Seeing White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Just stay still a while longer,” he says, rubbing his groin lazily and kissing my shoulders, thumb rubbing back and forth across the skin on my wrist. “I just want to feel you some more.”

  I wind my fingers into his messy hair and gently stroke the back of his neck while I let my own breathing calm. That was the most amazing orgasm of my life and I’m very happy to stay still longer. Maybe I can try regaining my own balance and composure while enjoying my dull throbbing core. I can also try to not think about the fact that I’ve done what I’ve done and why the hell I’ve enjoyed the physical assault of it quite as much as I have. I’ve never been one for rough before, and that was definitely rough. Very rough.

  “That was by far the most provocative thing I have ever been a part of. You are captivating to say the least, Miss Scott,” he exclaims into my neck, still kissing me and letting his tongue roll around my collarbone.

  “Mmm,” I reply languidly. I can’t speak. What could I say? Who cares.

  I reach down to stroke his leg with my hand and move it towards his groin, wanting to reciprocate this whatever it is. He instantly releases my wrist and grabs at my hand to stop me, gently bringing it to his mouth. He kisses and sucks each finger while bringing his eyes to meet mine. They’re soft again and relaxed, but still oh so piercing. The other firmer man has gone but I can’t help wondering when he’ll return.

  “No, Elizabeth, this has been yours and yours alone. While I’ve enjoyed your arousal and pleasure, another time will be mine,” he says, a soothing voice coming from his lips as if calming a wild horse. “You’re not ready for me.” What the hell does that mean? Not ready? I am very ready I’ll have you know. In fact, did I not just make that plainly obvious to him?

  Feeling a little confused and irritated by his belittling dismissal, and more than a little embarrassed, I make a move to extricate myself from his arms. He takes a step back and gives me some room, looking at me with a raised brow as I shove my dress down. I make to quickly leave the room - to where, I don’t know, but I’m suddenly feeling ridiculous and uncomfortable again.

  “Elizabeth, where are you going?” he asks calmly as I turn to the door.

  I don’t hesitate. “Home. I think it’s probably best,” I clip as I continue walking.

  “Why would you want to leave? Haven’t you enjoyed yourself?” he asks, obviously confused.

  Good. So am I.

  I feel myself swing round to face him before I even think about it. I’m angry, or maybe it’s frustrated at his patronising tone. Either way I can’t seem to avoid the words that are forming.

  “You… You do that to me, and then you dismiss the moment and tell me I’m not ready? I... I can’t believe I did that. I’m just so… So ...” Furious, embarrassed, overwhelmed.

  He’s smirking at me again, standing there in all his beautiful glory, arms crossed on his chest as he casually leans against the shelves, the same shelves he just had me against. I turn and start to leave again, furious for unknown reasons given the best orgasm of my life.

  “Elizabeth, turn around and look at me,” he says in that demanding voice of his. I take one more step. “Now, Elizabeth. I won’t say it again and you don’t want me to lose my temper,” he scolds with a slightly more serious tone. “Or do you?” I slowly turn to face him again.

  “Good girl. Now, walk towards me and when you reach me, get down on your knees,” he says. What? This is not expected. Is he fucking serious?

  He quirks an eyebrow at me as if giving me an ultimatum. It’s apparently not an invitation, more of a direct order. I have no idea how to deal with that statement, but as I slowly walk towards him, not knowing what drives me, I try not to over think my behaviour. It seems I can’t keep myself from him. His presence is overpowering me somehow. Perhaps it’s magic or something, or maybe those pesky little fairies, or maybe just those damn eyes pulling me forward. I could just be after another one of those orgasms if I’m honest.

  “On your knees.” My knees buckle, oddly interested in the thought as I sink to the floor, still looking at him. An absurdly wicked gleam flashes across his mouth, his body kicking off the shelves as he keeps his eyes fixed on mine. “Well done,” he says, lowering himself to crouch at my level as I watch him move. “Now, I think you’ll find, Elizabeth, that you did that to yourself, using my thigh as an anchor, and the reason I said you weren’t ready for me is because of these,” he says, looking to his right. I follow his stare and there, dangling from his elegant fingers, are a pair of steel handcuffs.

  Umm, what the hell?

  “Oh,” I reply, staring at them with an open mouth. He chuckles.

  It’s really not funny.

  Chapter 11

  Elizabeth/ Alexander

  “O h,” I say again, rather stupidly, as I swing my eyes back to meet his briefly and then back at the handcuffs.

  His jaw-dropping smile is still in place. I have absolutely no words for this moment at all. I can feel him assessing my reaction, and unable to look at him, I continue to stare at the shiny steel things swinging in front of my face instead. They’re quite erotic really, hanging from his finger like that, looking all interesting and odd. Strangely enticing but abnormal in this room for some reason. Maybe they’re not - well clearly not for him anyway.

  I don’t know how much time has passed with me on my knees, just looking at them and trying to process all the things they might mean to me or to him. Handcuffs, really? Do people really do that? Something tells me this probably isn’t a mild interest for him.

  “Well, at least we know you can kneel comfortably for a while,” he states casually with that damned quirky smile of his, rising from his crouched position and gracefully walking towards his desk. He slides open a drawer and places the handcuffs inside, shoving it closed with a slam. I instantly feel oddly bereft at the loss of them, my eyes staring at the drawer. Where did he get them from, anyway? Have they been in his pocket the entire evening? And why are they now living in his desk of all places? I think my mouth is still open so I close it and try to formulate words. Not a sodding thing springs to mind.

  “Actually, I prefer rope but it all means the same thing. Do you know what it means to be submissive, Elizabeth?” he asks indifferently, as if talking to a colleague. No, absolutely not, and I don’t want to thank you very much, regardless of the rope or handcuffs that his clearly devious hands have been holding.

  “To be a servant,” I reply, starting to get up from the floor.

  It’s all I’ve got to give with my non-existent knowledge of the subject. And given my aching knees and the fact that I’m not going to continue with this kneeling thing any longer, I can’t find a better response anyway. I’m also still seriously wracking my brains as to why the hell I’ve been on my knees in the first place.

  He moves toward me quickly and offers me his hand, never removing his cool eyes from mine. Those beautiful hands suddenly look very ominous to me so I get up without his help, which earns me a very serious frown.

  “No, that’s not what it means.” He sighs. “Please, let’s go through to the lounge. I need to- No, I want to talk with you about something,” he says as he seductively brushes my arm with his finger and takes my hand in his quite possessively. Mr. Relaxed and Charming has returned, it seems. I’m not sure who he thinks he’s bloody fooling.

  “Okay,” I reply, feeling a bit unnerved but actually quite intrigued nonetheless.

  “Go on in and sit. I’ll get the wine. It’s only ten thirty and I think I need to explain myself before we go any further. If you want to, that is.” He moves off toward the kitchen, kissing my hand as he lets go of it.

  “Yes, you do,” I whisper to myself, heading towards the sofa, because seriously, what the hell is this conversation going to be like? I’ve just had the most explosive moment of my life and now he’s going to hit me with, “By the way I’m kind of perverse and I’m really not interested in anything remotely straight laced.” Fabulous. Just what I’ve always wanted
in a man.

  I hear him coming along the hall. The bottle clinking against the cut crystal glasses and the soft padding of his feet are an temptation to what’s coming around the corner. In he walks, every woman’s dream. Every time I see the man, my heart almost triples in speed. He’s spectacular, masculinity personified, that strong, toned body and those long lean legs, his face worthy of every magazine. Frankly, his mouth alone probably sends most women mad with desire. I currently know that feeling well, regardless of how much I’m trying for relaxed. Jesus, I feel like fanning myself again and it’s in this moment that I realise that whatever he’s about to say won’t stop me from wanting him, or wanting to please him. He has me, completely. He might not know that for sure himself yet, but he does. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous, though I expect most women are around him.

  Pouring the wine, he passes one to me and takes up position on the other end of the sofa facing me. He gestures for me to put my feet up onto his hands so I do.

  “Do you like your feet being rubbed?” he questions randomly.

  “Doesn’t everybody?” I reply.

  “I don’t. There are only two places I don’t like to be touched and that’s one of them,” he says with a wink.

  “Oh. Am I supposed to ask about the other one? Are you ticklish, Mr. White?” I reply inquisitively with a giggle.

  “You can if you like, and no I’m not.” He smirks and presses into the ball of my feet with precision. God, that’s good.

  “Where’s the other one?”

  “None of your business.” He beams at me and it’s glorious. I’m useless around him.

  We both laugh and it seems to ease the tension a little, albeit I still feel myself short of breath and a little anxious. It’s still ridiculous. The man’s a sodding Adonis. Who like handcuffs.

  “You’re quite the master at it, aren’t you?” I say, leaning my head onto my hand.

  “Master at what?” He looks slightly puzzled at my sudden change of subject.

  “Resolving a situation, easing a mood, changing direction to get where you want to be successfully. I watched you in the boardroom and now here. You’re a genius with your persuasive techniques.” See, Mr. White, I can be intelligent too.

  He chuckles and returns his attention to my feet.

  “It’s what I do, Elizabeth. It’s what has got me where I am now. Without it I wouldn’t have achieved all this.” He waves his hand around the room impassively. “Well, that and a good friend anyway. I’ve learnt that it is far easier to manipulate than to force. Albeit sometimes it can’t be helped, and I do enjoy doing something forcefully,” he states bluntly, a twinkle in his eyes as he takes a sip of wine.

  “Obviously,” I say, raising my eyebrow at him.

  “And there’s that humour again that I adore so much,” he replies.

  “Who’s the good friend?” I ask with a spit of jealousy twanging in me. Where did that come from?

  “Just someone who’s known me a long time, who understands the way I am.”

  I sigh. What should I say now? I take a sip of my wine and wait because whatever’s coming next, I’m sure that he’ll find a way to say it more successfully than me.

  “My world is very different to yours, Elizabeth. I’m inviting you into it, but I’m sure it is nothing like you’ve ever known,” he says, eyeing me through his lashes as he lets go of my feet and travels his hands towards my calves. “I want you to be a part of it, but I’m not sure what you’re expecting of this, of us?”

  “I’m not sure what I’m expecting. I haven’t really thought about it too much,” I blatantly lie. “What have your other girlfriends expected of it? Of you?”

  He sighs and grips my calves tighter. “There have been no other girlfriends, as you so quaintly put it, Elizabeth,” he states.

  “What, none?” I reply, clearly rather bemused at a lack of girlfriends.

  “Well, I suppose there have been a few that have lasted longer, but nothing of any significance to me in that sense,” he says, as he drinks some more wine, quite unapologetically.

  “You’re telling me that you haven’t had any serious relationships in your life, at your age?” I ask, disbelief evident in my tone.

  “No, and I’m not that old, thank you,” he scolds.

  “How old are you?” I ask, suddenly aware that I don’t even know.

  “Past thirty. That’s all you’re getting out of me,” he responds with a smirk. Okay.

  “Oh, right. You mean you haven’t been in love? At all?”

  “No, Elizabeth, and I’m in no rush to be. I am… difficult.” He stares, bold as brass. I’d say so.

  “Sounds it,” I reply, sipping my wine. “I’m not sure what it is that you want me to say. It’s not a very tempting invitation, is it?” I’m quickly starting to feel a little despondent again. “What do you want of me, Alex? A quick session as and when you feel like it without any hope of something more lasting?”

  He immediately starts rubbing my feet again soothingly, clearly recognising my irritation and tension, and as he pushes the pads of his thumbs into the balls of my feet I can’t help sighing out my pleasure. My eyes close and I lean my head back against the sofa.

  “Better?” he asks, a half laugh in his voice. Clever sodding bastard.

  “You can’t remove from my mind what you’ve just said, Alex. You still mean the same thing,” I return, my eyes still closed. Those hands are amazing. I start to imagine them all over me. Good god, he’s only rubbing my feet and I’m hot and bothered again.

  “I haven’t ever before met a woman who has been so mesmerizing to me, so enthralling that I’ve invited them into my home, let alone cooked for them.” My head shoots forward, eyes opening. “I’ve surprised myself and now I‘m not sure how to proceed.” I look at the uncertainty in his eyes. He frowns over it, looking at me watching him. “I’m very exacting in my standards and lifestyle, Elizabeth. I don’t bend to the will of others or suffer fools gladly, and I have no idea what a relationship involves. I haven’t ever wanted to know.” What on earth do I say to that? It’s plainly a lie. The man’s stunning. How could he not have had a woman here before? Although he has no reason to lie to me. I’m lost. “And I won’t take back anything I’ve said. I never do.”

  “You’ve never had a woman in your home before?” I ask, still utterly astounded by that fact.

  “Please, don’t speak yet. I’m trying to be very candid with you and tell you as much as I can so you can make an informed decision on what you want to do. I have particular preferences that you are obviously now reasonably aware of, and I have issues that make me unyielding in my behaviour. I am absolutely unworthy of any truly decent woman’s attention,” he says quietly, slightly discomfited as he watches my reaction. “I don’t want you entering into a situation where you aren’t fully aware of what you’re getting into.”

  He’s honest; I’ll give him that. I gaze back, having no idea what to say.

  “Right, so you’re saying-”

  He cuts me off as he drops my feet abruptly, stands up and paces about a bit. Remarkably, he looks a little unsure of himself and as I realise how unusual this is for him, I begin to relax back into the sofa again, smiling to myself and simply waiting for his confessions.

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. I do know that ever since I first saw you, I have wanted you, desperately. You fascinate me and I don’t want to let you go. You’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and you revolve in my thoughts constantly. The small amount of time we had in the study only furthers my appreciation, but I am not usually so...” he pauses and looks into space as if searching for the right word, “...preoccupied with a woman. I should ask you to enter into the kind of arrangement that I would normally have, but that would only serve my side and you would probably run a mile.” My brows raise at him. He scowls and paces the other way again. “So I guess I’m saying that I would like to try something different, less limiting maybe,” he says, finally stil
ling himself and putting his hands in his pockets.

  Wow, that was definitely the most flattering thing I have ever heard about myself.

  “Less limiting.” I mouth the words softly. I have no idea what the hell they mean. “Well that’s a lot for a girl to take on board. I think you will be a lot for a girl to take on board, Mr. White,” I reply with a soft sigh as I smile at him. Clearly I couldn’t have met an easy man, could I? Of course not, and I also have no idea what different means. Different to what?

  “Yes, I have no doubt I will be, Miss Scott,” he returns without any regret in his eyes, waiting for me to find something else to say. I haven’t got much. Or maybe I have.

  “Your particular preferences, as you put them… I’ve never... I mean, I haven’t ever… Do you do it often?”

  “Yes.” No expression at all. It’s not helpful.

  “Why?” Because seriously I haven’t got a clue what’s so appealing.

  He walks across to the coffee table and sits down in front of me with a lick of his very gorgeous lips, obviously sensing my interest in his proposal or version of a relationship.

  “Look, I’m not one of the nice ones, Elizabeth. I’m not a man who’ll caress my way inside you with featherlight touches and unfair promises of more. I am what I am.” His eyes scorch at me with want and unapologetic desire. “So I want you to be very aware of what I’m suggesting, because I will be aggressive with you. Those preferences of mine can be particularly forceful, quite corrupt even, and more importantly, I’ll expect you to take them from me.”

  Right, well that told me. Excellent. Confusing, though, given that he’s been an utter charmer this evening so far. Surely he means on an every now and then basis. Clearly I can appreciate the aggressive bit - well, a little, if the study’s anything to go by anyway, but what on earth does corrupt mean? This could be a very bad decision, one that my groin is currently making for me regardless of my brain’s confusion.

  “Do you expect subservience at all times? Because I don’t think…” I have no idea how to finish that, so I tuck my legs up beneath me and gaze at him. His beautiful smile comes racing back to him.