“Really…” he pulls the fig away, and slowly, languidly, brings it to my lips. “I must insist.”
I press my mouth together. My back is rigid as a board. I shake my head once more.
“Ms. Middleton,” he says smoothly. There’s a new trace of darkness in his voice. “You do not want to displease Alastair, do you?”
I get goosebumps. My lips part. He eases the fig in. Then his fingers circle softly, sensuously, along my lips.
My nipples harden.
The reaction does not go unnoticed. Sylvain glances down. A pleased smile grows on his lips.
He pulls the fig away.
I sag back. That was…
That was absolutely nothing. That was the most innocent of interactions!
Then why did it feel so intense?
Sylvain leans into his chair and crosses his legs. His calves flash from under the robe. They demand my attention. For a second, I picture myself on hands and knees, on the floor, licking my way up his gorgeous legs…
I shake my head and banish the thought. “What?” I blurt out.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sylvain muses. “But I can see how tense you still are, Dani. Don’t be. We’re having a pleasant afternoon conversation. Isn’t that all?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “That’s all.”
He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. “I’m glad you agree. You were in the guesthouse for a long time after last night. Did you have a good sleep?”
“Yes,” I say thinly. My whole body feels tense. I don’t know what it is about the man that elicits that reaction.
“And have you given thought to my proposition?” he asks. His eyes roam the length of my body.
Need pools in my core.
“Yes,” I say, in the barest of whispers. I can’t formulate cohesive sentences any more.
“Yes, what?” Sylvain asks.
“I…” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do it.”
There. I’ve said it. It’s out in the open. He knows.
Now all I have to do is endure the backlash.
“No?” he asks. He is not in any way offended. That was my greatest worry, coming in here.
But why isn’t he?
“And why do you say that, Dani?”
“Because…” I grope for verbal fluency. “Because it’s not who I am. It’s not what I do!”
“Hm,” he says. He taps his lips. “And what is it that you think you do not do, Ms. Middleton?”
“I don’t… I don’t have sexual affairs with older men!” I exclaim.
Oh fuck me! I burn red. Did I just call him “older?”
He chuckles. He holds one hand out in front of my face and splays his fingers wide. “I don’t see a ring,” he tells me. “I am not married. So this is not an affair.”
“You know what I mean!” I fire back. Finally some of my lost nerve is returning.
“Yes,” he smiles, and stands. “Yes, I think I do.”
He walks to the far window. He looks out at the garden.
“This spot,” he tells me, one foot tapping the ground. “This exact spot is where I watched you two days ago, Dani. As I did, do you know what happened?” He turns and faces me. “An understanding formed.”
I can’t meet his eyes. I look anywhere but at him.
“An understanding of what?” I ask softly.
“Of who you are,” he replies. “Of all the things… you can do for me.”
He strolls to me and stops behind my chair. His hands go on my shoulders.
I freeze up again.
“So tense,” he murmurs. His fingers being working the knots. “Relax, Dani. Nothing I ever do to you will be against your will.”
I let out a soft, shuddery breath. His hands feel good.
Which comes as no surprise, considering what they did to me yesterday.
“I also understood,” he continues, “Who you can become with me. I’ve seen your future, Ms. Middleton. It is… intoxicating.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I whisper. Just then, his fingers find a particularly tender spot. I whimper.
“I think you do,” he says. He presses on the knot. “I think you really, really do. But you are afraid of confronting your deepest desires.” He leans in, his lips right by my ear. “Do you know why?”
His breath tickles my skin. Cue more tingles, cue more goosebumps.
“No,” I say.
“Because…” he says, tracing his tongue along my earlobe, “you haven’t experienced any of them yet.”
Then he nips me, and I yelp, and I shoot away.
I twist back, heart racing, adrenaline pumping. He smiles patiently at me.
“I don’t think this is for me,” I tell him.
His eyes go up and down my trembling body. He is the utter contrast to me. While I’m as nervous as a cornered animal, he is all cool, collected, steely confidence.
“By your reaction already,” he says, “I know you’re wrong.”
He walks around to the side of the chair and leans against the armrest. I can smell him. Dear God, I can smell him, and it’s not doing any favors to my already-scrambled brain.
He smells clean and strong and masculine. His smell is like that of a deep winter night. Seductive in its serenity, deadly in its grasp.
“Dani…” he says. He looks into my eyes. “What if I give you a true glimpse of the pleasure you can experience with me?”
“I thought we did that last night.”
“No. That was ordinary. That was… vanilla. Do you know—” his gaze really sears into me now, “—when pleasure is at its strongest?”
My breath hitches. My breasts feel suddenly heavy. “Tell me.”
“Pleasure is strongest,” he says, trailing one hand along my arm, “when it comes… following… pain.”
He grasps my nipple and squeezes hard.
I gasp and jerk away. My hands fly to the tender spot. I rub it to ease the discomfort.
“Now imagine that feeling magnified,” he tells me. “Imagine it a hundred times stronger. And imagine, in the aftermath, your hand being… my mouth.”
His words are shaded by lust. “Imagine my lips, my tongue, kissing you, tasting you, easing the hurt away.” He comes closer. “Imagine how good it can feel.”
I’m an absolute mess. I’m entranced by him. I cannot look away. Not now. I cannot lose sight of this magnificent, dangerous man.
“You want to hurt me,” I say, my voice small.
He closes his eyes and shudders. “Yes,” he says. “Very much so.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Why? Because. Because, Dani, it will make you mine.”
My breathing slows a tiny bit. My heart is not thundering quite so fast any more.
I’m capable of more coherent thoughts.
“Why do you want me?”
“Because you are pure. You are untainted.”
I cross my arms, showing him I won’t be toyed with anymore. “You flatter yourself into thinking I’m interested.”
“Out come the claws,” he says softly. He steps away. “The tension between us is palpable. You can feel it beating through the air. It is a beautiful thing… but it is a dark, twisted thing.
“We are bound by it, Dani. It will not go away. It will not ease up. Not unless it gets what it wants. Not unless we give it what it craves.”
I edge back. “Which is…?”
“Us!” he exclaims. “Me and you, you and I, as only we can ever know each other. I promise, Dani, you will never meet another man the equal of me.”
Of that I’m certain, I think.
“The two towers,” he says, “are where all of this will take place. One is white. The other is black. One is for pleasure. The second…?” he drops his voice. “Is for pain.”
I rub my sensitive nipple again.
“You do not have to sign the contract immediately,” he tells me. “In fact it would be better if you don’t. But come to the observatory tonight. When
the sun falls… I will be waiting. I will give you the glimpse of which you are worthy. What happens next?” His eyes home in on me once more. “Is entirely up to you.”
“Now get out.”
Chapter Nineteen
I spend the rest of the day walking around the castle grounds in a daze.
Sylvain wants me. There can be no mistake: he wants me.
He wants me for more than just my body, I think.
But do I dare trust him? I know next-to-nothing about the man. He claims he won’t do anything against my will. But when his passion flares, will he still abide by that rule?
I am infinitely curious. But I am also scared.
What is it I really fear? Is it the promise of pain, of torture?
Or is it my secret desire to experience it all?
***
The day goes by. The sun bleeds into the horizon. The final light fades. And I…
I find myself on the steps of his observatory.
I climb up. I find him seated by the tower door. He stands when he sees me.
I glance at my feet uncertainly, then back at him.
He holds out one hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I place my hand into his. His fingers curl around my palm in a firm, unyielding grip.
He leads me up.
Trepidation jolts through me with every step. The ascent is made in silence.
The entire time, I’m thinking, What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing?
We reach the door at the very top. Sylvain slides a key in. It opens.
I step inside… and am struck by a flurry of fear.
The room at the top is a circular chamber. The walls are painted black. The floor is painted black. The ceiling is painted black.
There is a single window, at the very top. It is much too high to reach. It’s open, but with night out, no light shines through.
There are burning torches along the wall. They give off a sick, waxy smell. I crinkle my nose. There’s no way they’re supposed to smell like that.
Beside the torches, spaced at irregular intervals, are various hanging… devices.
I can think of them in no other way. They look like medieval instruments of torture. They are cruelly shaped and made of dull black iron.
Some are chained in place. Other simply hang from hooks.
One in particular draws my attention. It is in the shape of an axe. The half-moon blade sits atop a short and thick wooden handle. On the metal… are old blood stains.
Sylvain notices my gaze. “Ah,” he says. “My apologies.” He walks over, and picks up a piece of dark cloth I’d overlooked. He hangs it on the vicious weapon. “You needn’t worry about that yet.”
The door slams shut behind me. I jump, nearly out of my skin.
“Relax, Dani,” he says. “I am not Alastair yet.”
I exhale a stuttering breath. I close my eyes and nod.
There is a single bed in the middle of the tower. Two iron poles stick up from the headboard. They are connected to the ceiling.
What purpose they serve, I have no idea.
“Come,” he tells me. He pats the top of the mattress. “Sit.”
My feet move of their own accord. There is… a malice to this place.
A sense of evil pulses from the walls.
I sit down. My eyes dart nervously over the rest of the instruments. There is a whip. A cane. Some sort of twisted, jagged metal thing that I hope to never learn the purpose of.
“Comfortable?” Sylvian asks. His unthreatening voice is completely at odds with the chamber.
“No.” I squirm nervously. “Not at all.”
He picks my hand up and kisses the knuckles. “Honesty is something I very much admire,” he tells me. His grip tightens. Suddenly he twists my wrist into a painful hold. “It’s also an absolute prerequisite for all of my lovers.”
He lets go. I pull my arm back and cradle my wrist. I try to rub the pain away.
Sylvain stands. He begins a slow circle around the outer edge of the room.
“This tower,” he tells me, “the Black Tower, is entirely my domain. Here, I am your Master. And you become…” he pauses by a coiled, hanging chain. He runs his fingers over the rings. “Entirely under my control.”
I bite the inside of my lip so hard I draw blood.
“The other tower,” he says, resuming his walk, “is white. It is meant to become yours. In time. It is designed only for pleasure. There… you may reign over me.”
My fingers dig deep into the black sheets.
“Here the goal is obvious,” he says. “In the White Tower? It is less so. But this is where we start, Ms. Middleton. Because this, right here, is where the connection is made.”
“Connection?” I swallow.
“Yes. It is more than just physical. In fact, that is the least important part. At the outset, to develop what I envision… will take time. It will take trust. We cannot rush such things. But here,” he gestures around the room. “Here, we will have a beginning. This will be our genesis. In time…” he approaches me, “you will learn to appreciate… every… single… object… in this chamber.”
His fingers hook under my chin, and he jerks my head up. “Do you understand?”
I meet his eyes for a splintering second. I can’t stand it—I turn away.
His fingers tighten on my throat and he forces my head back. “You will not do that again,” he says softly. The threat in his voice is clear. “When I speak to you, you will look at me directly.”
I’m genuinely scared now. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Yes, what?” he prompts. “What do you call me?”
“Yes, Alastair,” I try.
He slaps me. He does it so hard that I fall to one side.
“That’s right,” he tells me. His voice takes on a frightening, dark edge. “That slap is for forgetting.”
Slowly, I pick myself up. I’m shaking, I’m trembling. In fear? In excitement? In… anticipation?
I can no longer tell. My feelings are jumbled together in such a tightly twisted knot that I cannot distinguish between any of them.
“Take your clothes off,” Alastair says.
I blink. “Wha—” I start to say.
He slaps me again. I fall down and cry out.
“You will not speak,” he says. “Unless given permission. Now strip.”
Slowly, I push one shoe off with my foot, then the other. With shaking hands I lift my shirt over my head. There are tears in my eyes. Cool air rushes over my skin.
Alastair watches me. His hands are clasped behind his back. But his growing arousal is obvious.
“Drop it,” he commands when my shirt is off. “On the floor. Do not break eye contact with me as you do.”
Trembling, I reach out, and let the shirt flutter down. I look at Alastair the whole time.
“Good,” he says. “Now the same with your bra.”
I reach behind my back. I unclasp it. I slide it off.
“Together with the shirt,” he says.
I drop it into the same pile.
“And your jeans,” he commands. His voice is hoarse. “Your panties too. I want you fully bared to me before we begin.”
“I’m not wearing any—” I start.
The third slap blindsides me. It’s so much harder than the previous two. Pain shoots down my cheek.
This time, I taste blood.
“Don’t,” he growls, “make me remind you again.”
I cower there for a moment.
“Get up!” he snaps. “Up, and take your jeans off.”
Through teary eyes, I do. My fingers have a hard time with the button, they’re shaking so bad.
Why am I doing this? I think.
I slide the final garment off my body. Alastair makes a deep sound in his throat when he sees me naked before him.
“Good girl,” he tells me. “Your initiative pleases me.”
I drop the jeans with the rest of my clothes. He turns off to the si
de and walks to a torch.
He picks it off the wall. I watch him, wary. The cold air makes my skin prickle. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull my knees up and hold them tight.
I feel less exposed that way.
Alastair comes back. He kicks my pile of clothing away from the bed.
Then he drops the torch and sets fire to them.
I gasp. An acrid smell fills the air.
He twists back. His eyes dare me to speak.
I don’t say a single word.
We both watch the little conflagration. Why am I doing this, why am I doing this, why am I doing this? I repeat, over and over in my head.
On the outside though, I’m surprisingly stoic. Now that the worst is done…
But you can’t presume that, a little voice reminds me.
I shiver once more.
Alastair turns back. “Your second lesson,” he says, strolling around the bed, “is that everything in this room belongs to me. The bed. The fire. The light. The very air you breathe.” He glances at the high window. “All of them are mine. Just like you are mine.
“Your body is mine. Your clothing is mine. Your heart, your soul, your mind… well,” he smiles cruelly, “We will make those things mine yet.”
I turn my head to keep up with him.
“You must give yourself to me freely. Do you understand? Any sort of resistance on your part—” he smacks one hand against the other, making a loud sound that makes me jump, “—will be met with appropriate punishment. Is that clear?”
I nod.
“Say, yes, Alastair, I understand.”
“Yes, Alastair,” I repeat. “I understand.”
“Good.” He comes up to me. He leans one knee onto the bed. His fingers run down the length of my spine.
I suck in a quick breath at the unexpected tenderness of his touch.
“Verbal confirmation,” he says, “is very important to me.”
I swallow the blood that’s built up in my mouth. I give an unsteady nod.
Suddenly he grabs my hair. His fingers pull it by the roots.
I cry out at the sharp stab of pain. He yanks me back. I fall to the mattress.
Then he’s leering over me, one fist twisted in my hair. He pulls so hard the tears return to my eyes.
I cannot speak, so I just whimper.
“Oh, there, there,” he says softly. With his free hand he strokes my cheek. “Don’t cry. My poor, sweet Dani. We will make a queen of you yet.”
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 227