Page 33 of Blind Sin

There’s so much anger in this room and it’s difficult to say which burns the hottest. Dacre is probably the only one talking sense. Hell, he is the only one talking sense. I know firsthand what Waldgrave can do, and thanks to dick moves like the one Mercier just pulled off, we might as well paint targets on our asses and moon at passing boats.

But...

I don’t want to leave this island either. I have way too much unresolved issues to figure out. I want Lauren. I know that, but the ghost of fucked up past is right in the next building with her and until I can sort out my shit with Luce, I can’t even begin to think about anything with Lauren.

So, however much I’m on Dacre’s side in this, I’m still monumentally pissed off with him. “We don’t need to figure this out right now. We can take a few days.”

Dacre understandably explodes. “Are you both fucking kidding me right now?”

“When we leave this island, whether by our own volition or dragged off in fucking manacles, we won’t see Lauren or Lucinda again.”

“You’ve not seen them once since we got here! If it wasn’t for the beer going missing from the fridge in the main house every night, we wouldn’t know you are here.” He opens the door then spins to face me. “I’m not going to fucking jail, because you two are thinking with your dicks.” With that, he slams the door behind him.

22

DACRE

Anger seethes through my veins as I try to concentrate on some more work Letterman sent me. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t even be on this island. We wouldn’t be here at all. It was my parents' apartment we all hid in, my parents’ island we are hiding on now and it’s my parents’ money keeping us all afloat. Fuck. I should send them a postcard to thank them for them unknowingly aiding major criminals. I don’t know what we’d go down for, if they caught us. Kidnapping, for sure, theft, maybe even murder if that guy back in Canada didn’t get someone to him before he bled out or died from malnutrition.

I’m not thinking clearly and the thoughts that enter my head are fuelled by rage. I try to think of Lucinda how Nix obviously thinks I’m thinking of her, but I can’t. Every time I picture her face, it changes subtly, and I’m thinking of Lauren. I doubt very much Mercier has won his stupid game yet, but I’m too angry to care. I close my computer, put it on the bedside table, and shut off the light.

A slight creak of my door has my eyes darting in a panic to the side. I try to adjust my eyes to the dark and see who is coming into my room at three in the morning. Either my parents or one of Peter Waldgrave’s goons springs to mind. I’m ready to jump out of bed and confront them when I feel someone creeping under my covers. Someone who is definitely not one of Waldgrave's men or, thankfully, my parents. I know its Lauren, by the scent of her shampoo. Lucinda uses strawberry shampoo. Lauren’s hair smells like coconut and caramel.

“Lauren? What are you doing here?”

“Don’t tell Lucy I’m here,” she whispers. “She won’t understand.”

This girl is going to be the fucking death of me! “I don’t understand either.”

She moves closer, pressing her body up to mine and I don’t care why she’s here anymore. It’s obviously not for a night-time story. But I’ve been wrong about Lauren before. She’s not had a normal upbringing. She could be here for any number of reasons, I tell myself. My cock doesn’t get the memo as her hands circle my waist. If she’s not here for what it appears she’s here for, she’s wading into really fucking dangerous territory. I can control myself around her, but only up to a point. Her arm grazes my naked cock, and that point comes a little too close for comfort. I stifle a groan in my throat as she presses her body against mine. Lucinda’s threat rattles around my brain as I try to fight the desperate need for her sister. “You need to leave,” I say firmly, hating every word that comes out of my mouth. “I can’t be around you like... this.” She’s wearing a short nightgown that barely skims her pussy. I can’t see it, but I can feel the smooth skin of her thighs rubbing against mine. There’s definitely nothing covering those long legs of hers.

“You owe me!” she breathes out.

I owe her? I hitch in a breath as her hand skates over my cock again and this time there’s no mistaking it’s intentional.

“Damn it, Lauren,” I hiss out quietly, because despite this being a multi-million dollar house, there’s every chance Lucinda can hear us through the walls. I grab her wrist and pull it away from my twitching cock. “I saved you, remember? Whatever debt you think I need to pay to you, it’s done. It’s over.”

She fixes me with a scowl, her features illuminated by the gentle moonlight streaming through the window. She looks so fucking delicious when she’s pouty. “It’s not over.”

“It’s like fucking torture having you in my room, half naked, when I’m not supposed to touch you,” I grit out. “I want you, Lauren. Do you understand?”

“I’m not a child,” she grumbles. “Don’t treat me like one.”

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice even. I’m so close to losing it completely. “You know what’s going to happen if you keep on this road, Lauren. Because I’m not going to be able to stop.”

There’s the hint of the spitfire in her again, but I sense hesitancy in her too and I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t really want to, but thinks she should for some reason, or if it’s the fear of the unknown. Of something new. Sure she’s done things with all three of us, but they were taken without her consent. I don’t want her if she feels she has to do this for some misguided reason. Or worse because she feels sorry for me because she fucked Nix.

“I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want to stop.” To drive her point home, she pulls her wrist from my hand, reaches down and takes my cock in her hands. I inhale sharply as she rubs her hand up and down my shaft, taking any sense away with her movements. She’s not completely unskilled at this and that’s probably because of Mercier, but she could use a few lessons to refine her technique.

“What debt do you think I owe you?” I ask, trying to draw enough breath into my lungs, “because this isn’t the way...”

“I saw something,” she says finally, her voice barely audible above the sound of my heavy breathing.

“What?”

“When you made me...”

“When I made you come?” I ask, my mind whirring. “You saw?”

---