“You speak Italian?” Claire says, her eyes wide and her backside fidgeting around the chair.
“Mmm. And this was naughty,” I reply, picking up another thing from the floor and putting it on the table. “Where are your manners, Claire? Look at the state of the room.”
“You speak Italian?” Beth says. Didn’t I just answer that? I stare at her, irritated at her stupidity. “I don’t, but I’d like to.” Would she really? Well, she should start being a bit nicer then. Perhaps I could teach her. “They both speak in Italian when they don’t want me to know something, that or German. Does Pascal know you speak it?”
I bet they do. It’s called minding your own business, probably for the good of your own health given the pair of them. I smirk at the thought then go to sit at the table, too, brushing off my hands as I do.
“Sort of. I’ve never spoken to him in it, though. I think he thinks I understand it a bit.
“Cioccolato o al limone?” Angela calls from around the corner.
“Chocolate,” both Claire and Beth shout out in reply. Seems everyone understands chocolate in any language. I smile at the pair of them as they snicker again, Claire’s mouth opening so wide I think she might bite her tongue off as she shakes with more giggles.
“Would you teach me?” Beth asks quietly as Claire slips off the chair and runs away to the larder.
“I live in New York, Beth. And you in the UK most of the time from what I can gather. I doubt teaching you Italian is going to work across continents.”
“Oh, but I thought with you being here that…” Did she? I continue to gaze at her confusion. Good. Perhaps now she’ll realise that nothing here is set in stone. Even I haven’t made a decision on what’s happening yet. “You mean, you’re not staying in Europe with him?”
I lean back in my chair, remembering his hold on me last night, still feeling the grip of his fingers and the way his breath blew out onto my skin as I rode his cock. I can still hear his words penetrating me: I love you. Those words of his will never leave me. They’ll linger and remind me constantly of what we are together. There will never be another like him, will there?
“Regardless of where I am, Beth, I will always be with him. It’s ingrained in me now, as he says. But that doesn’t mean I’ve made decisions on where I’m living. I have a job in New York to get back to, a flat to find, and a life to build.”
“You don’t want a life with him? If you know he loves you, why would you leave?”
Claire comes speeding back into the room as I’m about to answer, a huge tub of chocolate ice cream resting on her chest as she clomps her way to the table.
“Look at the size of it,” she says, dumping it and sending it tumbling into the middle of the old wooden surface. “We’re going to feel really, really sick after this.”
I stare at Beth across the table, wondering how she could possibly understand the kind of relationship Pascal and I are beginning. There is no Dominant and submissive, no rules, no kneeling and begging. There is only need—pure, unadulterated need. I can’t, for the life of me, explain this to someone who lives within such a precise set of rules. How would she know?
“That is a lot of chocolate,” she says, dragging the tub towards her and grabbing at the big spoon as Angela puts some bowls in the middle of the table. “Should we use a fork?”
“No, silly. You can’t use a fork with ice cream,” Claire says, giggling and finally taking a seat.
The ice cream is spooned into bowls that are a little large for a five-year-old, but hey, it’s girls and their chocolate, I suppose. Angela returns with chocolate syrup, only adding to the calorific content. I suck in the need to explain this to the pair of them as they begin tucking in, opting not to worry about their health given the absolute beauty that is Beth and the fact that Claire’s tiny anyway. Instead, I continue trying to work out the answer to her question as I push the ice cream around the bowl. Not that I need to discuss it with her… I’d just like her to understand in some way so that she can back off and leave me alone. Claire suddenly picks up her bowl and walks away from the table, spoon in hand and chocolate all over her face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask, trying for decorum and presuming Pascal will not enjoy her wandering around with food.
“Into the lounge. Mama says it’s okay. It’s okay, isn’t it? Poptopular’s on here, in Italian.” I have no response for that, or any clue what Poptopular is.
“Ooh, has Poppy Topstocks made it out of the dangerous cave okay?” Beth asks. I stare back at her again. What?
“I think so, but it’s Italian so I don’t know for sure.” Claire’s voice disappears around the corner. What the hell was that about? I raise a brow, hoping for enlightenment. She looks down at her ice cream again and picks at it.
“No clue, just saw an advert the other day on television. It’s some kid’s thing, all the rage, apparently. You can get dolls and figures, games and all sorts of things. One mum said it was the most…” My brow is still raised. What the fuck is she talking about? Bored by the thought, I watch her mouth moving, still trying to think of the answer to her original question but all the time keeping one ear on the sound of Claire’s humming.
“I’m not like you, Beth. We’re not like you and Alexander.” That shuts her up. She closes her rambling mouth around the spoon she’s holding and looks up at my interruption. I drop my spoon into the bowl and push the whole thing away. “We never will be. Do you get that? I don’t come running at the drop of a hat, and I certainly won’t put up with anything less than exactly what I want from him. You know him well enough, Beth, I’m sure, but not like I do. If you did, you’d understand why we’re so different from you. We have to be.” She slowly sucks the ice cream off and draws the spoon out of her mouth, licking her lips and then delving it back into the bowl again.
“I just want him happy, Lilah. I want everyone happy. He’s important to me.”
“Because of him, or because of Alexander?” She snorts quietly, laughing to herself about something and then dropping her spoon, too. Her fingers wind in her hair as she leans back and gazes across at me, irritating me more with her swanlike neck as she tilts her head at me.
“I was nearly with him once. Alex and I broke up and I thought…” She trails off, still twirling her hair. “No, that doesn’t matter. I just... I realised that he was too harsh for me, unbelievably. Maybe harsh is the wrong word. Alex came for me again anyway, but something just wasn’t quite right between us. It needed Alex to make it alright. I suppose you’re right in that we all need something different. But he needs love, Lilah. He does. He pretends he doesn’t, but…”
“Don’t presume to tell me what he needs. You’re not the one here who’s hurt him because he craves it. You’re also not the one who rips at his skin, and you’re definitely not the one who he fucked on the terrace last night, telling you how he loved you as he did.”
What Pascal needs is for me to understand, and me alone. Alexander maybe, I suppose. But not her. Nice she might be, but I will not have her telling me what my relationship needs. She looks up in shock at my tone, attempting to scowl to stop the flow of rambling. “Do I tell you what Alexander needs? Should I? Would you like it if I wanted to delve into your love life?”
“No, Lilah. I didn’t mean that. I was just trying to–” Yes, she fucking did.
“You were attempting to tell me what I should and should not do,” I cut in, standing and pushing my chair back.
This is finishing now. There will be no more interruptions or words of wisdom from her. No more butting in or telling me how it should be. And there will be absolutely no more games or fucking about with the facts.
“Your idea of happiness and contentment are different to mine, and to his. Some of us find the restriction too binding for comfort. Some of us are less inclined to dive down to the floor at every given opportunity and submit.” I lower my voice to a hissed whisper, hoping that Claire’s TV programme is loud enough to drown
out the noise. “And some of us will not fucking listen to the chaotic ramblings of someone who has no damned idea what happens in someone else’s relationship. You do not know him, or me. You know only what he allows you to see, as does nearly every other person on the planet. You will keep your head in your own relationship and stay the hell out of mine. As and when I think you can comprehend the merits of two dominant beings fucking, and the clash of wills that occurs in that moment, then and only then, Beth, will we talk about it again. I suggest you talk to Alexander about how this all started and where it might end. He clearly knows far more than you possibly ever will.”
There. Done. No more. I suck air in and raise my chin higher, waiting for whatever comeback she might have. Nothing happens. She just nods her head a little and watches me closely. Good. I turn and walk away from the moment without any further thought on the matter. Anything else from her mouth and I’m dealing with Alexander instead. Frankly, he makes more sense.
Chapter 15
Sitting by the Vatican watching the nuns in their habits scuttling by was not as thought-provoking as it normally was. They seemed dulled by something, dominated perhaps by the eternal shadow that was Lilah James. He inclined his head at a particularly innocent looking one, noticing the way it scurried across the plaza, clutching its bible and beads. Why was his cock not enamoured anymore? It was most displeasing.
“You’ve probably fucked it already,” Alexander said, folding his paper and reaching for his espresso. It was likely true, but it was still vexing.
“My cock is becoming disinterested in other ventures. It is disconcerting.”
“It’s called love, Pascal.” He snorted at the man, amused by the consideration.
“But one’s cock does not deflate simply because of an emotion of the heart. Do you think it’s my age? Perhaps I should try triple dosing Viagra medication.” A young priest sitting across from them looked across at the comment, moronically frowning and tutting to himself. He licked his lips at the fool, clacking his teeth to follow up such an interruption.
“I’m pretty certain you are the last person on the planet who needs help in that area.” Hmm.
He stood from the chair and wandered into the main plaza, wondering if perhaps the smell of the it still scurrying away would stimulate inspiration.
“What are you doing?” Alexander called.
“Hunting,” he replied, as he threw his arms wide and turned to gaze at the only God in the area. “You remember such activities, no?” He would hunt such a vision eternally, viciously and with acute intent.
Alexander lounged more comfortably than he had ever done before, his body seemingly completely relaxed in peaceful tranquillity. Was that what love did? Did it take away the fury entirely? He was perplexed with the thought, regardless of the fact that he had spent many years trying to help the man achieve just that.
“Why do you not hunt with me anymore? It is becoming intolerably lacklustre.” The man smirked at him, levering himself up slowly and walking to join him.
“What would you like to hunt for?”
“Something fuckable,” he snapped, smacking the ass of a nearby habit wearing thing. She jumped and squealed, spinning herself to face him and opening her mouth. His cock jumped, too. It seemed it wasn’t completely deflated when an unwilling set of lips was offering itself for use.
“Why?”
He turned from the pretty little thing to look at the man instead. “What?”
“Why?”
He stared at the fool. What a ridiculous question. Because it was necessary, that was why. “Have you turned dull?”
“The sport is just not as appealing as it used to be.”
“Did my cane do permanent damage?”
The air very nearly stilled, as did all sound as Alexander’s frown descended to take all humour from the moment. He took a small step backwards to avoid any form of incoming retaliation, which may well still be coming at some point.
“We haven’t discussed that yet,” the man said, taking a step forward to close the distance between them again. “Where do you think would be the best place to do so?”
He didn’t have an answer for that, so he looked at the floor hoping to appear remorseful. He was not entirely sure he wanted to discuss it at all, let alone feel the ramifications of such things. His skin was reasonably well bruised as it was, though he was in need of punishment for it.
“Should you beg for forgiveness, or be beaten?” He narrowed his eyes at the man. What was he up to? “Here’s good, I think.”
“I am unsure of your request.”
“You still remember your prayers, presumably.”
“What?” The man stopped an old passing priest and wandered off a little, muttering something to him quietly. The priest returned his gaze with a smile, nodded and offered his rosary beads and Bible, which Alexander took before walking back towards him. There could not have been a more incongruous image in history.
“Here, on your knees,” Alexander said, pointing at the spot beneath his feet with another unwanted smirk and holding out the offending items. “I’ll pray with you.”
He could have slapped the man for the absurdity, enough so that he nearly leapt away from the thought, hissing noises leaving his throat as he did.
“You cannot possibly imagine that–”
“Now, Pascal. In Latin. Any prayer of repentance will do.”
It was not possible that he meant it. He glared at the man, unable to find better communication than that. A beating in front of the whole damn place would be more acceptable than the thought of prayer. Alexander simply raised a brow, continuing to smirk and checking his watch as he thrust the damn things at him again.
“You disgust me with this,” Pascal snapped, still backing away.
“Mmm. Down you go. The priest is busy and only has a few minutes to spare.”
He snarled again, looking around the area, and irritating himself yet further with the image of being on his knees, here, with all these inbreds and hypocrites to gaze at him. Nothing could be more humiliating than having to do this as he took the Bible and beads, which the bastard knew. His own hatred of prayer, of religion in its entirety, had been discussed many times. The bastard had always seemed disinterested, which he had assumed was because of the man’s own lack of religion, but now it was apparent he’d simply been storing the information away for later use.
“Down.”
He shivered at the tone filled with venom as Alexander’s smirk turned into a sneer.
He flattened his face and nodded, undoing his jacket and hitching his trousers to lower himself to the ground, purposefully not facing the basilica behind him. No, if he had to pray he would do it to the only man who mattered, the one standing in front of him. The one who, even now in this preposterous situation, he would still die for should the man choose it.
Repentance. It was an odd concept to most, he mused, let alone to someone who refused to acknowledge any form of regret for anything. He looked up at Alexander one last time, noticing the slightly blackened area around his temple and grinding his own knees into the ground at the thought. Repentance for this he would give. In fact, he would beg for it if asked.
The words flowed from him from memory alone as he looked at Alexander’s shoes and mouthed his way around them. Too many times had he said these words beneath another man, his headmaster. Over and over again, he would kneel as the strikes rained down on him. Repent, absolution, God delivering blessed wisdom. The sting of the whip still lingered, even now, regardless of the man now towering over him. First blood drawn from the hands of a true sadist. Hours of healing. More hours of trying to hide the marks. He could smell the air in the headmaster’s office as he chanted out more words, could feel himself deepening further and further into the hands of that original devil. At one point, as the Latin kept coming effortlessly, he felt something tap his chin and looked up to find Alexander staring at him, ice cold eyes delivering nothing but a small offering of acceptance.
Perhaps this would be enough to heal the rift he had created between them, draw them back together in some manner. Alexander may have come to help, but that did not mean he was happy about the situation, regardless of the way he had held his body close on that bed in the hospital.
“Hostern repellas ingious, pacemaque dones protinus.”
Far from us, drive the foe we dread and grant us thy peace instead.
Peace. He understood Alexander’s quest for such a thing with more clarity than he ever had before. He could feel the sensation inside himself now. He had known of it, known how to help the man achieve it, but never before had he required it himself. Not with the sense of urgency swimming through his veins at this point in his life. He’d never craved such a thing, never hunted for it. Brief seconds with Alexander, maybe. Times when they had been together, just the two of them. Never sexually. Not even when they were with some woman. The moments had always been simply sitting together, discussing life, understanding one another.
“Per te scaiamus da patrem.”
Thy grace on us bestow.
Grace. Humbled and apologetic beneath such divinity. The man spread warmth from those icy eyes of his. Even now he could feel the sensation of Rome’s winter sun beating his back to mimic the strikes he would still receive. He might be apologising but he was not forgiven, not until the true punishment came. Rightly so.
“In nomine Patris et Filli et Spritus Sancti. Amen.”
He crossed the rosary over himself, kissing the fucking thing and then dangling it from his fingers in the hope that someone would take the thing away before it burnt him. Vampiric indeed. He could feel the damn thing causing shivers of disgust to crawl across him, self-disgust. It was not a welcome impression at all. Perhaps if he kicked the Bible over towards the old priest who hovered nearby, he could rid himself of the horrendous stench encroaching on his nostrils.
“Grace? I’m not sure you deserve grace yet,” Alexander said, chuckling and taking the Bible and beads from him to walk away. He raised his knee, ready to get up now that the task was complete. “Stay there,” Alexander called back. He nodded and turned his head to see what appeared to be a growing gaggle of people. Infuriated with the lot of them, he snarled at one or two, hoping this would make them disperse. It did not. One even had the gall to step closer with a look of sympathy etched into her face, offering herself like a lamb to the slaughter. He smiled at the woman, tempting her further in. Perhaps he could fuck her on the floor and give the crowd something more interesting to watch. Or he could drive his fingers into her moronic mouth until she dared not breathe for fear of death.
Serenity's Key: VDB 3 (The VDB Trilogy) Page 23