Alexander Pierce III knows your (darkestfears) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-03-09 20:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | catwoman, scarecrow |
Who: Alex and Wren
What: The morning after
Where: Random Vegas hotel on the strip
When: 2 years ago
Warnings/Rating: Creepy!Alex, some violence, allusions to some dubious consent. Read at your own risk!
The heavy red curtains were drawn over the window, but the morning sun was intense, sneaking through the space between the curtains and casting a beam of sunlight over the bed, the sprawl of limbs, and the covers that barely covered and simply concealed. Brown eyes slit open, catching the morning sun directly, and immediately, Alex let out a groan and rolled over, one arm slipsliding over the nude woman who was still sleeping beside him. That instant of touch brought a grin to his lips, memories of the night sliding back bit by bit, his conquest, his success, and it was enough to have him ready for round two.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Alex rumbled, giving a nip to the shell of her ear with white teeth that were perfect and straight, just as polished and proper as the rest of his body. If all had gone well, she wouldn’t remember a thing that had happened the night before, not from the moment those tabs had been slipped into her drink, something that was thankfully opaque enough not to be noticed. Roofies were for amateurs, Alex thought. And he was far above that.
She woke slowly. Heavy limbs, mind wrapped in cotton, and the knowledge that she’d had too much to drink the night before. She didn’t overindulge though, not in public, and there was a moment when her mind tried to fill in the blanks. She’d arrived at the high roller party late, attending to get her name out to a new crowd. The hotel had arranged her attendance, and she was still new enough at the job that she appreciated the help. But she was guarded in public, as she had been in recent years, and she didn’t generally have enough to forget. But now, now she couldn’t remember.
The masculine voice broke through her thoughts like a crash of ice water on bare skin, and she sat up and pulled the sheet with her as he nipped at her ear. She didn’t recognize the voice, not immediately, but in the morning sun she recognized his face. She’d seen him around Las Vegas in recently months - suave, self-important, seducing women and men, unapologetic. She didn’t trust him, and she remembered seeing him the night before, speaking with him perhaps, but nothing beyond that. Yet here she was, sheet clutched to her chest and sore from the night before. She closed her eyes a moment, and when they opened again they were the careful blue-gray she’d cultivated for clients. “Alexander Pierce.” It was acknowledgement, not greeting.
When she pulled away, taking the sheet with her, Alex hardly flinched, instead settling back against the pillows against the headboard, hands folding together behind his head, unashamed. She was a pretty thing, pale skin and curves, a pair of lips that had worked miracles the night before, and even if she waved his name around like it was important, her own name was lost to him. “The one and only,” he said with a grin that pulled at his lips, reaching all the way to those dark brown eyes of his. “You were screaming it enough last night that I thought they were going to call security to the room to make sure you weren’t being murdered.” A laugh that rumbled through him and Alex shifted to sit up, reaching out towards her, the pad of his thumb running along her lower lip.
“You were magnificent,” Alex breathed out, and the compliment was a double-edged sword. Yes, she had performed wonderfully, but his little ‘experiment’ had gone well as well. An experiment that came to him on a whim, no prior thought or planning, just a compulsion to see what would happen. He knew it was dangerous, but the rewards had tempted him far beyond that safety zone. It was power in the palm of his hand.
His lack of shame didn’t surprise her. She’d known enough men - in bed and out - to know that the rich ones never had any shame to speak of. Her own cheeks went red, flushed with embarrassment and anger at herself for losing control and ending up in this bed. It was so unheard of, her doing this for pleasure, that she couldn’t believe there was enough alcohol in the world to manage it. She hadn’t screamed anyone’s name since New York, and she never gave herself up like that anymore. But somewhere in her mind she remembered the things he spoke of - the screaming, her mouth on him. His thumb on her lip surprised her, as did the compliment about her magnificence, and she bared her teeth and bit down sharply on that thumb in retaliation. She didn’t like performing, and she didn’t do it anymore, and she certainly didn’t do it for free. She scrambled off the bed, that sheet clutched against her and her eyes going dark with emotion. “How drunk was I? If I can’t remember getting here, I must have been drunk enough for you to realize I didn’t know what I was doing.”
As her teeth closed down over his thumb, something on Alex’s face darkened in reaction, drawing his hand back to rub at his thumb as she scrambled off the bed in a rush. He didn’t move off the mattress, giving her an appraising look instead as she stood there, clothed only in the hotel sheet, doing a better job of enticing than frightening. “You weren’t drunk,” Alex answered smoothly, giving her a long look. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a rapist, darling. You were completely consenting.” Grinning, Alex pushed the blanket away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reaching for the black slacks that were laying over the nearby chair. Standing, he faced her as he shook them out, stepping into them and fastening them slowly.
“You’re just pissed because you don’t normally give it up for strangers in the casinos. Don’t worry, that’s what they all say.” Alex calmly threaded his belt through the loops and then the buckle, pulling it secure. “You’ll get over it. They all do. And because you were so good?” He padded over towards her, approaching her with confidence in his steps. “I won’t even tell anyone you gave it to me for free.”
She couldn’t even argue with him, no matter how much she wanted to. Standing there, watching him reach for those pants, she remembered every drink, and she knew this wasn’t a hangover. She could accuse him of putting something in her drink, but what good would that do? She had a prison record a mile long for prostitution, and no one would believe her. He was wealthy, and he was gorgeous, and she did remember enough from the time in his bed to know she’d done the things he said. It made her pull the sheet closer, it made her cheeks flush redder, making the sleep-mussed hair that fell around her shoulders look paler yet.
She wanted to jump across the bed and claw his face off as he spoke, all the guilt of a lifetime of sex upon sex rushing in with his words. When he padded closer, she held her shoulders straighter, and there was world of hate in her eyes. “I won’t forget this,” she promised him, and it wasn’t a compliment. She intended to leave it at that, but his comment about giving it to him for free made her forget her determination to stay calm, to keep from getting arrested or making a scene. She’d had enough jail to know that girls like her never won. At 23, she thought she’d learned that lesson well enough to keep her grounded; she hadn’t. She swung out a hand and slapped his cheek so hard that it sang in the quiet room, leaving an imprint almost immediately.
The slap did its job in drawing him quiet, and even though his skin burned, reddened with the shape of her palm and fingers against his cheek, Alex didn’t say a word. His lips pressed together, a thin line that spoke more than enough, and after a handful of heartbeats had passed, Alex raised his hand to his cheek, touching the reddened skin gingerly, and his gaze was filled with ire. “If you expect me to pay for that little slap, you’ve another thing coming, dear,” Alex murmured, his voice just above a whisper, ice cold in intensity. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to never peddle your wares for free?”
His whisper of ice sent a chill down her spine, but it wasn’t enough to dampen the anger at his words. Maybe it was the mention of her mother, of mothers in general. Maybe it was just the last straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Instead of drawing back, like she should, she raised her arm to strike him again.
Alex had no interest in tasting her hand again, so as she raised her arm, he stepped closer to wrap his fingers around her arm, holding her still. “And she apparently also failed to teach you to think before you act, as well.” Drawing her hand towards his lips, he dared to press a kiss to one fingertip, looking down at her with a little smirk flickering in his gaze, as though she should be grateful for his offering.
Even then, without the cat in her mind, she was no longer willing to take whatever life decided to throw at her. When he kissed her finger, she grabbed his lower lip and dug her nails in. It was unthinking, anger without control or true purpose, hurt just to make him hurt as she had. She had blackmailed her way into her current position, and she had left everything she loved behind, and she still hadn’t managed to shove all those feelings far enough away that they didn’t spike and roar when she least expected them to. She knew, as soon as she did it, that it was mistake, and she stumbled back a second later.
Nails did their job in tearing through skin, and when she pulled back, Alex as left with a mouthful of blood, hand brought up to his bloody mouth, thumbing away some of the mess from the corner of his mouth. “Stupid whore,” he hissed as he spat the mess onto the carpet, hardly caring about the mess he was making. Tonguing the mess of his bottom lip, Alex let his gaze roll back towards her, brows lifting. “Yeah, you know you messed up there, don’t you?” he asked as he took a slow step towards her, his expression dark, thoughts even moreso. “But I’m in a forgiving mood this morning. I had a great fuck last night, so why should I be pissed?” Spreading his arms out to either side, his lips curled in a smile.
“Come on. I’ll let you make it up to me.”
She didn’t lunge at him again, though she wanted to. Instead, she graced him with the coldest look she could muster, a calmness she had to feign, ice in her voice. “Get out,” she said, knowing she would lose if he brought this to light. The slur bothered her more than it should, since she’d fought so hard to leave it behind, and his insinuation that she would ever let him touch her made her blood boil, but she kept herself quiet, calm. “I will never let you touch me again.”
Brows shot up at her demand, giving her an incredulous look. “Me? Get out? I paid for the room, you realise,” Alex said, and he moved then, but not towards her. Instead, he found her clothing from the night before, scattered about the room, including her panties which had somehow made it atop the light fixture that was hanging from the ceiling. Holding them as though he would catch something from it, he returned to her, holding the items out in offering. “You can leave if you wish, but I’m going no where. I don’t run away like a dog with my tail between its legs, but you are more than welcome to.” There was no weakness in his voice, no sign of backing down. Just simple confidence and cockiness that came from years of being told how wonderful and perfect he was.
She grabbed her clothing with the eagerness of a girl, that teenager she had been perfectly present in that moment. There was a sliver of hurt in her light eyes, and she turned her back to him before he could see the shame that needing to back into the bathroom brought with it. She kept repeating to herself, over and over, that she would not forget this. She would not forget him. But she couldn’t hate him entirely. She should have resisted, should have fought. But no, all she could remember was the way he tasted on her lips and the way his voice had made her throat hoarse. She slammed the bathroom door behind her, and she didn’t emerge for minutes. She refrained from scrubbing her skin red with water and soap. She dressed, and she talked herself out of climbing out the window. No, no. She would walk out with her head held high, and one day she would find a way to make him pay. One day, when it didn’t cost her the one thing she had left in life.
When she escaped to the bathroom and the sound of the shower filled the air moments later, Alex simply stared at the closed door for a long while before he, too, went into motion. He found the remainder of his own clothes, took his time in dressing, humming to himself as he did so. His tie was shoved into his pocket, and it was then that he was reminded of the little vial of love that had made the entire evening possible. Laughing to himself, Alex mouthed her last words. I will never let you touch me again. Yeah. Right. If he wanted it to happen, it would happen; it was just a matter of when.
Slipping his feet into his shoes, Alex tugged his wallet out from the inside of his suit jacket, and pulling out a handful of bills, he peeled off two tens and left them on a table where she was sure to see him. Never let it be said that he expected anything out of life for free. Touching his reddened cheek, Alex left, smiling and whistling a jaunty little tune.