The End

by Charlotte E Hart

  “I’m completely lost,” I mutter, my head hanging as I walk away towards the kitchen, hoping that tea might help alleviate my confusion. Jesus. What a night.

  “Alana, look at me,” he says, as the office door closes. I don’t. I’m busy making tea, perhaps trying to avoid a conversation I just don’t know what to do with. I shake my head and carry on with teabags and sugar, not knowing what I’m doing as thoughts of killing filter in. “This is what I am, little dove. It’s how my mind works.” I turn slowly, pretty sure he just admitted he wants to fuck anything that moves if he chooses to and I should allow that openly, join in with him even. “All the filth is coming for you if you want it.” I hover, just staring at him as he begins to undo his shirt and walks towards me, his tongue flicking his lips as he drags the shirt over his shoulders and loosens his belt. “No hiding anymore, no refraining to tell you something in case it’s seen as sickening. Every sordid little escapism. Every touch. Everything I have, just for you. No care for your possible repulsion, or demise. ” My demise. The word sticks in my throat as I try to get it out. Death. It instantly sends me backwards, not that I’ve got anywhere to go. The countertop stops me before I get a chance for any momentum at all. “It’s all yours, Alana. I’m not fighting it anymore. I’m done fighting you.” He moves in another step, his hot breath filtering over my cheek. “I need you to love all parts of me, if that’s what you still want.”

  My hand goes up to stop his advance. I’m not sure why. Instinctual perhaps, or even fear mingling into the lust I know I have. It’s not denial. I’m not denying a damn thing. I’m what he’s turned me into and reasonably happy with that, but death? That’s my life he’s talking about. The hours of Cole explaining his life before all this come back to me, the confusion on his face bringing with it a sense of a younger version, one I need to feel.

  “Tell me something nice.” He looks quizzical. Good. He could do with not being such a smart arse all the damn time. I need more than this darkness from him. If he loves me, he can damn well show me in other ways rather than saying it. I need that from him right now. I might need this version too, but I have to see the love coming with it. I need dates that mean something to him. Reasons for me actually seeing this as normal. More of those dances he offered. “Something nice, Blaine. A memory, or something that gives me another reason. Something other than just fucking.”

  He smirks and backs away, his body moving towards the chair until he lets himself sit in it and stare back at me.

  “Coffee, one sugar. Black.”

  “What?”

  “You still don’t know what I like to drink, do you? Or what makes me happy. That’s a start for you.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.”

  “Yes, it is,” he says, his brow arching as he rolls his shoulders and makes himself comfortable.

  “No, I meant…”

  “And the sound of starlings calling to each other at night, going home to roost.” Oh right.

  I gape, completely agog at the thought of birds influencing him in any way. I smile at the thought, though, as he shifts about, his leg crossing over the other and exasperation coming over his features. “Don’t stare. I’m being amenable. Enjoy it. Make the fucking coffee.” Okay. I turn and keep listening, wondering what else he’ll give me. “The smell of autumn rain when it lands on baked earth. It’s unpretentious. Grounding. I like that.” It’s so basic, but it widens my smile nonetheless, making me feel connected to him in a way I’ve never done before. “At least take those vile fucking clothes off if I have to do this. My shirt looks better on you.” Does it? I grin to myself and stir the drinks, then turn back to him to take them over and place them on the table in front of us. “Do it there while I keep talking. Entertain me through this.” Okay. At this moment I think I’d do just about anything. His hand comes up to his lips as I take the t-shirt off and let my hands linger on my belt.

  “The sound of clattering makes me edgy. There’s no silence in it. Like your heels when we met. They drove me nuts. Still do on occasion.” Oh, something he doesn’t like.

  “They’re expensive. They should clatter as loudly as they like,” I reply, my fingers beginning to ratchet my belt open. He raises a brow and keeps watching, barely acknowledging my words.

  “The taste of you first thing in the morning, the moans you make when I come inside you.” One button flicks on my jeans, the thought of killing apparently disappearing with just a few words of his memories or privacies. “The look of my sea in the middle of a storm.” Another goes at the mere mention of that sea I long to walk beside. With him. Storm or not. “The way you smile when you look up at me, as if nothing else matters but what leaves my lips. That’s soothing to me. Gratifying. It makes me feel alive.” He smiles slightly, his finger rubbing his mouth as he watches me undo the last button and then raises his coffee. “And night coming down in the sky. It makes me calmer than the day does, relaxes me.” I smile at that as I watch him sip at it, only now realising the connection of how he behaves in the day versus night. He’s so much more open at night, more willing to hold onto me. Dance. I begin sliding the jeans down, enjoying the words and feeling bolder with every one that comes from him. ”You’re like a memory I’ve never had, little dove. An acceptance I need to complete me.” I stall, my fingers hovering around my ankles. That was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I could almost cry. “You’re like Christmas morning used to be when I was young, full of possibilities and questions finally answered.” Oh god, that’s beautiful. Fucking jeans. I feel like jumping on him immediately and drowning him with kisses.

  I tug at them, willing them anywhere but on me. “Is that love enough for you?” Yes.

  “Nope. Keep going.” I turn around, my smile growing wider as I reach round to unhook my bra. Sexy is needed now. Sexy and seductive. We’re going to do something different to prove this thing between us. He’s going to show me with gentle touches and whispered words. I want that from him now. And he needs to do it at least once, just to show himself that he can. “More please, Mr Jacobs.”

  I think I’m starting to grind to music that isn’t here, but it’s inside me regardless. Some sonnet relays itself around the quietness of his voice, bringing with it a lulling sense of calm, of happiness.

  “The feel of your cunt when I try to get my hand in it.” I swing my head sharply, frowning at his lack of refinement in such a beautiful interlude. He raises his coffee cup and winks, then tips it to his filthy fucking mouth. “The look of you when you sleep. It makes me want to watch you all night rather than wake you.” Better. It’s enough for me to start my strip again, my hand hovering the bra out to my side as I turn around. Teasing him. Although, that’s plainly ridiculous. “Bend over and tell me you wanted to fuck my brother.” I gasp, unsure how to answer that. “Say it. Be honest with me.” My mouth fumbles around the words, hardly able to say them out loud, but he’s right. I did.

  “I did want him,” I whisper, the words barely audible.

  “Say the word fuck, Alana. Mean what you tell me.” I gulp down the embarrassment, slight tears creeping into my eyes at the thought.

  “I wanted to fuck him.” I go to stand up, my mind broken of his meanderings into dreams and loveliness.

  “Stay down,” he snarls, his voice full of that dominance I’m used to as I hear him get up. I blow out a breath and gently lower, my eyes closing ready for the slap that’s going to land at any minute. “Why?”

  “I was aroused.” It comes out as quietly as the first words. And I’m becoming more so now with the thought of what he might do any minute because of them, much as I might want that softer version I was hoping for to carry on.

  “Would you fuck him now if I asked you to?” I frown into the floor as I see his shoes come around in front of me. That’s too much, isn’t it? That’s - I’m not sure what that is. “Too much? Alright, would you fuck Delaney if I asked?” Honest. Honesty. He’s giving me his version, isn’t he? I need to do
the same. I do. I can’t. I stare at the floor, waiting for him to change the question maybe. He doesn’t. He wants an answer to this one.

  “Yes.” It squeaks out of me, hardly able to understand why it’s allowing itself the freedom from my thoughts. I probably would though, if he asked and he was watching. “If you watched.” He chuckles and wanders off until I hear him sit.

  There’s a few minutes silence after that. Me just touching the floor and waiting, for what I don’t know. More of his words maybe, ones that make sense and keep us close. That’s all I want. A new sense of closeness. One just for me. I want more of that beauty he just offered me, more of those memories. More thoughts of Christmas mornings and completion. It makes me close my eyes and try to calm the expectation that’s wracking my bones. I’m neither ready for nor wanting this to fall apart, regardless of those killing hands. And, for now, I’m all his again, waiting for whatever he thinks will make this all fit together. Right and wrong have, at some point, become distorted and insignificant. I’m naked and bent over in front of a man who killed the last version of me, admitted it to me. And all I want is more of him and his words. I want them pumping through my veins, guiding me, winding their way into my heart and showing me the path forward. I want those fucking lips caressing my skin and making me remember the feel of him, the taste of him. I don’t care what happened to the last one of me. I don’t. In this moment I couldn’t give two shits about the whys or the whens. I just want him and his way of being, entrenching itself further and never daring to leave. “You think you should be punished or pleasured for that statement?”

  Either or. I don’t care about that. As long as he delivers it I’m happy. It’s his decision to make. He can do with me exactly what he wants. Tomorrow we’ll discuss rationality. Tonight, I’m his.

  Chapter 17

  Alana

  T here isn’t any answer to give as I hover here. Not one that’s relevant, anyway. Pleasure, punishment. It all ends up with an orgasm, or no orgasm at all. Sometimes fulfilling, other times not quite so, but either way he’s taken the decision from me, making my life seem easier somehow. He’s done it with nothing but that tone coming back at me, surrounding me with dominance and governance.

  It was complicated a few minutes ago, perhaps lovely given the words that flowed from him, but me pushing him seemed to make the air less easy. Now it’s quiet again. I can feel it as I stare at the floor, waiting, calling me back to no thought at all and ridding the confusion that was present. I suppose I’m coming to accept that now. That’s what he offers once I stop questioning and just be. It’s simpler that way. He gives me that freedom by taking away my ability to make decisions, ones I don’t want to, or am incapable of, making. It’s like that just now. Me telling him I’d fuck Delaney if he asked. It’s so much easier if I just let it roll out of my mouth and stop wondering if I should or not, less taxing maybe.

  “Are you starting to understand now?” Yes. I nod at the floor, losing myself in his voice. I am. Perhaps I should just let him take over completely. I could be free of everything then, never caring for meetings or deadlines again. He could do all that. Deal with it. Let me be free to write and dream, lose myself in it all again and do as much as I want whenever I wanted to do it. Dreams and waves. The freedom to not care about responsibility or repercussions.

  His feet move into my eye-line, his shoes showing me that solid, dependable walk of his as he moves around me and makes me feel small, protected by the circle he’s creating even. Is that what submission is? It should seem weak, did feel weak at first, like I needed to prove myself above it, but it doesn’t feel that way at the moment. Certainly not after his offering of the things he loves, the things that make him happy. “This is why we began the way we did.” I’m not sure I understand that, not really, but I’m still resigned to staying here whether I understand it or not. “So you’d stop fighting me, learn to trust me.” Trust. It seems such a ludicrous notion given what I now know about him, dangerous even. “I needed you to behave and trust me, Alana.” I smile at the way my name leaves his lips, the sound of it like some whisper across my skin, calming any hesitation that used to live inside me. It’s gone now, rightly or wrongly. It’s all gone. “Learn to trust yourself.”

  I blow out the last breath of fear I have and listen to him as he moves off, the rustle of his trousers making me aware he’s getting undressed. It makes me long for him inside me, hope for it. It feels like months since he’s touched me. Not that it is, but the separation between us made me fidgety, nervous, like the air had disappeared and I couldn’t find it without him.

  “What can I do to you?”

  “Anything.”

  Anything at all. Nothing feels as good as when he’s on me, in me. He’s the storm I never knew I wanted, a force I couldn’t be without now. He surrounds me with something other than the average, giving me a sense of passion and warmth rivalled by nothing else.

  “What should I do to you?”

  His hand touches my back, the roughened feel of it sliding across my skin gracefully, somehow making whatever depraved act might follow seem plausible. Honourable.

  “I love you, Blaine. Do what you want.”

  His hand comes over my shoulder and slips around my neck, a gentle tug pulling my frame upright to meet him until I can feel his chest against me.

  “I want to take you home, keep you there.” My eyes widen as I stare at the counter tops in front of me. Keep me there? “I want to wake up each day and know that I can have every inch of you any time I want.” I smile, the thought as appealing to me as he’s making it sound for him. “I want you to bathe in my sea and wash the bruises away each day, let me put new ones on you the next.”

  I suck in a breath, letting the intensity of that sentence resonate somewhere, see if it scares me from the moment. It doesn’t, and his frame moving around the side of me triples the heart that was already beating tenfold at the thought. He arrives in my eye-line, his fingers still cupping my neck, barely applying any pressure.

  “Blaine, I …”

  He shakes his head at me, his hand coming up and fingering a line along my jaw. He meanders it around, gently drawing lines along my skin, almost testing his resolves against the pressure he wants to apply.

  “You’re so beautiful, you always have been.” I smile at him, staring into eyes that seem as reverent as he’s aiming for. It’s enough for me to slide my arms around his neck, draw us closer so I can feel him against me again. “The pool, the church. The look of tears when you come, the feel of you in my hands. That’s true beauty. It makes me happy.” I lean into his hand as he caresses my cheek, closing my eyes to the feeling and letting it fill me with hope that we can do this. This can become normal for me. “You make me happy.”

  My legs are lifted without me realising, and I’m carried to the countertops. It makes me giggle slightly, amused that he wouldn’t chose a bedroom for romance. It’s sweet in some ways, a show of him in the middle of this quiet moment. The sound of crashing behind me makes me jump and fling my eyes open again, only to find him smirking and continue to swipe everything off the surface around me. “Don’t push me,” he growls, a quick bite into my hip bone as he leans over and clears the decks further. “You’ve no fucking idea how close I am to letting go at your cunt.” Oh, I think I do. I think I know exactly who this man is in this guise. I can feel him inside now, like a caged lion, barely tamed but willing to try for a love he’s never known.

  “Tell me you love me,” I say, softly, my fingers picking up his face to bring him back in front of me. “Please. I need that from you.”

  “I love you.”

  It’s said with little passion involved, but it is said, and that’s all I need. I know it won’t come often, just like I know this sense of softness won’t come often either. It’ll only come when he thinks I need it, when we need for it.

  He slides his hand around my back and tugs me forward into him, bringing my crotch directly to the cock waiting for me. Per
fect height. Perfect distance. Perfect thoughts and perfect words. And the feel of him splitting me open has me gasping, ready to grab hold and pull him inside. Something feels desperate immediately, not the quiet gentleness of seconds ago. I pant out, waiting for more to come, but nothing does. He just hovers and breathes into my neck, his shoulders flexing under my hands, a tension in them more profound than I’ve ever felt. Nothing is relaxed here. Nothing. Not even me now I can feel this strain in him. It’s wrong, uncomfortable.

  “Please Blaine,” comes from me, my nails barely restraining the thought of biting into him and forcing him forward.

  “Don’t fucking move,” he snarls, his lips shaking against my neck as his hands leave my skin.

  I hover in response to that, unsure what to do for the best as my cheek rests on his, waiting. It’s all so still. Nothing but the sound of our breath and the feel of him shaking beneath my cheek. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, letting his body rest between my legs as my insides clench around him. This isn’t us, is it? I can’t feel him here. I can feel something he thinks I need, something that I probably do need, but those words were all I really needed. Those words and me truly realising he meant them. Accepting his way of showing it as normal, for us. I smile at my thoughts and let my fingers move back to his skin, dragging along it gently.

  “Tell me what you want to do to me, Blaine.” I’m hungry for the answer as I lean back and brace my arms behind me. He looks up to me as I do, a frown on his face. He’s so beautiful like this, so torrid. He’s a mixture of sin and devilment, just waiting to deliver the thing he’s harbouring inside. It’s all to do with love, passion. “Tell me. Show me. No more hiding.” He licks his lips and flicks his gaze across me, an instant sense of relaxation developing in his frame because of whatever thought just crossed his mind. “Let it go, Blaine. I’m yours. You don’t have to pretend with me.”