Page 46 of Blind Sin

My blood is pumping loud in my ears against the roar of the shower and my own pleasure, and hers is going to be over too soon if I’m not careful. I want to give her exactly what she wants. Fill all her senses, not just the obvious ones. The sound of the shower and her moans and my heavy breathing echoing off the tiled walls are enough for her sense of hearing and touch, we’ve pretty much got down, but I still have smell and taste to go. She always smells so good, but in the shower, any scent from either of us has already washed away, so I grab the nearest thing I can find, a bottle of my body wash and pour a little onto her chest. She squeals a little but those squeals turn into moans as I begin to massage the masculine scent onto her breasts. Now she smells like me. Feeding her my cock and spurting my cum down her throat would be the obvious choice for taste, but I’m not ready to take my cock from where it’s already buried to the hilt in her cunt. Instead I lean in and kiss her forcefully. She moans into my mouth, digging her nails deeper, one hand drawing lines down my back, the other gripping onto my ass.

She’s like a caged animal tasting freedom for the first time which is what she is.

“Don’t stop,” she pants before bringing her hand to my neck and forcefully pulling me back to her. She kisses with such fervor that it doesn’t matter that she’s not practiced at this. Her enthusiasm and frenzied desire has my balls tightening and as her head rolls back against the tile and her body locks up, I growl in her ear as I give one last thrust into her.

It suddenly sounds so silent, even with the shower pounding water down around us. I pull out of her and kiss her lips, this time sweetly and gently. She rewards me with a fucking gorgeous smile. She looks an absolute mess. Her blue black hair is plastered to her head, her dress is ripped and there are teeth marks on her nipple and other places on her chest that in our passion, I’d barely noticed giving to her. For a second it reminds me of the state of her when we picked her up, covered in bruises and my heart shatters at what I’ve done to her, but another look at the expression on her face, puts my fears aside. She might be a mess, but she’s a fucking strong mess and as I feel a sting on my back, I know she gave as much as she got.

“I like this,” she whispers. “I really, really liked this.” She kisses my cheeks and ducks out of the shower, dripping water all over the bathroom floor. She grabs one of my towels and rushes out of the room, no doubt to scurry back to her own room to dry off. I turn off the shower and close my eyes trying to feel what she feels, but inside I feel empty. That was probably the best fuck of my life, but she left me with words that didn’t nearly convey how I feel about her. Like is such a lame word for anything, least of all what we just did. I like chips, but it doesn’t mean I’d eat them for breakfast. With Lauren I want the whole meal and I want a banquet. I want everything and I want her to scream aloud how much she loves it. I grab the last remaining towel and dry my hair in front of the bathroom mirror. I twist my body to see the long red nail marks down my back. I realize I want her to love it because I loved it and with that realization comes an even more fucked up one. I love her.

31

LUCINDA

I’m a mixed bag of emotion as I serve dinner up. There’s a strange tension in the air that I can’t quite understand. I’m thrilled that the doctor has given Lauren a chance that she might see, no matter how little, and I’m excited that the dinner I made hasn’t turned out to be something that both looks and smells terrible. Not that I can claim all the credit. Nolan offered advice, but it’s the first meal that I’ve fully prepared. I set out all the plates on the long table. “Dinner’s ready.”

Lauren lifts her head from Nolan’s lap where she was having her hair stroked while she ran her fingers over one of her Braille books. They look like a couple. There’s no denying it. I don’t know how I feel about it. I want her to be happy and with that I suppose I’m going to have to get used to the fact that the fantasy of living, just her and me will never happen. And if it does, we’ll have to forfeit love. In all the plans we made to escape, falling in love with someone never factored. I just couldn’t imagine having stronger romantic feelings for any man than I do protective feelings over Lauren, and I’m ashamed when I realize that I just didn’t contemplate her falling in love. As I watch, Nolan takes her book and places it on the pile of book on the side table. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. It’s very clear to me that both Nolan and Alexander have feelings for her, and she’s beginning to depend on them.

“This looks delicious,” Alexander says, taking a seat next to me at the table and kissing my cheek.

A surge of realization washes over me in that moment. It's not just Lauren who has grown comfortable around these men; I have too. Being with them feels natural, effortless, like we've naturally morphed into a family. My gaze drifts to the covered plate of food, and my mind wanders to Josh. He’s barely set foot inside the house since we got here, but he’s the reason we’re all here. He’s the glue that’s holding us all together.

“Nolan showed me what to do,” I say, throwing him a smile. “I think he deserves more of the credit for being so patient with this useless cook.”

“It took me weeks to master a perfect pastry. You managed it first time,” he offers back.

I shoot him a grateful glance and stand up, taking my plate with me.

“Where are you going?” Alexander asks as I slip by him towards the kitchen.

“I’m going to eat with Josh.”

At the mention of Josh's name, Lauren's head whips up and once again, her reaction confuses me.

I honestly thought she might reciprocate Nolan or Alexander’s feelings towards her, but seeing her expression on hearing Joshua’s name has me wondering if I’m not reading it all wrong.

In any case, I can’t leave things the way I did with Josh. I’d hoped to see his face at dinner after we talked earlier, but it’s clear he’s not coming.

Balancing both his plate and mine with careful precision, I step through the French doors and walk the short path across the pool deck to the servant’s quarters.

I have no free hands so I knock on his door with my foot.

There’s shock in his face as he opens the door and it’s clear he wasn’t expecting me.

“I made you dinner,” I say holding out one of the plates. “Beef wellington. I know it’s one of your favorites.” In truth, we never ate a meal together in our lives that wasn’t hastily made sandwiches or leftovers that could be eaten cold and stashed easily inside a backpack, but he talked about food a lot back then. This is the one dish he talked about his mother making. That’s why I chose to make it.

His eyes flicker down to the plate in my hand, then to the other.

“I was hoping we could eat together,” I say, looking up at him hopefully. “Peace offering?”

I’m half expecting him to throw it in my face, but as he takes the offered plate from my hand, he turns around and leaves the door to his room open. I take it as an invitation and follow him in. The room is small with very little in it, but as soon as I walk in, it feels almost familiar. It smells of him and I’d forgotten how comforting that was. A million memories rush back to me, making my heart hurt. How can two kids who were so in love grow up to hate one another with the same intensity? I guess love and hate really are two sides of the same coin.

I take a seat next to him on the bed and pull two sets of cutlery from my pocket and hand him one.

We sit in silence, both of us eating the dinner I prepared. It’s not the best beef wellington I’ve ever eaten but it’s pretty good. I study Josh as he eats his food. He always was easy on the eye, but he’s turned into a remarkable looking man. Any girl would fight to be with him and I imagine a lot have.

“You never answered my question,” I say breaking the silence and putting my plate to one side.

He looks up, a hint of weariness in his eyes. “You haven't asked me a question,” he replies, a slight evasion in his tone.

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