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“Where to Gu-. I mean, where to Sir?” Quite right.
Pascal told oaf the address, reminding him to remember it because it would never be mentioned again other than ‘Alexanders’, and then closed his eyes to imagine his rose’s inane smile. It was quite ravishing – still. He did not know why, or care any longer. It simply was, as was she. Lovely. And unfortunately less formidable since Lilah had arrived. Perhaps that was her place now, though, regardless of her stature above both Alexander and he.
His fingers touched his own throat, considering this debatable collaring that still lingered but was no more formal than it ever was. Alexander’s ownership of him should have him bowing to every whim and fancy, as was true submission, but that had never been their way – never would be he assumed. They were, between them, fleeting engagements of dominance and honour, bound by a love that ascended beyond the normal proclamation of submission. He shivered as he remembered the last time, and smiled at the thought. His ass still remembered it now, and no other man had been near it since. It was Alexander’s one order given. Anything else was allowable. Not encouraged, but dismissible should he choose that option. Pascal hadn’t chosen anything other than Lilah for some time. Nothing was adequate enough. Until whatever this feeling was inside his chest, and Alexander’s dismissal of him. That’s how it all felt. As if he had been abandoned.
“Sir?” Pascal looked up. “We’re here. The gates?” Ah yes.
He rattled off the gate codes and reached into his pocket to get his tie out. He would not arrive in anything else than stellar style. Regardless of whatever conundrum was perplexing him at present, panache was a must – always. Certainly given the two dominants who would be waiting for him to drop to his knees should they choose such games of moral fortitude. He snarled – that would not be occurring. Not for a while at least. Not until they all remembered who he was, and what he was capable of if ignored.
Chapter 11
Lilah
The atmosphere is tense to say the least. I’m ignoring it, and quite unfortunately remembering Alexander’s hands, which were nothing like Pascal’s. Angry is a good word for what they were. Angry and violent. No love. No hearts and flowers.
Pure animalistic rage.
I’m not even sure I got all of it.
Shame.
I stare at him, as he borderline glowers at the fire, wondering what he’s going to do about Beth. She’s upstairs, asleep apparently. She’s been up there for exactly two hours. She’s not asleep. In fact, I’d bet every penny I’ve got that she spent one hour of that time wallowing in anger, and now she’s packing her bags because of Mr Arsehole here. I’m not surprised, saddened, but not surprised. All this sullen strange behaviour that’s happened over the last six months is exhausting for me, and I’m not even his partner. And, honestly, what idiot doesn’t hold her in her darkest hour, lie even to give her what she needs at the very point she needs it?
“You’re still a cunt,” I say, not the slightest concerned if he gets shitty about it.
He is, and he should be up there on his knees apologising for letting her down in the hope that she’ll forgive him. What’s going to happen when Pascal gets here, I don’t know. He’s in no mood recently for whatever Alexander has, or has not, been doing. Perhaps Alex needs reminding of manners, and decency, and true dominance, not brattish behaviour about little boys and their toys.
He lifts his head slowly and stares back, the barest lift of his lip showing his disdain, or amusement, for my opinion of him. I don’t know where he’s gone lately. He’s changed. Something’s happened to his sense of ease. I raise a brow at my own thoughts and think back on these last few years. He’s had everything he’s wanted, from everyone. Bow down, do as your told, or asked if that’s what we call all this acceptance of his needs and wants. One could call it bullying if one thought hard enough about it, but that would mean one of us didn’t want what he asked for – we all did.
No matter the corruption involved in such wickedness.
“Talking about cunts, how is yours?” Arsehole. My frown drops the moment he says the words, eyes glancing towards the door in case the man I actually like walks in. My cunt, as he so nicely puts it, is sore. Not as sore as my arse, but I'm ignoring the fact that he dared do that to me. Not that I can remember anything about what happened after the initial onslaught because I blanked out, just as I always do when Pascal gets too rowdy. I don’t even know what came over me, offering myself like that. Stupid Lilah. “I’m not surprised he loves you with a cu-” My hand goes up, a snarl forming around my mouth.
“No. We never talk about it again.”
“Why?” I pull in a breath and shake my head, unsure why we don’t talk about it again but knowing we shouldn’t. It happened. And I think it happened to get him in the right head space for what he needs to do for Beth. Or maybe not. I don’t know, but it felt like the right thing to do, so I did, and now I don’t know if it was or not. And we’re certainly not sitting here discussing it while Beth is packing her bags. “I don’t mean why not talk about it. I mean why offer it?” And we’re definitely not talking about that, mainly because I don’t yet know.
“You know she’s leaving you, right?” He scoffs and picks up his coffee, chucking an unread newspaper to the side. Arrogant twat. “She is, Alex.”
As if on cue a whirlwind of noise comes from the hallway, crashes and bangs ringing out into the room. I assume they’re her bags being thrown. She does like to launch things. Alex’s head turns at the noise. Mine doesn’t, but the smile that comes from my victory earns me a growl. I dig into my bag for a nail file and tuck my legs under me on the sofa ready for the show.
“Don’t try to stop me,” she screams. To whom I’m not sure. And given that she’s announced that we should not try to stop her, I assume she means that Mr Arsehole should try. Mr Arsehole sighs and gets up, coffee still in hand as he walks towards the noise and leans on the door frame.
“What are you doing?” he asks.Leaving.
“Leaving.” I roll my eyes and concentrate on nail filing, checking my watch for the few minutes that are left before Pascal gets here. Perhaps I need a drink? I look at the drinks cabinet. Vodka? Not yet. “I can’t believe you dragged me back here and think you can force me to stay somewhere I don’t want to be.” Beth again. Dramatic.
“Take yourself back upstairs.”
“No.”
“I will make you if you don’t-“
“Fuck off!” I smirk, enjoying the tone of feisty Beth, and wonder if we should work on her Domming abilities. I don’t think that’s a term. Whatever.
“Elizabeth, you don’t know what you’re doing. Stop being a petulant-“ The slap I hear has me nodding my head and finishing off the corner of my thumb nail so I can get up and pour some drinks. Sounds like we’re all going to need one in a minute.
“OMG. Petulant? Me?” Something crashes. “You should take a look at yourself you inconsiderate arsehole. How dare you call me petulant? And to think of all the shit I’ve put up with from you.” Another crash. “I’ve lost a baby, Alex. Our baby. And you don’t give a shit, do you?” I suck some air through my teeth, wondering how he’s going to answer that. He doesn’t in reality, but sensible dominant thought should have him wrapping her up into his arms and consoling her. Sadly, sense and sadistic preferences don’t seem to rally together much lately with Alex.
