The Parlour (VDB #1) (17 page)

“You’re a liar, and I’m just trying to learn. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” she eventually snapped. He smiled at her ability to read his thoughts and decided to leave the deceit out of the conversation until another time.

“You are indeed here to learn. However, that is a personal discussion, which–”

“Quite, and because it is, it makes it relevant to me. If I need to understand the behaviour of these Dominants as you said, really understand it, then you are the one I need to understand the most. Roxanne told me to learn from you, that you were the most highly decorated Dominant there was. She also said that I would come back an overly qualified sub if I survived you. So, I do need to ask those sort of things, because then I’ll be the best, and make the most money doing it. See?”

Much as he hated his bitch of a wife, the compliment was pleasant coming from her. And he supposed the resulting effect of someone understanding him with anything close to reality would improve the odds of that person becoming an invaluable sub in the future. Unfortunately for Lilah, one English rose swirling through his mind already was quite enough. He narrowed his eyes and eased back into his normal calm demeanour. Lilah James would have to learn to close her mouth. Others would not be so forgiving of her naivety. Her point, though, was a smart one, one she could employ to devastating effect if she chose to, he was positive.

“Sir, may I enter?” Emanuelle’s voice called softly from the door.

“Mmm,” he responded as he stared at Lilah until her eyes found the floor. Blonde hair popped into his field of vison and deposited a large number of bags by the side of Lilah’s feet. “How is your knee today? Emanuelle, you may leave.”

“Still a bit painful, not too bad though,” Lilah replied, still looking at the floor. He listened to his kitten’s feet padding softly across the floor as she left the room and considered whether having Lilah in his bed was such a wise move. He should have Emanuelle find her somewhere else. That would, of course, be the most appropriate reaction to this intrusion on his mental stability.

“Hmm. Get yourself dressed. Wear warm winter clothes, and I would hope a hat has been purchased,” he said as he took his drink and his body out of the room in search of more suitable attire himself.

An hour or so later, he found himself wading through snow like a fifteen-year-old boy again. He could feel the cold winding its way up his legs and revitalising muscles that had not seen the light of day for maybe a year. Fresh cold air and people, many, many normal people. Vanilla people. All of them throwing snowballs at each other and dancing around in some sort of glee filled manner. It was positively disturbing. Why on earth he had believed this would be a pleasant experience was beyond comprehension, although the merriment of the laughter around them was some consolation. A child squealed behind him and rushed past his leg, causing him to dodge the oncoming assault from behind as more of the strange squealing noises screeched into his eardrums.

“You don’t like this very much, do you?” Lilah’s quite lovely voice said next to him, as she tightened her grip on his arm to avoid slipping.

He liked it very much indeed. It was a useful reminder of why none of this was acceptable in his world. Not one iota of this kind of comportment made any sense to him at all. He’d witnessed adults stuffing snow up jumpers, and then trying their hand at icicles in trousers, which was reasonably amusing now he thought about it, and could be quite useful if appropriated in the correct manner. And then he’d had to witness couples wandering around pretending to be in love. None of these people knew what real love was, or the sacrifices one made if one prized it highly enough. None of them had revelled in the debauchery that he had in order to find elements of a heart that had long since left. Well, apart from where Alexander was concerned.

He manoeuvred them around the edge of the fountain and gazed at the oncoming mass of more happy couples, all clasping hands and kissing. Some had their lips bound together in a torment of passion, as if they were desperately seeking a place to hide so they could fuck. Or maybe they were just simply enjoying the feel of their lovers’ lips caressing and comforting them. He supposed they went home to each other every night, slept together, paid bills together, ate together, and went on holidays together.
Normal.

He shook his head and adjusted the scarf at his neck, which instantly reminded him of Alexander again. He was collared and owned, and so desperately craving the connection that the man wouldn’t be able to give for quite some time yet, if ever, given his love for Elizabeth.

“Do you wish he was here?”

“Yes.” The word had left his throat before he had a chance to recall it. He swallowed loudly, trying to pull the word back in again, but it was too late. There was little point denying it in front of Lilah James anyway. Her astute nature would only find a way to bring it back out again.

“Why aren’t you with him if you love him? Does he not love you?” He sighed and looked up into the bright blue sky filled with hot breaths and potential snow storms.

“A good question indeed, my dear, and one I’m afraid I can’t answer, much as I might like to.”

“Are you together?” Together. Two. Only two. Never would there be only two of them.

She slipped on some ice and clung on for support as he dragged her to her feet again and gazed into her questioning eyes. There were thousands of unasked questions in there, simply waiting to spout forth and ask more of him. She had so much to learn about who she was and what she needed. Was it so hard for these people to just reach into the bottoms of their souls and drag out the animals that lived there? The one that either needed to be tamed or enlightened. He’d found the task relatively easy as a youth. He’d simply embraced his need for something that others didn’t seem to have the taste for. While all the other boys in school had constantly talked of girls and hormonal fingerings in sheds, he’d been busy building up a liking for torture at the hands of the headmaster. Some would have called it an outrage, had the man struck off for his conduct. He himself had just been a foolish boy requesting much needed love. And that new form of love was delivered harshly and with a passion he’d never felt from hands again, until Alexander.

“Sorry, I’m okay now. You can let go.” He shook his head again and refocused on the woman in front of him. Beautiful, intelligent, and smiling so brightly the sun almost eclipsed in her wake as she shivered and chattered her teeth.

“Am I amusing you again?” he asked as he quietly let go of her and turned them back in the direction of the café. She caught hold of his arm and giggled, charmingly. “This giggle of yours is pleasing, Lilah. You should do it often.”

“Ah, but too much giggling would show emotions that I clearly am not feeling.”

“Mmm. Errant things, those emotions. One should be careful with their delivery. They can be devastating. Never give your emotions to someone you do not trust with your life. It will surely be your demise.”

“You sound like you’ve said that once too often, Pascal.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her.

“My dear, we are having an issue with the communication of orders. Have I not told you not to call me by my name?”

“Yes, you have,” she replied, looking him directly in the eye.

“Then why is it that you disobey me? Are you in need of a more appropriate punishment to curtail this insubordination?”

“Insubordination? Pascal, please, we are in a park,” she said, turning her back on him and wandering towards the café. He stood still and watched with a brow raised. This was becoming intolerable. “And, if you hadn’t guessed, I’m not overly fond of saying the word. Would you rather I said it because I mean it, or is it enough that I lie repeatedly to inflate your ego further?”

He was beginning to understand what Alexander meant with his reasoning of women who disobeyed orders. She was becoming quite amusing in her complete derision towards anything remotely normal – well, his version of normal. Did he want her to obey? Of course he did. Why she wouldn’t, though, was interestingly intriguing.

“You are answering questions with questions. It is unbecoming,” he replied, inexplicably reaching down for some snow.

“Why, you do it all the time? I need some coffee and a cake. Do you have money?” she called back, still heading away from him with her luscious brown hair poking out of her blue woolly hat, another adorable thing he hated to admit to liking. He’d balled up the snow and thrown it at her back before he realised what he was doing. So shocked was he by his own ridiculous behaviour that he simply stared at his hands and smirked. Within seconds, his face was filled with the cold powder, so much so that he tried to back away but was instantly assaulted with more of the revolting stuff. He coughed and spluttered around mouthfuls and suddenly found himself knocked to the floor with a very giggly Lilah sitting astride him.

“Snowball champion of my school, mister. Don’t mess with me.” She squealed, grabbing more of the stuff and flinging it at him, then, amazingly, trying to shove it down his neck. He grasped hold of her hands with swift fingers and rolled her onto her back until he was nestled between her thighs. She smiled back up at him with reddened cheeks and wrapped her legs around him, pressing on him to pull him nearer. He half baulked at the idea of closeness, but succumbed without further thought as she flickered her eyelashes at him and licked her lips. She was such a striking thing, and something was closer between them, something that made him do things like throw snowballs, it seemed.

“You are tempting a desire you know nothing of, Lilah James.”

“Do you?” she replied, almost instantly. He very much did. He also knew the consequence of such idiotic behaviour. He frowned and let go of her hands so he could try to find the necessary response to such an intimate question. He chose not to answer it at all and began to rise away from her. “Stay, please, just enjoy it for a moment. We can go back to the other job in a minute.”

She put her fingers in the back of his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers, so slowly time almost stopped. All he could see was her twinkling eyes and radiant lips asking for a taste of something he reserved for only two others, and for some unfathomable reason, he wanted to give it to her. It must have been the delinquent behaviour hovering around them. It had to be causing some activity to consume his mind inappropriately, but for the life of him he couldn’t stop the need to feel close to her. His mouth reached for her lips with a hunger that obsessed him. Soft teasing licks of near desperation had him panting above her as he rolled his tongue across hers. Her arms and legs holding him tightly only increased his hunger to devour her. She moaned and whimpered beautifully, mewls of need asking for a chance at something he refused to give to anyone but them, only them. Not Lilah. Lilah was a paid for service. An expensive service. Something he needed to fuck and dismiss. Something he wouldn’t be keeping.

He slowly pulled back and gazed down at her as she stared back up, her breath panting and grey eyes full of undisclosed want as she reached her finger up to brush it over his lips. Such an ethereal creature, full of love and need no matter how unemotional she said she could be.

He pulled further away, watching her warm breath cloud the air between them, inch by torturous inch, until he was upright and turned for the café again.

I’ve learned more about Dominants in two hours of walking than I thought I ever would. Regardless of what they might be, or what they might need sexually, they are just people – people just like any others. They clearly have their quirks and strange needs, but underlying that is a deep-seated emotion that they either deny, choose not to admit, or need time away from.

Talking about his world with him has been informative, logical, sense filled and completely juxtaposed to the man who kissed me and started a snowball fight. I’ve got all the new and interesting terms boxed into appropriate holes in my head. Sir, seems to be the main one of consequence, one which I’m refusing to call him anymore, which is bloody stupid of me really given I’m trying to avoid all sentimentality where he’s concerned, but Pascal just suits him so much better. His lips were so lovely in that kiss, so calming, as if the world simply didn’t exist for a few brief moments as we both lay there in the snow. Beautiful, just for a few minutes. Then he walked away, which was definitely the sensible thing for him to do.

Now, we’re sitting in the Loeb Boathouse having a coffee, which does not include semen – well, I don’t think it does – while chatting more about his world and what is required of me in it. Those few moments of intimacy have been dismissed, it seems. That’s probably for the best, given the consuming emerald eyes that are staring at me as every other woman in the place tries to pretend they’re not glancing at him. It’s not really surprising. He looks devastatingly attractive today in his sage green, thick woollen suit. It skims his toned body to perfection, highlighting far too interesting features on his beautiful face. He is exquisitely put together, perfection if truth be told, and most definitely not for me. I know this because every time he smiles, I can’t help but think of log fires and happy family homes, things I’m sure Pascal would not even entertain the thought of. It’s such a lovely image, though, that I can’t help imagining him in a more relaxed mood, just as he was for a few minutes in the bath, and in bed as I listened to his breathing evening out while he fell asleep. He held me all night, and as I tossed and turned in his embrace to break his hold, he simply drew his arms tighter and then linked our hands together.

“You are not listening to me, my dear?”

“Why do you dismiss emotion?” I muse in response as he taps the floor with his ever-present cane. I’m genuinely interested from a Dominant’s perspective. One would assume that keeping an element of emotion involved would help build true communication between Dom and sub. I’m also hoping that it’ll give another hint of the man inside. He stares for a time and then signals to the waiter for the check.

“I do not dismiss it. I simply do not have it to dismiss, Lilah,” he replies, standing abruptly and offering me my coat. I smile at him and slip my arms into it, looping my scarf around my neck at the same time.

“Liar, you just called me Lilah again. If I were truly of no emotional interest to you, you would continue to call me ‘my dear’ constantly. You also would not have kept your gaze firmly fixed on me the entire time we’ve been here. You would have entertained all the other women in here with your dramatic gliding and wicked smiles. Plus you do have feelings for someone, do you not?” He pulls some cash out of his pocket, gracefully flicking it on top of the silver platter as he turns for the door instead of answering me. I follow him and wonder how to get the information another way. “Do you hide it because of him?”

There’s a silence so long that I start to feel a little uncomfortable as he stares up into the sky and watches the snow filled clouds drifting by. I shove my woolly hat down on my head and slide the leather gloves on to wait for a response, should it ever come. One thing he won’t do is be rushed; that’s clear to see. I get the feeling that any small snippet of information from him is huge in comparison to what he might give others. Time just stretches on, though, and I’m just beginning to think I’ve asked too much when he turns and pulls my neck towards him. Firm, leather clad hands grasp at my neck and stretch me up to his lips. He doesn’t move to accommodate the height difference, just expects me to somehow reach him, and god knows how, but I do, because the feel of those lips on mine is so consuming that I’m powerless to deny them. They’re so warm and soft in the midst of this winter scene, rolling effortlessly over mine, and the moans that leave me as I fall into him are gut wrenching. I try to somehow wrap myself around his rigid stance, desperately hoping his body will soften, too, as I inch our beating hearts closer, stupidly, not able to keep up the pretence that I’m not consumed by his touch any longer. As his other hand eventually lands on the small of my back and pulls me to him, I revel in our private moment. Beautiful, stunning. Just us, together. Far more intimate than any fucking session.

He groans as my hands find his head to deepen the kiss, giving me chance to cling on tighter and almost climb into his head for a few more seconds. This is Pascal, not Sir, not Mr. Van Der Braack, nor the man everyone bows and scrapes to. This is just a man kissing a woman, passionately, in the middle of Central Park.

It suddenly occurs to me that perhaps he’s not kissing
me
, and I screw my face up at the thought as I rip my lips from his and think of Alexander White. Is that who he’s thinking about? It wouldn’t be surprising, given the overpoweringly immaculate man I met, but I’d like to think it was me having this effect on Pascal and not him. Although that’s just stupid of me, and completely inappropriate in all of this. I’m just here to do a job.
Job.
Make the bloody money and move on. Why do I keep searching for more from him?

I shake my head to myself and turn away from him before I have chance to think anything else of what just happened. He chuckles behind me and I swing back to find bright eyes laughing at something.

“You are truly stunning in your confusion, Lilah James.”

“Me, confused? I’m not confused. You’re the one who just kissed someone else without him even being here,” I reply animatedly as I stomp off towards the lake, attempting a non-emotional response. It’s not working, but I hold my head up anyway and keep walking. I can’t believe I let myself think, even for a second, that there was more to this. Stupid. I have to stop this. I thought all this emotion was in a box somewhere, locked up safe. Why does he have to be so damn good-looking and intelligent? He catches up to me with nothing but a few swift strides and grabs at my arm to turn me back to him.

“If I was kissing Alexander, I would surely have broken your neck within my grasp, Lilah. Do not assume anything when my lips are on yours. You do not comprehend how little they linger on anything. You should be pleased that you engage such a reaction from me.”

“Wow, what an egotistical wanker you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t believe you do that and then self-serve yourself by being a pompous arse. Engage such a reaction? What a crap thing to say about such a beautiful moment. If you
were
thinking about me, couldn’t you try for something a little more summery, wintery even, as long as it had wonderful connotations to it? Christ!” I shrug out of his hold again and make a beeline for the water’s edge. Perhaps I can see some sense if I just get back to the topic of sin rather than thinking about love and beauty and nice things that have no business being inside my head at all. “Look, there’s absolutely no point to this at all. Don’t kiss me again, please. Tell me more about hand signals for when I’m gagged instead. That I can cope with.”

I might have shouted that a bit too loud over my shoulder, because a woman wandering past frowns as she yanks her child out of the way. I scowl at her intolerance and turn for the lake again.

“As you wish, my dear,” he says quietly, keeping his distance as I pick up some gravel and launch it at the frozen surface. It bounces off the ice as if it means nothing to the frigid façade, not unlike my feelings where the wall of frozen emotion behind me is concerned. I swing back to him in a state of irritation and can’t stop my mouth moving.

“As I wish? What I wish is that you would let yourself be who you want to be rather than pretending that nothing affects you. If you were kissing me back there then your lips were filled with something other than sin. Tell me they weren’t?”

“They were filled with exactly what you required of me. That is my position as your Dominant, to give you that which you need,” he says with a smirk.

“Dominants aren’t required to give subs what they need. It’s a Dominant’s position to ask for that which
he
needs, and a submissive’s job to offer it freely as long as she feels safe. You prompted that kiss, not me. I asked you about Alexander, and instead of answering me, you deflected by kissing me while you were thinking of him. That is deceptive, and not the behaviour of a decent Dominant. You should have been honest with me, and yourself.”

“You miss a rather intrinsically relevant point, one that you will understand eventually, but mainly you are correct. You are already quite the connoisseur of our dynamics. I have taught you well so far, yes? You will do very well in the club this evening. You understand the underlying nuances perfectly.”

“Are you suggesting this is a lesson of some sort?”

“Indeed, a well learnt one I would say. You will be an excellent addition to Lucinda’s entourage.”

What? We’re doing this and he’s talking about sending me back?

“Fuck you.”

“I am not amused by your language, and am of a mind to spank you for your insolence,” he says sharply, taking a step toward me and smirking again.

“You will do nothing of the sort. That was not a lesson and I want you to bloody well admit it.” He smirks again and tightens his scarf.

“Why do you believe you deserve anything from me other than the lessons I offered?”

“Because you…” I can’t speak, and he is suddenly closing the distance between us, which is disconcerting to say the least.

“Hmm? Come, my dear, enlighten me as to what it is that is revolving in that mind of yours.” Should I tell him? God, this is not fun at all.

“Because you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Oh, good lord he’s too close again. Stay out of my head.

“You wouldn’t let me go last night, and it’s more than just…”

“More than what, exactly?” he asks as he gets within a hair’s breadth of me and just hovers above me with a highly amused smile while licking his damn lips. All logical thought is abandoning me. I need to get that back. This mumbling is stupid, but it continues to fall from me as my eyes gaze at his chest.

“You wouldn’t, and I couldn’t… and the snowball thing, and then you just kissed me, and you didn’t look at anyone else, and…” Oh fuck, I have to stop this. Now.

“Be careful, Lilah James. You are beginning to sound like you are becoming overly involved in our non-emotional arrangement.” I drag my heel a step backwards and lift my head with the most determined face I can muster.

“No, it’s just that I need you to be honest. That’s all. Really honest. I can’t understand the dynamics if you’re not honest, and I need that to do my job effectively, don’t I?”

His hooded stare fixes on mine until eventually he puts his hands in his pockets and takes a step away from me, and then another. He’s frowning and staring with an angered expression, expanding the distance again with another step.

“Honesty is a two way affair, my dear, one which insists upon the upmost trust. Giving oneself over to another and being truly bonded is beyond your comprehension at present. You ask for something which you are not prepared to give yourself. Had you not assumed my arrogance, and rather respected our moments, you would have found peace lingering in timeless seconds. Instead, you confuse yourself over what my lips on yours mean, or my embrace around you. When you understand me a little more readily, you will see that you achieved something very few can, and for that, Lilah, I thank you. You are remarkable in your abilities.”

With that, he spins on his heel and wanders away from me in the direction of the bridge. I run over his words in my mind. What the hell did that mean? Again and again I recite them to myself, hoping for enlightenment, and find nothing other than the fact that he wants me to be honest with him, which, in our present arrangement, is a little uncomfortable. Why should I tell him how I feel about him? What has he done to deserve feelings from me? He brought me to his den of iniquity, under duress, sort of, and now he’s going to pay me to have sex with him. There’s nothing honest or pleasant about any of it, no matter how lovely the real Pascal may seem. I stare out over the frozen lake again and see men like Alexander White laughing at me. Absurdly good looking he may be, but he’s just another man who will pay for me to be on my knees for him while he takes what he needs. There’s no emotion involved in moments like that, and while I’m being paid, there should be no emotion involved in anything, should there?

Peace lingering in timeless seconds.

What a truly lovely sentence, full of flowers and pretty girlish things – a lover’s chant of beauty, maybe of a moment’s bliss never-ending. Something only the real version of the man who’s still walking away from me could say. Something honest. Something true. Something I should have heard the moment it left his damn lips.

My feet have are walking towards the bridge to follow him before I can stop them. Yet again, there’s nothing to stop me leaving. I could easily walk the other way, perhaps go to the homeless shelter on 67
th
, maybe even see if there’s a job at the restaurant we’ve just been to, but the lure of him is too strong. And if he’ll give me just one more sentence like that, or one more kiss, then maybe I’ll be able to take the pain he’s going to deliver when he sends me away.