Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (25 page)

I nod, likening her metaphorical boxes to the little coffins where I banish my demons before I bury them. ‘I know what you mean. Mine are coffin shaped.’

She makes a humming sound, as though she’s thinking that over but because she’s illuminated from behind, I can’t see her face properly to read her expression.

‘Are they coffin shaped because you’ve slayed your demons?’

I laugh. ‘I wish, although some are ... well, as good as—they’d take some waking up but others regularly scratch at the lid, trying to escape.’

She turns to me abruptly. ‘My boxes rattle. But then, I don’t really think of having actual demons inside to scratch at the lid. I think of mine more as ghosts from my past and, when they try to escape, they rock the box, rattling it. What do you do when you hear scratching?’

‘Ignore it, I guess.’

‘Does it work? I don’t think that would work for me.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. If they’re determined to get out, ignoring them doesn’t work.’

She sounds almost too afraid to ask when she whispers, ‘Do they ever get out?’

I nod. I’ve seen what happens to Veuve when her ghosts escape. They pull her back into the nightmare of her past that she tries so hard to leave behind. I’ve also got more than an inkling of how to bring her back ... she has to associate with her post-Paul role of a Domme ... no, more than that, she has to assume the role and it seems to break her association with the past. I wonder what happens if she’s alone and there’s no-one to dominate ... I don’t like where that thought is going so I banish it.

‘What do you do to get them back into their coffins?’ she asks. I can’t help but wonder whether she’s trying to learn a few tricks from me ... another indication that she’s struggling.

I purse my lips, deciding whether it would be appropriate for me to be honest. I only know that it would be wrong to lie so I confess.

‘When my demons crawl into my consciousness, I used to get laid to blot them out,’ I say simply.

She nods, I get the feeling she can relate. ‘Used to?’

Shrugging, I reply. ‘It worked to begin with but those fuckers are persistent. Either that or the novelty wore off when it became predictable.’

‘Is that why you fuck the way you do? Why you don’t have relationships with women but pick up random fuck partners instead?’

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I feel exposed. Judged even. Well, I started this, so I have to reap what I’ve sown. ‘I guess. I’ve always been emotionally distant ... well, as far back as I can remember. My mother’s convinced that it’s because I was so close to Sandy and then after the trauma of her disappearance I’ve built up barriers to prevent me from becoming attached to anyone.’

‘What do you think of that?’ Veuve interrupts, sounding more like the therapist now.

‘I don’t. Think about it, I mean. It really doesn’t matter, does it? It’s just who I am. What I am. It suits me so I’ve just accepted it.’

‘So you fuck them and fuck off?’

I can’t figure out whether she’s being judgemental.

‘Before you go thinking I’m some lowlife fucktard, I’m not one of those men who make promises to women just to get them into bed, promises they have no intention of keeping, no matter how good a fuck she is. I make it clear that my need is to fuck, and there’s no shortage of women willing to take you to their bed for a no-strings fucking. I guess I’m lucky that I’m not a complete moose—having a pretty face and a decent body is what lines them up. Nothing to do with what kind of person I am—I could be a raging psychopath for all they know. They ask no questions before they’re willing to open their legs. It’s pitiful.’

Even in the dim light, I can see her eyebrow raise on the side of her face that’s facing her flat. I brace myself for her scathing view on my shameless use of women’s bodies. But it doesn’t come.

‘It’s the same for a lot of men too. I have an attractive face and a body made for fucking and, as long as they’re not repulsed by the thought of fucking a woman with curves instead of a visible ribcage and a thigh gap, they’re only too keen to oblige. If I’m wearing my Domme uniform, it scares some of them off, but others see it as an opportunity to prove their masculinity by out-domming me. When I refuse, suddenly I’m a freak. And don’t worry, Jones, you don’t have to justify no-strings sex to me. As long as it’s obvious that’s what’s on offer and both parties consent, as long as precautions are taken, or you know their sexual health is good, I’m all in favour. Vouloir thrives on people of a BDSM persuasion, whether they’re in a committed relationship or whether they’re commitment-phobes.’

‘Fucking typical,’ I say out loud, without really meaning to.

‘Hmm?’

‘The irony,’ I say with a wry smile. ‘As soon as I stumble upon the place, my strategy stops working. There are probably more women under that roof who are looking for a bloke to practically drag them out back and fuck them, without him giving a fuck about them than there are women who want to take control.’

‘When you say
giving a fuck,
do you mean not giving a fuck about a woman in the sense that it’s a no-strings one-off, or that he doesn’t give a fuck about her needs, her pleasure?’

I shrug. ‘Both, I guess.’

Her voice takes on an edge. ‘Then you’re a fool. One does not mean the same as the other. Of course there are women out there, especially in places like Vouloir who get off on the idea that he’s taking what’s his, that she’s used and discarded but mostly that’s just a scene, just an illusion. They’re often the submissives who’re in committed D/s relationships.’

I’d not really considered it before.

‘There are those who are up for a commitment-free fuck who’re happy for you to take what you need because their self-esteem is so low that they don’t feel they deserve anything more. They’re just happy to oblige. It gives them a boost ... until you walk out of the door, the second you roll the condom off your softening cock. Then they feel used and useless.’

I open my mouth to protest but she holds her palm up and cuts me off before I start. ‘Don’t try to justify it by saying that you’ve never made any woman feel like that. How do you know how she’s feeling when you close the door behind you? How could you know that lying next to her and giving her a cuddle for a few minutes would have made all the difference? I’m not saying that’s what happened every time you went on your merry way, but I guarantee you that it happened sometimes. More often than you’d like to think.’

Indignation surges in my veins, even though I know she’s got a point. ‘What about you? Do you know exactly what the consequences might be when you’re finished with one of your subs?’

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. I want to take the whole conversation back. I was supposed to be trying to get her to open up. All I’ve done is give her the ammunition to judge and condemn me.

‘They’re not
my
subs if we’re not in a relationship. I don’t own any of the subs. And I don’t owe them anything other than to make sure that what happens is safe, sane and consensual. However, because I’m a respectful, caring Domme, I always put their needs before my own. I get off on giving them what they want, what they need. The experience is enhanced tenfold, hell, a hundredfold, when each of you get what you want or need. If I don’t know them, it takes minutes to define the boundaries either by having a frank conversation before we begin or by using the skills that I’ve honed to perfection to elicit the information I need. Reading body language, tells, triggers and responses. It’s not difficult, when you know what you’re doing. Aftercare is important but it takes many forms: again, it’s knowing the sub or taking the time to figure it out.

‘I’ve no interest in who you choose to fuck or how you fuck them but please, give a fuck in more than the physical sense before you walk out that door.’

I feel like a chastened child. Why, when the words fall from Veuve’s lips, do they seem obvious? I’ve been so oblivious to anything other than the desperation of those women – desperation to spread their legs in preparation for a thorough fucking. They’d consented. They’d known it was a one off. Sure, some would try to get me to hang around afterwards but I thought they were just needy whores, trying to get more cock. The possibility that they were psychologically needy and that I could have caused them harm in some way makes me feel sick.

‘I’ve already said that I don’t do that now. It doesn’t work,’ I snap.

‘Why doesn’t it work now?’ Her persistence makes me feel like climbing over the railing and down the building. Why? Because she makes me face up to things that I’d rather not. Despite the fact that I initiated the conversation in an attempt to make her face up to some things. Never attempt to outmanoeuvre a therapist; they tie you up in fucking knots.

‘Come on, Jones. We might be able to figure out a new, more successful method of getting the demons back inside their wooden boxes ... or, better still, preventing them from escaping in the first place.’

Shrugging, I reply, ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Well, when did it stop working?’

‘I don’t know. It’s been hit and miss for months. No, if I’m honest, it became less and less successful over a period of months. Now it doesn’t work at all.’

‘When was the last time you tried?’

My mouth opens but thankfully, my brain engages. I don’t want to tell her that I’ve already fucked in Vouloir and then fucked off. That blonde dancer ... in light of Veuve’s comments, the memory makes me feel ashamed.

‘I don’t mean the last time you got laid, Jones. I mean the last time you went looking for someone to fuck, then fucked her purely for your own needs.’

‘Fucking hell, that
was
the last time I got laid. Jesus, what’s happening to me?’

‘Okay ... so have you tried fucking someone when she wasn’t a passive partner?’

I shake my head. ‘No. Whenever I felt everything getting too much, or whenever I felt the darkness descending, I would just pick someone up, make sure they knew the drill and then fuck them. My way. My rules.’

‘You told me last night you like it rough ... domineering sex with you on top. So that’s what works for you, whether you’re horny, feeling like a stress release or whether your demons are on the loose? Bend her over, pull her hair and plough into her sex?’

I hate it when it’s like she can read my mind. ‘Mostly, although it could be legs in the air ... any position where I could get in deep—the deeper, the better. But never her on top ... I don’t have the patience.’

‘It was all about emptying your balls quickly and aggressively? Your need driven by the need to wipe out the thoughts in your head?’

I nod. That just about sums it up.

‘So either the thoughts in your head are more demanding in their need to be heard or, the effectiveness of fucking like that wore off—maybe because it became predictable or unsatisfying ... it could be worth trying something new, Jones. Of course, I’d recommend traditional therapy too but I know how therapeutic a good fucking can be. There’s no greater release ...’

She breaks off, as though changing her mind about saying something.

‘What were you going to say?’ Time for me to return the persistence favour.

‘Huh? Nothing,’ she says, sheepishly.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. You make me come clean about stuff that makes me look and feel like crap and you’re the one who got to judge me and deliver your verdict. Now you’re holding back on me and I want to know why.’

‘It’s nothing. I just realised something, that’s all.’

‘What?’ I demand. I feel childish, playing tit for tat but it’s more than that ... I started this to help her unload and I feel that it’s right to push her as she pushed me.

She sighs heavily. ‘I felt a bit like that tonight. Like you said earlier, everything was getting a bit too much. I always turn to sex for my release. It’s Domme sex that puts the lids back on my boxes but it’s also what helps to keep the lids from popping off in the first place. Sex is a good stress reliever for anybody, after all. Anyway, I went to Vouloir with the sole purpose of finding a release with a thorough session.’ She pauses, as though she doesn’t want to tell me.

‘I’d have obliged, if you’d asked. I’d have done my best and I’m sure you could have made sure that I put your needs first.’

She smiles. ‘Thanks. I felt that I needed something extreme ... really put someone through their paces. For that, I needed a hardened sub.’ I smile my understanding and she continues. ‘It’s never failed me.’

She breaks off again. Something happened at Vouloir, I know it did. There’s no way she fucked herself stupid, had that much needed release and then came back here, curled up in the shower and cried like a baby. It makes no sense. The fucking was meant to strengthen her. Suddenly, I realise that I don’t begrudge whoever it was she chose to give her that release tonight. Yeah, I wish it could have been me but, after seeing her sobbing in the shower tray, how could I put my envy over her sanity?

‘What happened?’ I say gently.

She shrugs. ‘That’s the thing. There’s an experienced sub to whom I’ve been attracted for a while but the opportunity hasn’t arisen ... I’ve not been as active in the club as I once was. From what I knew, he was perfect for me.’

I sense a
but
coming so I wait patiently. As I wait, I consider her words and I realise I’m not the only one who’s not been getting laid as often as I’d like lately.

‘I’ll spare you the details but all went to plan but ... and I admit that I was somewhat distracted from time to time ... by the time I got back here, I felt agitated again. Then I found I couldn’t get my corset off and, for some reason, I really wanted a shower. Something snapped and I decided to get in the shower anyway ... then ... well, I don’t know what happened. The next thing I know, you’re here and I feel a bit of a tit.’ Her voice gets gradually quieter. She’s embarrassed, I think.

‘No need to feel like that, and believe me, that’s my job.’ I give her a gentle nudge with my elbow, trying to keep the tone light.

‘What’s your job? To feel a bit of a tit? Wouldn’t you rather just grab the whole thing?’ She’s grinning now.