Feeling White

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Why the hell should I sack her?” She threw the rose on the bed and frowned at it, then returned her soul shattering eyes to him.

  “You want me to sack James and I’ve not even had sex with him, so why shouldn’t I ask the same of you given that you clearly have fucked her?” He took another step, which she backed away from as she held a hand up at him. He had no fucking idea why she did that. Did she expect him to stop?

  “I have not fucked her. She’s gay.” Her eyebrows shot upwards. Clearly she didn’t know; well she did now.

  “Oh, right... Well that’s not the damn point. I’m still not backing down on this, so you can just get over your tantrum and go screw yourself.”

  He’d had enough of this. He ripped the sheet from her and scowled. She immediately put her hands on her hips and faced him head on. She didn’t flinch or falter as she raised a brow in challenge. It was entirely too tempting and he just stifled licking his lips.

  “Who does that belong to?” he said, pointing at her flawless body, barely suppressing the groan at the sight before him and willing his damn cock to shut the hell up.

  “Me,” she hissed at him, glorious.

  “Wrong fucking answer,” he said as he grabbed her throat and pushed her against the wall. “Who does it belong to, Elizabeth?” She gasped at his ferocity but her eyes refocused quickly. His cock hardened again at her stare. It was the most defiant look he’d ever seen coming from her angelic face and he liked it. Fuck knows why but he did.

  “Me, Alex. I give it all to you but it belongs to me.” Better, but still wrong.

  “I’m going to give you ten seconds to remember what the right answer is before I fuck that opinion right out of your mouth to remind you who you belong to.”

  It was a promise. He wanted nothing more than to push his cock into her luscious lips and watch her moan around it while he made his point clear.

  “Piss off. You don’t own me,” she said quietly as she pulled in a breath and blew it out into his face. He watched her narrowed eyes glaze a little. She was getting ready for him. Was she really going to centre herself? Did she really think she could outrun him in this? Fuck, maybe she could.

  “You’re running out of time.”

  He suddenly felt a little strange, as if something in the air was changing. Gazing into her eyes, he felt the tension crackling around them and felt her pulse pounding steadily beneath his fingers. When had she learnt this much control? Had he taught her this? Had she found a new level of dominance in herself that she was willing to try out? She eventually smiled then floored him by sneering at him in disgust.

  “Ten. Do your worst, you piece of shit. Bring a damn whip with you. What are you going to do? Beat me until I relent and give you what you want? It’s not going to happen. I’ve hardened up, Alex. You’ve made it happen. I’ll take anything you can give me and still have my own fucking mind. You want a dictatorship then fuck off and find it somewhere else. I’m sure there’s plenty of willing participants out there. I’m not one of them!”

  His mind instantly reeled at the thought as he glanced at his hand around her throat and realised she thought he’d hit her over this. His brain fogged with the possibility of what she was suggesting. Would he? No, never. She’d just wound him up. She’d just confused him, and Christ, the thought of her sleeping anywhere near someone else was horrendous. He just wanted her safe and with him. He needed her to understand how important this was, how fucking important she was, to him. His fingers flexed as she put both her hands on his wrist and continued to glare as he shook with anger and frustration.

  “Elizabeth…” His body backed away from her slightly. “I would never-”

  She cut him off. “You are doing. Are you holding my throat because you need me or because you can’t get your own damn way?”

  Unfortunately both. He let go immediately and took a step away again. She glowered at him and rolled her neck around as she dragged her beautiful fingers across it. Something close to remorse swept around inside him as that fucking guilt addled his rage again, making him question what the hell was going on. She drew in a long breath and softened her gaze, closing the gap between them again as her hand found his and pulled it back to her throat. “If you want it, Alex, take it. It’s yours anyway, but not because you want to bully me into something. Do it because you need me.”

  He watched her lips moving and realised she was trying to give him an avenue for his fury, a fury she didn’t deserve regardless of her decision to employ the dick. Flicking his eyes up to meet hers, he grated his teeth at the image of her over his knee or bound to the chest of drawers behind her so he could ram this crap out of his mind. She rubbed his hand beneath hers and blinked softly in response to his more than likely dark blue eyes. His mind clouded again as Henry, James and daddy fucking dearest swam around behind her like a taunting bunch of reprobates, egging him on to do exactly what his body craved. Fuck, he wanted to beat something, anything, just to relieve the incessant pressure that weighed down on him constantly. But not her.

  He let go of her without a backward glance and left the room. He couldn’t bring himself to look into those willing eyes a moment longer as utter loathing filled him and tightened his fists in response. He needed something to kill, something that preferably couldn’t die because of his actions, so turning along the corridor, he headed for the stairs to go up to the gym. He could use the punching bag or maybe the fucking wall to loose some of this self-created tension. He damn well wasn’t using her or her lovely neck.

  Slamming the door behind him, he headed straight for the bag in the corner and rallied as many kicks and hits as the damn thing would take from him. Over and over again he threw his pounding fists into the leather until he began to feel his heart rate decrease to a more acceptable level. Sweat beaded across his chest and back as he tried to rip out the venom and land it directly onto his father’s face, every punch landing straight on the bastard’s body so that he would feel the man he’d created. Ugly, disgusting, powerful, fucking killer... He caught sight of himself in the wall length mirror and doubled his efforts to extinguish the turmoil beneath his skin.

  More volleys of hits ensued until the bag simply stared back at him, swinging slowly from side to side, tempting more and offering a viable alternative to the woman downstairs. His cock leapt again at the thought so he went at it more forcefully, muscles heaving from the exertion and knuckles sore but breathing controlled and level as he found his way back to normal, whatever the fuck that was. He wouldn’t do that to her again. He would never scare her like that again. She wasn’t his vengeance. She was his solace and he had no fucking right to make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Christ, he damn well told her to fight him, and fight him she had, beautifully, with conviction and grace, and still she’d offered herself up for him. What the hell had he done to deserve her?

  He smashed the bag one last time and turned for the mirror again so he could remind himself what he looked like in these moments, what she had to look at and deal with, what she had the backbone to stand up to and face with dignity and warmth. With love.

  And there he was, the man of the fucking moment. Dickhead. Dripping with sweat, eyes dark and focused on destruction, hair a fucking mess, knuckles red and filled with tension, muscles on display like the damned back alley fighter he really was underneath the façade. His chest was heaving with undiluted breaths of violence and chaos at the thought of more, at the thought of devastation, and that angry frown was etched into his face as he stared at himself and wondered who the fuck she thought he was. He knew who he was. A disgrace to her, that’s what he was, nothing more than a screwed up child in a man’s world, playing games to try and stay sane. He turned and without thought, picked up a hand weight and hurled it at the man before him, causing the mirror to shatter into a thousand pieces while he roared out his torment.

  Several minutes passed in silence as he continued to stare at the broken glass, now splintering what was left of his image. He half
chuckled at the vision. It was probably more like him than the full version had been. Broken and cracked, deep running fissures of hate and revulsion seeping through every pore only highlighting the tortured issues buried within his soul. His disfigured image was suddenly a far more realistic portrayal of Alexander White than the handsome structure his bastard of a father had kindly bestowed upon him. At least his eyes weren’t from the arsehole. At least his mother had left him with something good.

  His memory shifted to the little wooden box that Mrs Peters had given him and the treasured possessions inside. A pair of broken glasses that bore a striking resemblance to his own and a photo of her with her new-born son, Nicholas Adlin. Alexander White had been born much later, after her husband had destroyed any inch of humanity that she might have forged. Her face was a picture of purity and innocence as she cradled her promise of life closely and smiled up at the camera. God, she was beautiful, soft somehow, not unlike the woman downstairs, and those fragile arms clung to her son like she would never let go. Even in the picture he could see the bruising on the left hand side of her face. He shivered as he remembered his father’s right hook and sneered at the thought.

  It was time to see the bastard. It was definitely time, time to face those fucking demons head on and deal with years of anger and betrayal.

  He closed his eyes and let her face sweep over him in the hope of calming the still raging storm. The moment he did, his angel’s eyes flooded his thoughts and removed his mother’s image. His angel, his air to breathe… What the fuck was he doing in here?

  He moved across to the door and heard the elevator open. She was leaving? Shit. He ran the stairs at speed and turned the corner to get to her before she made it out the building. He had things to say, things she needed to hear to help her understand. He needed her. He headed for the lift and noticed it had already left so launched for the staircase. The door slammed behind him, echoing in the concrete fire escape as he took the steps three at a time in order to speed the descent. On crashing through the door into the foyer of the building, he was met by the bewildered stares of varying businessmen and employees as he scanned the area for her.

  “Morning, Sir, can I help you?” some random receptionist said as she stared at his body. He quickly realised he still had no shirt on and only a pair of black jeans. He didn’t even respond as he headed for the doors and onto the street. Where the hell was she? He looked both ways and ran a hand through his hair as the damn rain poured down on him. Shit, what a fuck up. She offered him everything he’d ever dreamed of and he showed her how much of a complete dick he really was, and then to add insult to injury, he went and stormed away from her like a child rather than talk to her. When was he going to learn how to be a decent man, for God’s sake?

  A flash of red in the distance caught his eye and he stretched above the crowd of London umbrellas to see if it was her, but the face that turned the corner wasn’t her, just some other woman who had red hair, not his angel. He slapped at his pockets for his phone and sighed at the fact that he left it in the apartment. Fuck. He turned and headed back into the building with a frown. She said she wouldn’t run. She damn well lied. On reaching the private lift, he realised he hadn’t even got his card so stood by the door and banged his head on it repeatedly with a snort of amusement. Jesus, the woman screwed with his head on so many levels; it was ludicrous.

  “Well that’s an interesting look for the office, dear.” He spun his head so quickly it honestly might have fallen off and looked at her face beneath her hooded coat. She smiled and ran her fingers over his tattoo. “Lovely as the visual is, though, I’m not sure the boardroom’s ready for it. You in a suit was enough for me to drop the mousse. Imagine what this could cause,” she said as she continued her trailing fingers over the hair by his belt and tugged. He winced and let out a small cough as his cock came raging back to life.

  “Where did you go?”

  “I left a note. I needed a vanilla latte,” she replied, shaking her takeaway cup. “And you needed a little space to... whatever it was that you were doing. I have no idea really but given that I didn’t feel the immediate need to call Pascal, I thought I’d just let you get on with it.”

  “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I...”

  “Are you? Good. Don’t do it again.” She swiped her card over the door and opened the lift. “Should I punish you now? That’s how this works, isn’t it?” She flicked her head toward the space inside and smirked. “After you, Mr. White.”

  He looked at her incredulously and wondered where the hell this version of her had appeared from as he stepped inside and turned to her again.

  “Are you okay? I mean, I was angry, jealous really and I didn’t mean to scare you, but-”

  “Six,” she said and the doors closed around them. “You didn’t. You don’t, but we do need to have some ground rules if I’m to understand you better.” She circled around him and pressed her nail into something on his back. He peered at her over his shoulder and was rewarded with a very sexy smile as she licked her lips. “Twenty two, six, five, what happened on this date, Alex? Why is the twenty second of June significant to you?”

  Of all the fucking dates.

  The doors opened and she walked out, throwing the card on the table and moving towards the lounge as if she belonged in the space more than he did. Her long, confident strides swayed along the corridor in front of him and he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Pascal had said to her. She had changed since that night. She was still his angel but had somehow become more confident, more... well, dominant. He suddenly realised it was the same in the bedroom earlier, as if she was the embodiment of the man in a female persona - strong, independent, forthright, with a hint of the primal need to control everything around her, to understand him more and find all the buttons she needed to press to engage the right reaction. The man knew him so well it was unnatural really. Had he shared some sort of secret? He needn’t have bothered. She was getting there just fine on her own, but now it was as if she’d jumped six months down a line he never expected himself to entertain.

  “What has he done to you?” he asked quietly as he followed her and helped her with her sodden wet coat. She quirked an eyebrow and shrugged out of it with a small giggle of amusement. Christ, he loved that sound.

  “Who?” He barked out a laugh and stared at her mouth as she beamed back at him. She knew exactly who they were talking about.

  “My tormentor. It seems you’ve changed a little since your time together. He appears to have rubbed off on you.”

  “Not yet he hasn’t,” she replied instantly with a wild smirk and wink. He growled. The thought was fucking disturbing and entirely too appealing for some irritating reason.

  “Very, very naughty, Miss Scott. I’m not convinced it’s acceptable, though, so I’d stop right there if I were you.” She giggled again. “Elizabeth...” He growled it out again, hoping to stop the flow of this particular line of thought, engaging as it was.

  “Oh stop it, Alex. And nothing really, he just highlighted some new moves. Whadda ya think?” she replied, twirling her hand around just as the bastard did. He frowned at the similarity and wondered if she understood the implication of what she was doing.

  “Don’t,” he said as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Her skin had never tasted sweeter and he licked his lips at the thought of her hardening up. “I love you just the way you are, baby. Don’t let him change you into someone else. I don’t need that from you.”

  She ran her fingers over his jaw and down to his throat. The instant feeling of peace settled deep inside him and he wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Her body pressed into his and her hand ran over those damned numbers again provocatively.

  “Twenty-second of June, Alex?” she asked again into his chest. Shit, and so it began. She wasn’t going to let it go, was she? Glancing at his watch, he pulled in a long breath, released her and wandered towards the bedroom. Regardless of his need to keep all this from he
r, he knew this was going to come at some point, that she would dig and dig until he had no choice but to lie incessantly or just tell her the truth, well some of it anyway.

  “I can’t do this now. I’ve got meetings in half an hour and then back to backs all day. Then we’ve got the Tranting charity fundraiser this evening so I’m sorry, I can’t answer your questions at the moment.” He looked back towards her, hoping to find a peaceful face. He was going to need all her love if they were to get through this and he could only hope she would forgive him his sins.

  “What do you mean we’ve got the Tranting charity fundraiser?” she asked with a raise of her brow. He rolled his eyes. He’d definitely told her about this one.

  “Check your phone. I sent an email after our last misunderstanding.” She narrowed her eyes and delved through her bag. On fiddling with it, she suddenly looked shocked.

  “Oh, shit, I’d forgotten about that,” she said as she threw it back into her bag and nodded, picking up her coat again. He stiffened and reached his arm for her without thinking.

  “Don’t-” She cut him off with a hand held high. “I’m not running,” she said with a small tilt of her mouth as she wrapped her scarf around her lovely throat and picked up her coffee. “I love you. I’ll never run. I just need to get to the shop. I have things to do today and I also need to sort out a dress it seems.” His hand dropped away and he released the breath he’d unwittingly been holding.

  “Right, I’ll pick you up at eight then, from your apartment,” he replied as he turned again, now struggling to even look at her with the thought of what that date actually signified.

  “Okay, I’ll see you later then,” she said as he heard her feet walking away from him. He closed his eyes and reached for the door to the bathroom. He needed to shower this morning away and form some sort of coherent plan as to what the hell he was going to do about what he had to tell her. If she was going to understand any of this then she needed to feel what he’d felt when he was younger. She’d need to try and comprehend who he had been at the time and why he’d committed the acts he had.