Chapter 43 #2
“When love is satisfied, all charm disappears, remember?” I said, repeating the words of Jean, the master of French Cuisine.
“And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about your feelings, I do care about them.
More than my own. Which is probably unhealthy but I don’t think I care. Does that make me reckless and crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, fine. And I’m sorry for slamming a door in your face too, I just panicked.”
“You were afraid of me?”
“Overwhelmed by you,” I amended and he nodded.
“It’s the same for me, you know,” he whispered, as if he was telling me a secret. “I don’t like the way I’m acting with you. It’s out of character.”
“Well, don’t I feel special.” I shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how many devastated women Alfie must have left in his wake. I needed to get up. I attempted to sit up and stifled a wince at my sore muscles.
“Did I hurt you that badly?” Alfie sat up, his gaze running over my body.
“No, I’m fine,” I answered, but his eyes sought out mine and discovered the lie with ease.
With a grace I envied, he climbed off the snooker table.
He refastened his trousers, then ran his hands through his hair.
He didn’t look as if he’d just fucked me raw on a snooker table.
He looked perfect, except for his shirt which had two buttons missing.
I tried to follow suit but was halted by Alfie’s hands encircling my ankles.
“What’re you doing? Let me up.” I shifted my ankles, testing his grip. He didn’t budge.
“Open your legs, O’Connell. Now.”
Open my legs? My mind spun as I took in the anger on his face. Was he angry with me or himself?
“No,” I answered, keeping my voice strong even though I quivered inside.
Alfie sighed, seeming bored with the debate already.
He grabbed my knees and opened them. I allowed it, more out of curiosity than anything else.
His large hands encircled my thighs, pinning them open, leaving me completely exposed to his scrutiny.
I tried not to squirm as he slid his hands gently north and stroked his thumbs lightly over the marks that were already beginning to show on my inner thighs.
“You’re going to have bruises here.” His brow furrowed. His eyes zeroed in on the would-be bruises. He drank in the sight of them as if he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away.
“You’re happy that I’m going to be marked by you.”
“It gives me pleasure. That’s not the same as happiness.”
I wondered what kind of pleasure could make a person look so unhappy?
I’d never seen him like this before, filled with such deep sadness that seemed to reach beyond just this moment.
On the planes of his face was a history of sorrow, entrenched deep in his bones.
I realised then, as clear as anything, that that was what was behind the mask.
Not just debauched secrets but sadness. I wanted to erase it, to cleanse him of all of it, but I didn’t know how.
Before I could reply, he seemed to shake himself out of whatever trance seeing the marks had put him in. The shutters came down, and with a thud that broke my heart, he slid his mask back into place. He grasped the hem of my dress and pulled it down, making me decent once more.
“Come, we’re going to bed.” His arms wrapped around me, one under my legs, the other firm around my back as he tried to lift me. I swatted him away, frustrated that once again he was shutting me out and treating me like a child.
“I can walk, Alfie.” I wriggled out of his grasp and landed in an ungraceful heap on the snooker table. The unforgiving wood dug into me and I was starting to regret ever running into this room. Alfie towered over me, his fists clenching on the edge of the table.
“You’re hurt.”
I rolled my eyes at him. I was being petty and I knew it, but I was sick of him shutting me out and controlling me. “I’m fine,” I protested but no sooner had I spoken the words than he snapped. His fists slammed down on the hard mahogany of the table, the wood vibrating with the force of it.
“For fuck’s sake, Lola!” He glowered at me, waiting for me to submit and let him win, but I wouldn’t. “You’ve been fighting me all day, why can’t you just—” He cut himself off, pushing away from the table and stalking away from me. His hands fisted in his hair like he wanted to tear it out. “Fuck!”
I watched him pacing the room with wide eyes. What is wrong with him?
I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he turned, staring at me wide-eyed from across the room, and spoke words that sent a chill up my spine.
“Every time you fight me you put yourself at risk.” He spoke slowly but his voice shook. His whole body hummed with tension, as if there was a demon inside him trying to bust its way out. I needed to diffuse this situation. Diffuse it. Diffuse it now.
“What’re you talking about?” I said as calmly as I could.
His eyes flicked to the marks on my thighs, marks left by him, and I started to understand.
This wasn’t about control or anger, it was about guilt.
“Alfie, this isn’t the first time you’ve accidentally marked me during sex.
” His jaw ticked and he opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again.
“It wasn’t an accident. You hurt me and I wanted you to suffer for it.” He tilted his chin up defiantly, as if waiting for…what? Rejection over his vulnerability? He’d be waiting a long time.
I held out a hand to him and his eyes widened in surprise.
My hand hung in the air, waiting for him.
I bit my lip, and just when I thought he was going to reject me, he came to me, not too close, but close enough to slip his fingers into mine, his clammy palm connecting with my own.
I pulled him closer till he stood at the edge of the table.
I pushed up onto my knees until I was level with him.
My dress rode up and his pained gaze slipped again to my marked thighs.
I took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me.
Even in this position he was taller than me.
“Alfie, whatever you’re trying to convince me of, I don’t believe it. I believe you’re hiding things from me, things you don’t want me to see, and I don’t understand why. But I remember that you told me once that deep down, you could be a good man.”
“I lied.”
“That’s for me to decide, not you, and I have decided.
There is goodness inside you, Alfie Tell.
You have demons but you aren’t one. You have more protective instinct than anyone I ever met, but you have to let me in.
You have this wall up around you, and I can’t get through it on my own.
I can’t blast my way in, or climb it. You have to open the door.
” I meant to sound steady and strong, but by the end of my speech I sounded like I was begging.
“You won’t like what you see when you’re inside.”
I took a deep breath before I spoke. “Maybe not, but maybe I’ll find the good in you anyway.”
His eyes searched mine for any sign of falsity.
Then, as if someone had flicked a switch inside him, all the tension released from his body.
He closed his eyes as if in prayer and pressed his forehead to mine.
For once, I didn’t feel like his mind was going a million miles a minute, busy processing and recalculating.
“I’m still carrying you to bed, O’Connell.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I wilted, and this time I didn’t fight when he took me in his arms, lifting me easily. He strode down the hall, heading for the staircase.
“Why didn’t you want me to carry you?”
I was surprised by the question, Alfie usually liked to skate over issues we disagreed on, not talk them through.
“It undermines my authority.” He snorted in response, the small sound putting a smile on my face.
I sighed and rested my head against his chest as he climbed the stairs.
I hoped we’d broken new ground tonight because I couldn’t stand being shut out for much longer.
“I don’t like it because it’s unnecessary, Alfie. ”
“So, I can only take care of you when it’s necessary?” He stepped into the bedroom, the thud of his footsteps softening as he stepped off the hardwood of the corridor and onto plush carpet.
“I guess not,” I said as he deposited me onto the bed. “Why do you like to carry me around so much?”
“I want you to be safe. When you’re in my arms I have control over what happens to you. It’s the only time I don’t feel agitated.” He left me on the bed, moved to the chaise-lounge by the window, and began undoing his shoes.
“So, you’re saying that if I was just walking beside you, something might happen to me?”
“You could fall over.” I waited for him to let me know he was joking, but he wasn’t. He was really that paranoid.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I know.” He toed off his shoes and socks neatly, then stood and began on the remaining buttons of his shirt, the ones that hadn’t gone flying across the room when I’d ripped his shirt open.
Saliva gathered in the hollows of my mouth as I followed the trail of his fingers, their deftness revealing his torso inch by inch.
My throat convulsed when I got to the V of his hips and the smooth ridges of muscle.
When I finally flicked my eyes back to his face framed in moonlight, his cheeks were hollowed in a self-satisfied smile.
He knew what he was, he knew it so damned well it killed me.
“Is it so difficult for you to let me carry you? Being in control gives me peace of mind, Lola.”
“But why do you need the control, Alfie? What happens when you lose it?” He glanced at the marks on my thighs, then darted away again, focusing instead on the fastening of his trousers.
Apparently, the comfort I’d tried to give him in the games room hadn’t reached as far as I’d thought, and the ground I’d thought we’d broken still remained smooth and untrodden.
“Alfie—”