A Torment of Sin

by Charlotte E Hart

  They’re nowhere to be seen. Empty hallways.

  Bare rooms.

  I pause in the library, scanning over the upturned books and dust. Pretty? That’s what she said earlier. That everything was so pretty here. Nothing here is pretty. I look out the window, staring at the expanse out there. Pretty. Gardens.

  Seconds turn into minutes until I find the old servants entrance and head out into the fresh air. It’s either here or back underneath us. He won’t do that yet. He’ll play up here first, tempt me into finding them.

  Biting wind assaults me, as I scour the view for them. Nothing. I trudge on across the gravel that’s been cleared a little, hands in my pockets to stave off the cold. It’s all so like him. Such a representation of what he is.

  Memories invade me of the last time I was here, as I approach the wrought iron garden seats. It was late summer then, the view less snow laden than it is now. We talked for hours about life, things. Got drunk and laughed, as if the world out there, and my problems associated with it, didn’t exist. And then we headed underground, amusing ourselves with every next despicable intent he could think of to tempt me.

  Nothing did.

  The distant sound of laughter catches my ears after a while, and I search the grounds some more for it. There isn’t anything to see other than the normal barren expanse, but the noise carries on, eventually becoming less like laughter and more like a shriek of fear. I stop and gaze up at the windows, wondering if I missed them inside, and watch a clump of snow fall passed one of them.

  My gaze flies upwards, scouring the roof line. And then I see her perched on an overhang.

  What the fuck is she doing up there?

  I step back and glare, wondering what the hell he’s playing at taking her up there, and search for him. He’s nowhere to be seen. It’s just her balanced on the ledge of a gargoyle, her hands out to the side as if she’s trying to damn well fly.

  “HANNAH. BACK UP!” shouts out of me.

  No response. I don’t even know if she heard me with this wind. Jesus.

  I watch, waving my hands and calling to try and get her attention. Nothing. She’s as still as a post, nothing but her hands wavering out to the side and her hair blowing about in the wind. And then Malachi’s behind her, his foot resting on the overhang as he looks down at me. Another clump of snow falls, splattering to the floor less than two meters from me. I can barely see his features from here, but he’ll be damn well laughing I know that much. Tempt me?

  This isn’t temptation. This is madness.

  With nothing else for it, I run, sprinting back to the entrance and heading for one of the staircases to the roof. Fucking idiot. Playing with someone is one thing, tempting them into madness is another. I should have forced her from here, given her no choice in the matter. She means so little to him. Less than nothing. A toy to break, push, cajole into whatever he chooses. And who fucking knows what barrier he’ll breach when he’s amused at my expense.

  I can barely breathe as I rush the steps upwards two at a time, clawing at the walls to get there faster. Memories invade me as I run, and panic laces every instinct I’ve got to get there quicker. I heave in breaths raggedly to forge forward faster, one hand eventually pushing on the old wooden door to get me out onto the roof.

  Silence.

  I look left and right, trying to get my bearings as to where the hell I am. West wing? I don’t know. I sprint again, jumping the snow drifts up here and weaving the towers. The eventual sight of them both brings me scraping to a halt.

  She’s still there on the overhang, her arms perfectly still as she hums a song to herself. Malachi turns to look at me from his position a few feet behind, a slight smile on his face as he looks me over. “Are you her rescuing lord, Gray?”

  “Fuck you. Bring her back.”

  “Have you brought a sword?”

  “Malachi, stop it.”

  “Why?” He looks back at her. “Malachi says spin in a circle.” She does slowly, bare feet gently inching her toes around until she’s looking back at me.

  I walk sideways, edging towards the lip she’s teetering on, and focus on her eyes. They seem lifeless now, duller and more hollowed than they normally are. “Malachi says touch your nose.” She does that as well, her balance wavering now she’s only got one arm out to keep her steady.

  “This is not a fucking game,” snaps out of me quietly.

  He holds a small, silver chain up, dangling the length of it at me and swinging the globe on the bottom back and forth. “Yes it is. And she looks good in it, don’t you think? To fall or not to fall.”

  “Hannah, walk to me,” I say, edging further towards her and ignoring him. No response other than her still perched finger on her nose and his occasional chuckle in the background.

  “You didn’t say Malachi says. She won’t do a thing until Malachi says.”

  I growl at him and inch closer again, my arm and hand outstretched to grab her. Her eyes fire to life, a hard glare suddenly directed at me. “You don’t want me,” she says. Yes I do. I want her more than she knows. “You’re no fun.”

  “Hannah, come to me.”

  “No. Malachi didn’t say. He’s my friend now,” she murmurs. He chuckles and steps away from the ledge, another laugh coming soon after.

  “Malachi, I swear if you don’t-“

  “What? You’ll what?”

  He chuckles again and starts walking away, leaving her and me on the edge. My hand reaches for her again, inches from her. She scampers a half step away from me towards the front of the gargoyle, finger still on her damn nose.

  Dust and debris fall from the stonework, some of it crumbling under her feet.

  “Malachi? Please?” Another growl falls out of me, body balanced a few feet from her on the ledge. “Give me a fucking break, will you?”

  He stops and swings back to look at me, a low brow conveying his intrigue. “Why are you scared for her?”

  “Life?”

  “Worthless,” he says, leaning back on a turret and pulling out a hip flask. “Pointless maybe. Make me think more of her than that.”

  “What?”

  “Malachi says move backwards.” She moves immediately, the pads of her feet creeping the ledge and more fragments falling beneath her. “Why Gray?”

  “I want her alive. She deserves-“

  “You went three words passed the truth.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snap, still trying to reach for her. “Stop this. She’s a person not a goddamn trinket for you to pull to bits.” Fuck this. And fuck him. I’m done here.

  I inch forward towards her again, glaring at him and ready to snatch at her if I need to.

  “Malachi says touch your t-”

  “Enough! Yes. Alright. I want her,” growls out of me. “Enough fucking realism for you? Now get her off the goddamn ledge.”

  He swigs from his hipflask, some sense of superiority in his gaze, and then starts walking away again towards the door. No Malachi says. No way of getting her off the ledge. Jesus. I reach again, fingers barely a whisper of distance between us, and plead for help from above if Malachi won’t give it.

  “Malachi says follow me inside,” mutters back at us.

  She steps slowly until she’s back on safe ground, her finger still on her nose, and follows.

  Chapter 5

  Hannah

  A hand grabs my upper arm sharply, as I get to the door. I loll in its grip, body turning slowly. The fingers pulse on me, as if they’re pounding along with my own blood in a rhythm. Together. Combined.

  My teeth chatter, the wind continuing to shower me with rivers of cold blasts.

  Lovely.

  “Come with me,” he says. Why?

  And Malachi hasn’t said.

  I shake my head lazily and look back towards the staircase leading downwards. Down - that’s where we’re going. Down and down and down until there’s no further down to go. Rabbit holes. I smile at that and tug my arm from his hold, in
tent of following Malachi wherever he goes. I want to. I want everything here and nothing that restricts me. Dark, dirty, dangerous – just like me and my new outlook.

  A game. Funny.

  Malachi says do this. Malachi says do that. It was so far down out there. Nothing but dots of things beneath me in a garden filled with snow and ice.

  Malachi says another pill.

  “Hannah?” Who is that? A noise, familiar.

  Not Malachi.

  Malachi says.

  Edging forwards, I start travelling the steps, both of my hands dragging along the crumbling bricks to keep me steady, Do rabbit holes go round in circles? I don’t think so. I think they go straight down and then along. Different tunnels. Which way?

  I look up and realise I’m in the castle again, corridors and halls leading in all directions.

  “Enough now,” the voice says.

  I’m upside down, hands pointing at the floor. I laugh and look down at the reds and golds drifting by underneath me. Pretty. They’re muddling, creating patterns and swirling visons. Not like outside with its whites and blues. Richer in here. Shadier. Deeper. My stomach hurts. Why does it hurt? I try to move to get comfortable, try rubbing at it, but there’s something hard digging in.

  Painful.

  Something inside me wants to run. Run and never look back. But it’s all so calm here. Relaxed and sensual. Pain can be sensual. That’s what Malachi said. He said we’d play the game, make it painful so Gray would come and watch – join in maybe.

  Where is Gray?

  I watch the gold chain dangling from my wrist down to the floor. It’s swinging loosely, bouncing on the carpets. Not attached. Not attached to anything. I don't want that. I want him attached to me in this rabbit hole. We’ll run together, chase the boundaries and play as if the world outside of here doesn’t exist.

  Rick.

  Dead.

  Something’s on my cheek. Wet. I lift my hand and wipe it away, swiping a second time to get it off me. It’s itchy, slimy. I don’t know what it is. Get it off me. Off. I don’t want it. I struggle, trying to get both hands there and end up gouging at my eyes in the hope that the sensation stops.

  “Hannah, calm down.”

  Calm. Yes. No. I can’t. Too much.

  I flex my stomach, trying to get rid of the pain in my ribs and the feel of wet. Ants on my skin. They’re there and crawling all over my face, under my skin. Little legs creeping and crawling and getting inside me. I swipe again. I swipe and swipe until the swiping turns into scratching and pulling at my hair. They’re everywhere. All over me. In my veins. Must get them out. Help. Help me.

  A sudden hard yank on my hair makes me howl in pain. I’m falling. Tumbling.

  And then lips.

  I gasp at the feel of them on my own, my body perfectly still as they glide over me. Tender. Soft. And then harder, ferocious even. No ants anymore. Just these lips and a tongue. I sigh and relax into them, my hands reaching for the face attached. Warm skin and firm bones. Scratchy. Not cold. No ants and no cold anymore.

  My legs get moved, hoisted around a waist. I cling on, hitching my hips onto them and letting myself fall deeper into the kiss. Arms binding, wet kisses. It’s so quiet now. Safe and calm. Someone’s holding me in his lap. Large hands on my skin, both of them wandering lazily over my thighs and pulling me closer. Yes. Close. I wrap my arms around the neck and deepen the kiss, letting my pussy gain traction on the rigid cock behind trousers. Malachi says. It’s not Malachi, though. I remember those lips. They were cold. These are full of heat and density.

  The kiss stops eventually and he pulls back to look at me. He’s blurred at first, but then the vison sharpens in front of me. Cruel eyes. Eyes I know.

  “You said you couldn’t.” No answer. Nothing but eyes that almost glare at me. He just stares and grips onto my ass, shifting me further forward into him.

  “Make yourself come on me,” he says, throatily.

  Throats. Blowjobs.

  I giggle and rub myself on his cock, pushing hard against the feel of it, as I run my fingers through his hair. Wouldn’t, couldn’t? What does it matter? My head tips back, gaze looking at the ceiling as I keep rubbing against him. Anything can happen here in this place filled with rabbit holes and games. And it feels so good here, especially with him beneath me and his stiff cock rubbing at me.

  His hand grabs the back of my neck harshly, suddenly, focusing my eyes back to his. Yes. Two of us together. I felt that in that other room with that other man, could feel Gray even though that other man fucked me and a screen was between us. And then earlier with Malachi and the thing hitting me. And now he’s here, his nails digging into the back of my neck and causing pain. It hurts, but the feel of him pushing his cock against me harder, one hand holding me down on him, is consuming everything but him.

  Everything else disappears around me. All thought, all decoration and furniture. Just me and him. And then his hand crawls around my face to hold my chin firmly.

  “I want you,” he snarls, manhandling me. “Focus and fuck me.” He slaps the side of my face. Gently at first, and then harder. I frown as it builds in ferocity, each slap tougher than the last, and I keep staring into his eyes. The pulse inside me rushes against my skin, building a rhythm that lands in time to the slaps.

  Tap tap, tap, tap, tap.

  So focused. In tune with this pain. “Make me want you more, Hannah.”

  I’m hitched again, held so tightly and pushed and pulled into position as if I’m nothing but a rag doll in his grasp. Maybe I am. And oh god, the sensations. Harsh and soft. Hard and heavenly. I can feel the orgasm coming, chasing over me, all around me, as I keep grinding and creating speed. Rhythm. So much rhythm and pace. More speed. Just there and then I’ll come.

  Another slap sends me sideways, head lolling to the side until the back of his hand sends me the other way. “More,” he grunts, grasping into my thigh. “Make me come.”

  I’m coming. I can feel it. My breathing grates out at the intensity, pulling to a halt as I start to feel it crashing over me. Everything tenses in me to let it come, let it build further.

  Another slap assaults me. Harsh and unyielding and sending a wave of pain over the top of the orgasm, and then I’m grabbed severely and shunted about on him. Back and forth, forth and back. Everything crashes and tumbles, my legs and arms like jelly as he finishes himself off on my languid body.

  Grunts and growls sound out, his fingers holding me so tightly. I’m dragged forward, body limp in his grasp until I’m up against his lips and we’re kissing again. More grunts. More growls of hedonism into my lips, and then he’s pushing me downwards. “Show me the story you told me. Make it real for me,” he growls.

  My legs fall to the floor, neck wrenched about in his hold to get me to him again. My mouth opens of its own accord, thoughts of swallowing him down flooding me with memories of dark corners and shadows. I can smell it, smell his need in the air around me. So hot. All of it. Him. Me. Us. Fucking. His cock is pushed into my mouth and down my throat before I manage to ask for it.

  I gag, struggling with his size, and wait for the hot jet of come to seep into me. Harsh hands. Harsh hold. Painful, and yet I’m in a maze of wants and desires. Held. Hit. Pushed and made to behave accordingly.

  Behave accordingly.

  He comes eventually. It pours into me like white heat finding something to soothe it, cool it down. I swallow and grip onto the arm of the chair, the other hand clasped onto his forearm holding my head still. Muscles. I can feel them tense under my fingers. Heavy and dense. And the taste consumes me more than the sensations. It’s new, bold and alive inside me.

  I lap and draw my tongue over the flesh, all the time listening to his low groans and grunts. Such a nice noise. Low. Growled, as if possessive of something. Me maybe. Who knows? It's comforting, though.

  Warm.

  The hand holding me tosses me suddenly, as if I’m irrelevant, and I fall backwards to the floor in a heap. My hands brac
e the ground, body trying to rise from the tumble. I don’t understand. It was good, wasn’t it? I stare at the carpet blankly, trying to find sense, and then laugh lowly at the thought of care here. It was good for me. Wanton and sensual. Something I wanted and enjoyed. And that’s enough for me now. Manhandled and pushed to pass limits of comfort is fine, invigorating even.

  Clapping sounds somewhere close by. I start turning at the sound of it, unsure if it’s Gray or someone else. A hand picks my hair up immediately, twisting my head to look upwards. “But she’s not crying, Gray. I expected more.” Dark tan features look down at me, a murky smile on his face as he wrenches my head. Malachi. I gaze, my eyes like whirlpools as I try to take him in. So tall above me. So calm. Malachi says take another pill. “Pretty, though prettier with tears.”

  I’m dropped to the floor the second he says it, castoff, and then a laugh echoes. It’s loud, amused. He’s laughing at me. Prettier with tears. I grumble to myself and crawl forward, searching for something to get me out of here. I took another pill because of him. That was three maybe, four? I don’t know anymore. No tears, though. Never will I cry for a man again.

  “Gray?”

  No answer. Just more distant laughing reverberating around the walls and floor. My hand lifts, fingers trying to feel him again, and I watch the chain glinting in the light. I should put this on him. Stay safe. He said he’d look after me here. Keep the others away. I don’t think I care about that. I just want more of his touch, more of his power on me.

  Malachi says.

  Hours seem to go by. Maybe. I don’t know about that either. Maybe it’s only minutes and it just feels like hours to me. I’m crawling the floor, though. Unable to get up or move muscles, as I creep through a doorway. Everything feels so heavy. Tired. I should sleep somewhere. Curl up into a ball and wait this out.