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I want a ball-gown.
The key slowly ratchets the door open and I stand almost naked under the frame. He’s in a chair about five feet back, staring at me. No movement on his face. No ease to the severe gaze he bestows because of my actions. Just dark, torrid eyes and a scowl firmly entrenched, as if he’d stay there all night, day, whatever it is, and keep looking at me until I follow him out of here.
“I want to dance,” I murmur, moving forward. “With you.”
No movement or show of agreement. He’s motionless. Stagnant in his position with his fingers steepled under his chin. Perhaps he’s still mad with me. I’ve got no time for that. Nor has he. Neither of us has time nor care for antagonism because of this place. I move closer slowly, watching the crease in his brow dip further in. “Why so serious, Mr Rothburg?” I smile and wait in front of him, less than a foot between us and only panties in the way for him. “Don’t you want me anymore?”
Still no response but those eyes burrowing into mine. They’re fixed. Unwavering. Cruel again beneath his brow. Sexy really. I laugh and sway, enjoying the enchantment of the pills as they chase through me and disperse whatever rationality was lingering inside. No time for rational. No need or want for it.
“Are you dancing, Gray?” I ask, swaying and moving around him towards Malachi and Faith. “You could wear that tux you offered and we could dance all night. Fuck all night. Isn’t that what you want?”
Malachi chuckles in the background. I look over slowly, taking in his frame sat in a chair on the far side of the room, Faith draped over him. He sucks at the straw she’s holding to his mouth, pulling down long slow draws on her drink, and quirks his lips at me as if something is funny. Nothing is. I mean every word. All night. A long night. And the next day, too. If it is night. It always seems like it’s night here. No light in the air to brighten anything. Only dim candles and murky corridors leading to new rabbit holes. “I need a dress.”
“I have a dress,” Faith says behind me. “It’s pretty, like you.”
“Black?”
“Yes. Lacy. Tight.”
“Mmm.”
My body keeps swaying, a chorus inside my head giving me a beat to dance to, as I move back around in front of Gray. “Come dance with me, Mr Rothburg. Give me your all for the night. You can’t hurt me.”
Maybe I’ll listen to him then. Find sense in his senseless words about leaving. Once he’s claimed me again in some way, made me behave with his heavy hands and vicious teeth, made me want to behave again, I might forget he handed be over to the man behind me as if I was a toy.
I sit over his lap, legs stretched around his body and my hips getting comfortable on him. Still no movement. He doesn’t even budge his steepled fingers so I can get to his mouth and relive the kisses we’ve shared. “Or you could leave and I’ll find someone else.”
My fingers trail along the sides of the chair, gently trickling over the wood. Back and forth, forth and back, waiting for answer to my needs. So cold again. So rigid beneath me and uninvolved. I should tell him another story, murmur words of blowjobs and dirty, dark corners. Men with their harsh hands in my hair and their cocks down my throat. He knows that one now, though. Has felt me around his cock. Used me when I was willing to be used.
“Go and find your dress,” he says, snarling.
My smile brightens instantly, legs starting to climb off him excitedly, but he clamps down so severely I gasp at the feeling. “One night, Hannah. One more night and then we leave.”
The fingers bite in further, to the point where I start heaving in breaths and trying to squirm away from him. He doesn’t let me in the slightest. Just stares again until I eventually begin to quieten and accept his handling. “Youwillleave this time.”
His brow arches, a show of intent if I don’t acknowledge the apparent order I’m being given, and he slowly begins reducing the restrictive grip on me. Hmm. I ease back from him, quietly moving away as his hold slips from my skin.
“I mean it, Hannah,” he says, watching me move towards Faith. I’m sure he does, but that doesn’t mean I’m going unless I choose to.
Faith’s already climbing out of Malachi’s lap by the time I reach her, a smile on her face about something as she stands. “Shall we?” she says, walking for the door.
I take a last glance back at Gray, wondering what he’s still so angry about. I can still feel his anger on my skin now, despite him not touching it anymore, still feel the imprint on the back of my thighs. It bites in deeply, nullifying the sharp ache on my stomach that Malachi delivered and making me question how he’s about to behave with me.
There’s nothing on his face but that stoic cruelty he bestows so well. Then he just gets up and walks from the room without acknowledging me any further.
“I hope you’re ready,” Malachi murmurs from his chair. I swing back to look at him, sharp eyes snatching looks at his amusement. He tips his gaze up to the ceiling, away from me and whatever I might think of his opinion. “I think you’ve infuriated him, Mrs Tanner.” He sucks at his straw again, still chuckling under his breath. “I’ve never seen that from him before. He's normally so calm and methodical with his fun.”
I don’t know what that means, but Faith pulls my hand to drag me from the room before I can delve further into what it might mean. She giggles in front of me and skips, the long trail of her dress bouncing as she goes. “Delicious,” she says, giggling again. “First he manhandles me, and now you. What have you done, pretty thing?”
The sweeping stairs are in front of us and we’re climbing them before I get my bearings in this place. I rush up them with her, my feet tripping every other step at the speed she’s travelling. Corridors blur and distort, as my mind tries to keep up with the haste. Deep red corridors. Dense blue ones. Nothing’s slow anymore. Not sensuous nor sumptuous.
Ornate carvings decorate the ceilings, gargoyles staring down on me with their hostile eyes. I can feel myself shrinking away from them, troubled by the way they morph and change as we keep moving. Maybe it’s me and these pills. Must be. Gargoyles don’t move.
“You should shower,” Faith says suddenly.
I look back at her and realise we’re in a bedroom. Hers, I assume. Not theirs. It’s decorated with flowers. Light and airy against the backdrop of dark and foreboding outside of the room.
“You don’t sleep with him,” I mumble, as I touch things and wander around the space. It’s nothing like the room I was in with Malachi. That’s his room. This is hers. “Your husband? Malachi?”
