to her before I’ve thought clearly.

  “What?” she spits at me, hand on her hip and a fierce glower on her face. “No answers? Cat got your tongue?”

  I feel words rolling around my insides. All of them. Any of them would defend my actions, perhaps make her see this in a whole different light. But it’s not my place to say, is it? Some sense of stupid loyalty to Alexander keeps my lips clamped, even if my teeth are grinding behind them. “He helped you and you left him there to die.” I growl. I can feel it slithering its way up my throat ready to explode at her. Who the fuck does she think she is, tipping up here in my fairytale and sticking her oar in? It’s none of her business. I’m none of her business. If she wants answers, she should go ask Alexander.

  I twist my body away again and storm through the vast double doors into one of the lounges, hoping that I can remember my way back to the terrace and have at least six drinks. Drama and theatrics—as if we haven’t all had enough of them. I just want a drink and to put my feet up. I stride through the formal space, desperately searching for some comfort, and finally find my way into the lounge where Ruebin and Thomas were before, only to be confronted by Alexander’s sleeping form by the fire. He, too, halts me in my tracks, almost skids me to a stop, actually. He’s here. Alive and breathing. The sigh that leaves me is immediate as I gaze at his frame filling the couch and control the need to go and touch him, to make sure he’s real.

  “He’s not well enough to be here,” she seethes in my ear, rounding me and backing her body up to him until she’s blocking my view. “Not that you give a shit.” Her stare at me is vengeful. I’ve never seen her so angry. This is definitely the feisty Beth she told me about.

  “Is he okay?” I ask, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. Something’s not right with him, though He’s the wrong colour, paler somehow.

  “Who are you, Lilah?” she whispers, flicking her hand in my direction and stepping back towards him. “You arrive in our lives and tell me you can handle the divorce, then suddenly you’re in love with Pascal, and then you’re out drinking with Alex. You were hired for a job, Lilah. That’s it. Not to fuck every man who got in your way,” she continues, snarling quietly, presumably so that she doesn’t wake Alexander.

  My brow rises at her, checking my mouth in the same moment. Much more of this shit and it’s all going to be out in the open.

  “Look at you. Why the hell are you even here? And why do you keep staring at Alex? You should just fucking leave and get out of our lives. You have no fucking right to be here.”

  “Now, wait a fucking minute…” She steps forward into me, her finger pointing and her wide lips showing anything but a smile.

  “No, there’s the door. Leave before you get one of them hurt again.” Me? My responding snarl knows no bounds. Fuck her. I didn’t hurt anyone. It was Pascal, not me. I lift my chin at her, daring her to keep going while trying to call off the need to slap her for her stupidity. “I welcomed you and told you that as long as you weren’t here to mess with either of them, you could stay. Fuck, I even got Alex to give you a flat. Now look at him, because of you.”

  I’m barely containing my anger now. The fire is lighting in my stomach inch by inch, revving itself up and desperate to ignite.

  “And why the hell are we in Italy?” she spits, looking around the space and throwing her hands around. “I know nothing about this place. Everything was fine before you came along. Things were fine. You’re ruining all of it.”

  I can’t listen to this anymore. If I do, it’s not going to end well. My glare at her viciousness is more than obvious, as she stands there elegantly in her white skirt and top. I’ll damn well launch everything at her in a minute if I don’t leave. Innocent she most certainly isn’t, and feisty Beth is going to meet pissed off Lilah any fucking second now if she tries one more dig. I ball my fists and turn to leave the room for the terrace, hoping to hell she doesn’t follow me out there. I can hardly hold in the need to defend myself. I’m tired, cranky, and hungry, and she’s so far off the mark it’s unbelievable.

  I suck in rapid breaths as I reach the cool night air again, hoping sanity holds and I can keep the information in my head where it should stay. At this precise moment, though, the value of my loyalty to either of them is rapidly depreciating. Did she call me a whore?

  I stomp over to the wall and brace myself against it, looking out over the lake and attempting to calm myself down, all the time trying to consider my options and tell myself I’m doing the right thing. What the hell will happen if she finds out the truth? Maybe it would be the best thing for all of us. Those two together, and us two together. Separately. Then none of us would have to deal with this weird hierarchy. Even Pascal doesn’t understand it, does he? He said that this afternoon.

  “He appears to have made decisions without me.”

  Well, no fuckers have asked for my opinion. I flick my eyes back to the lounge window, thinking about what decision Alexander could have made. He has no right to make decisions that involve me, regardless of the connection he has with Pascal. And there’s no way in hell Beth does. I’ll throw her over this cliff before she attempts to tell me what to do again. Leave? Fuck her. I’ll leave if I want to, not when she tells me to. I have neither the desire nor the need to tell her why I’m here or what my relationship with Pascal is. It’s none of her concern. I don’t have to claim Pascal in any way. He’ll make his own choice. He is making his own choice. In fact, he’s probably already made it. He’s the one asking me to stay. I’m not begging, which I daresay she does constantly, regardless of that ferocity she’s attempting. Pointing her finger in my face? Ha. She’s damn lucky I didn’t rip the fucking thing off her hand.

  I pull in another breath and turn back to the twinkling lights of Rome that are beginning to emerge as the sun sets, wondering how such a nice day could have ended up so badly. Now I’m tense, wound up, irritated and could very well beat Pascal for relief. I catch the thought in my head and scowl at it, the lights of Rome blurring as I do. It’s the first time I’ve really felt it, like an itch that’s desperate to be scratched. I can smell him, feel his body beneath my fingers, sense his breathing, and hear his pulse inside my head. It’s as if I’m inside him.

  I lift my fingers to look at them, searching for the reason I can feel him in my hand. There’s nothing there, clearly, but those moments of ours have nothing on this sensation. It’s binding in a way I’ve never felt before. It doesn’t matter that he’s not beside me. He could be in a different country and I’d still feel this. It crawls inside me, overwhelming any other noise or stimuli. It’s as if our blood is running into one vein somehow. I stare down at my skin again, wondering how it’s happening.

  “She’s sleeping,” Pascal murmurs behind me as his arms close around my waist. I turn in his embrace immediately, not letting any other thought enter my head but him. I want him. Now. Right now. No talk, no communi
cation but what is running through me. My lips close over his and before I know it, I’m drowning in him, sucking him into me and not giving a damn who might walk onto the terrace. It won’t be Claire, and she’s the only one I give a shit about.

  I shift in his hold, hitching my dress up and not removing my mouth from his once as I position myself back against the wall. I want him inside me. Now. It’s all I can think about as I tug at his belt and let his mouth dance with mine. His teeth begin nipping, biting, only heightening this feeling of belonging. There’s nothing else here but him and me. Fuck, he tastes good. All for me. My muscles twist in his fingers as he grips at me and grabs at my thigh, wrapping it around him as I finally release his belt. My own hand grabs at his cock without any thought for pleasure. Mine, that’s it, and I want it in me.

  “Greedy,” he says. My teeth sink into his lip to shut him up. Less fucking talking. None, preferably. Just fucking. He sweeps my dress from between us, inching his hand under my arse and lifting me higher. Better, perfect for guiding that cock exactly where I want it. I pull back to look at him as I hover over it then drag it around my clit, desperate but needing to watch him as he forges in. There’s no smile, no amusement. He seems as focused as I am, linking us and leaving everyone else in the world behind. Damn fucking right. This is us, right here. My fingers reach for his shirt, taking little care and ripping the buttons off and tearing the fabric as I yank at it to expose his chest. His cock grates beneath me as I slide the linen from his shoulders, dragging it along the muscles and feeling his blood pumping within them.

  The heat of him pulses through my fingers in time with the throb inside of me. Two hearts beating perfectly together. It’s animalistic, primal. It’s all about us as my hands land on his backside and drive him towards me. Everything stops as he slowly opens me and pushes inside. My vision blurs and thought evaporates. All there is is the torturous and yet consuming feeling of his cock filling me. My breathing stops, my lips hovering open as he looms above me, his face stern, beautiful, and as desperate as mine until he finally seats himself. I tip my head away from him, sighing out in relief at the closeness, the bond, the very depth of him buried inside where he belongs. He lifts me, shrugging me into his hold and angling me away from him, only to pull back and then shove back in. I open my eyes to see those consuming green eyes, dark and dirty, just the way I love them as he pants and shoves in again. Yes, fuck me. He can fuck me forever and I’ll never forget it. No one will ever match the sensation he gives me, or the sense of need.

  I grasp his hair, feeling the coarseness of it blending with my fingers as I tug at it. He groans and tips his head into the movement, shifting my weight for better leverage, and dumping me back against the wall. And there we stay, fucking and growling at each other. Moaning and shouting our desperation into the air as I come for the first time, not caring who hears or when it’ll end. I’ll stay here doing this for eternity, give him everything if he gives me the same in return. He bellows as my nails shred his skin, opening wounds that have yet to fully heal—wounds I put there. His cry does nothing but spur me on to do it again, knowing he needs it and that I can give it to him. Paradise lives here. Fucking, grinding. Sounds of sin ringing in the night air and a dark lust playing havoc with the moon’s rising light. All mine. Nothing between us. No interference. Our minds together, our bodies joined and dwelling in whatever we create for each other. Pain, hurt, pleasure. Pure and true versions of need that few in this world understand. He’s given me that, shown it to me. My nails scratch again, as his chest folds into me and scoops me towards him, causing me to nudge his face to mine.

  Spit drips as our teeth clash again and I feel the sweat running down his spine. I trace my hands in it, smearing it into the wounds and wetting them, knowing the blood will be under my fingernails and welcoming the thought. If he wants it, I’ll give it to him, and not only because of his need, but because of mine, too. I know that as I tighten my thighs around him and wait for the next orgasm to take hold of me. It beats inside as if he’s the only provider of my pleasure. It hovers constantly as I grip and let him manhandle me, increasing his thrusts until there’s barely any thought left, just feral shoving and aggressive drives into a battered hole of need.

  “Ik hou van jou,” he growls into my ear as I link my arms around his shoulders and let the orgasm begin. I know what it means. I love you. It’s the only thing either of us could say in the middle of this. Love. Our love.

  The feeling pounds through me as I feel my shivers start and his cock swelling. It tears across me in waves just as it always does, ridding me of anything but synchronicity. Our hearts no longer need to collide or argue; they simply join without care for the result as his hands pull me closer into him and my cheek rests against his. His thrusts become deeper until we’re barely moving, just inching backward and forward, clinging onto each other and smothering each other in those final few seconds of connection before he comes. And then we’re there. I feel it rising through him, triggering my own release and making me wind my fingers into his hair tightly to hold him in place. Nothing else will come into this moment but us. I close my eyes and let his come wash into me, filling me with every dream I’ve ever had and offering whatever fucking fairytale this is. It’s our love, our fucking moment.

  His groans and retreating panting hold us together for ages as I let the last ebbs of my orgasm settle down and relax my legs from his waist. He instantly braces his hands on the wall and shoves himself into me again, causing a small amount of pain, and making my eyes pop open in surprise as I chuckle. It’s only when I regain some sort of focus that I notice Beth standing in the window, secretly watching us, nibbling at her thumb. I just stare at her in response, not the slightest bit concerned that she saw, then let my hands drag down his back again, roughly scratching his skin and feeling his chuckle at the pain.

  “I still love you,” I say into his neck, watching the slight sneer develop on her face as she turns from the window and disappears back into the house. Good. She can fuck off. Perhaps she understands now that I am not going away anytime soon. Bitch. She should check her fucking facts.

  “Mmm.” He licks his way up my neck and shoves in again, harder if possible. “Your cunt is on fire, my love.”

  Stylishly put. I laugh into his neck and nuzzle my face into his shoulder, feeling completely whole and absolutely satisfied, regardless of voyeuristic interruptions. What more could I ask of him? It’s his way of giving a compliment. Our way of loving each other.

  I pull in more slow breaths, revelling in the closeness and letting all other concerns drift away. There’s nothing here to worry about. Only the thing he won’t tell me about, but it’ll come. We’ll make it come, together.

  “Beth watched us,” I muse aloud, not that bothered, simply letting him know. There will be no secrets between us, nothing to get in the way. He chuckles again and pulls back to look at me.

  “He is a deviant bastard, no?”

  Who? My confusion must be written on my face because he chuckles again and brushes some hair behind my ear, now gently rocking back and forth. “Her voice was heard by most of the house, my love. Do you believe Alexander did not hear it?” I still don’t understand what he’s talking about.

  He smirks at me, then lifts me into his grasp, so I lock my legs around him again and grab onto his neck.

  “When one wishes to express a point, the deliverance can be more eloquent when not spoken, but shown, hmm?” Oh. OH.

  “You mean you think he made her look?” I’m not sure that’s healthy, but then, this whole thing is odd, I suppose. He nods and walks us straight back towards the lounge, seemingly not giving a damn that we’re still connected and my dress is less than elegantly placed. I let go of him with one hand and wrench at the hem, hoping to at least cover some of my modesty, which causes yet another raucous chuckle of hilarity as he turns into the doorway. “You should consider that it may not have been Elizabeth only, hmm?” Fuck. He wouldn’t have, would he? I swing my
eyes to the sofa to make sure he’s not there. He is, and his dancing blue eyes and amused expression as he swigs at some brown liqueur then tips the glass at me do not give me the feeling that he sat the viewing out.

  Chapter 14

  We didn’t see them again last night. We went straight past them both and up to our room, where we fucked again like savage animals. I don’t know how my crotch is putting up with the hammering it’s getting, but at least the morning bath I had as I gazed out at the view went some way to helping it recover. Or it would have done if I hadn’t had some idiot glancing through the window at me from the cliff. He was holding a gun and touching his ear. It was worrying, and I scrambled from the bath to search for Claire, worried that Jon had arrived to take her away. It wasn’t until I eventually made it back into the bedroom that I found a note explaining about sentries. Four of them apparently, dotted about the property for protection.

  Now I’m watching Beth running around with Claire, strangely consumed by the way her body moves as I keep looking around for the other sentries. I can’t find two of them, only the one on the cliff and another down by the lake. I can only assume they’re behind the house somewhere, or inside it maybe. My eyes wander back to Beth again. Every part of her oozes refinement and sophistication. Her limbs seem to move effortlessly, propelling her forward as she catches a ball that Claire has thrown in completely the wrong direction. She’s wearing cut-off jeans and converse, not a scrap of make-up, and yet she looks like she’s just stepped off of a fashion shoot somewhere. It’s disturbing that my crotch is having a reaction to her. I don’t want to touch her. It’s just that she’s simply stunning. Anyone would want her. There isn’t a thing wrong with any part of her. Beautiful hair, beautiful lips, her cheeks have a glow about them that’s only achievable naturally, and her fucking legs are endless as she leaps about and plays at beautiful mother. I’m slightly jealous. I’m not even sure what of, but I am. It’s irritating.