Hard (13 page)

32

Holland

Sitting in my empty apartment overflowing with quiet stillness is beginning to make my ears pound. When you become accustomed to noise, silence is deafening.

Today is the first day I’ve been away from Jensen all week. My choice, not his. He’s kept me so busy lately—the art museum where he was like a little kid at the zoo, excitedly admiring each exhibit, then there was the park where we walked hand-in-hand unless he was taking photos, the movies, where we discovered we share a mutual love of ridiculous comedies, and then there’s his bedroom where he ignites a fire, burning through my blood. If he had it his way, that’s exactly where I’d be.

This man is trying to woo me, I suspect. And it’s working. I’d be with him now if I didn’t have so much to do.

My twenty-eighth birthday is rapidly approaching. I need to renew the tags on my car and run a few errands I’ve been putting off, like doing laundry and hitting the grocery store. I’d much rather have his company, but I don’t want him making a big deal out of my birthday. It’s better if he doesn’t know it’s around the corner.

After dressing in a simple yellow sundress, I roll my hair into a sloppy bun on the top of my head, step into a pair of sandals, and head out with purse in hand.

It’s a gorgeous day. Balmy and sunny. The sounds of summer are in the air, making me so glad I got out of my apartment. Lawnmowers are running, kids are shouting, birds are chirping. It’s a damn nice day. I wiggle my sunglasses out of my purse and position them on my face.

It’s been a while since I’ve actually driven my own car. Jensen has taken on the role of my personal chauffeur lately. Except when he picks me up at the end of my shifts from work. He always lets me drive back to his place. Now that the nights are warming up, the very first thing I do when I get into his car is open the moon roof and crank up the music. He likes to shake his head as if he thinks I’m being ridiculous, but I think deep down he secretly loves it. Why else would he keep allowing me to drive?

My car isn’t as fun. It’s a nice car and all, but I haven’t taken the best care of it since I left California. I didn’t give a shit enough to take care of myself, let alone a car.

Maybe I’ll run it through the car wash on my way home.

I pull into the DMV parking lot and groan. Nearly every space is filled. This is going to take a lot longer than I was hoping.

Inside, I walk toward the line and nearly turn right back around when I see two familiar faces standing at the end. I’m not quick enough. Margo spots me almost instantly.

“Holland, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, came to get a manicure,” I joke awkwardly. My gaze shifts to Pop, and I’m not above admitting I’m a little scared of him. Of what he knows—or thinks he knows—about me.

“How’s she look?” Pop asks Margo, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“Cute as a button,” she tells him. “Honestly, she’s nearly glowing.”

He nods, a warm grin breaking across his face. “I’m telling you, Margo, we Paynes have that effect on people. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

Margo’s cheeks redden noticeably. “Knock it off, Walt.”

He leans in like he’s sharing a secret with me, though he doesn’t change the volume of his voice. “I think I’m starting to wear her down.”

I laugh and Margo rolls her eyes for my benefit. The line moves and we shuffle along with it.

“We’re getting his car tags,” Margo offers up, trying to make conversation, I assume, or just looking for a subject change.

Pop scoffs. “I can’t even drive the damn thing and they still make me renew the plates.”

“I drive it,” Margo states and by the tone of her voice, it sounds like this isn’t the first time. “Unless you want me to stop running you around?”

He makes a face in her direction and she throws one right back. Though he can’t see it, he chuckles as if he can.

“We’re going next door to grab some lunch when we’re through here,” Pop says. “Come join us.”

“Oh, I—”

“I insist,” he adds firmly, reminding me a lot of his son, and also his daughter.

“You might as well give in. He’s nothing if not persistent—and pigheaded.”

*

Nearly an hour later, we’re sitting at a booth in the diner adjacent to the DMV. I’m sweating bullets in part because there’s no air conditioning in this restaurant and also because I’m just waiting for Pop’s uncanny power of perception. If he starts reading me again, I’m going to leave. I determined that fifty-five minutes ago when he extended this lunch invitation.

“Man, this place is a dump,” he announces, drumming his palms on the Formica tabletop.

“You picked it,” Margo grumbles flatly.

“How can you tell?” I question curiously. I don’t know if that’s rude to ask or not. I haven’t had to worry about couth in so long, I’ve kind of forgotten my manners.

“Cheap tables,” he says unaffected, fisting his hand and knocking with his knuckles. “The air is thick with grease. My shoes are sticking to the floor. I can smell cigarette smoke coming from the back—probably a waitress grabbing a few puffs in the bathroom—different from the scent of smoke coming from the burning eggs in the kitchen. The vinyl seats are cracked to shit, chafing my ass. And there’s no air conditioning.”

“Wow,” I breathe, seriously impressed. All I picked up on was the lack of air and the bad décor.

He smirks, looking exactly like Jensen when he gets cocky. “It’s the blind-man’s gift.”

“How do you do that?” I ask softly. “Take this all in stride so effortlessly? It weighs on Jensen so much, but you seem…
okay
with it.”

A crease forms on the skin between Pop’s brows, his head tipping to the side slightly. “He’s told you?” He seems surprised and I can’t fathom why.

“Yeah, Retinitis Pigmentosa, right?”

He nods, his eyes shining. His Adam’s apple rises and drops as he swallows harshly. He places his elbows on the table, bringing his face closer to mine. “How is he doing?” he asks, all of his usual humor and teasing tenor gone. His intense urgency sends a tremor of nerves through my stomach.

The waitress stops beside our table, snapping a piece of gum between her teeth, and the conversation is put on hold while we order. But as soon as she walks away, her shoes making light suction-cup sounds with each step, Pop inclines toward me once again.

“It was always easy for me to accept that one day I would be blind. I watched my father go through it, and his father before him, and I learned what to do and what not to do.” He shrugs, defeated, and all I can do is stare at him. My blood runs cold as I repeat his words in my head, trying to make sense of them.

I watched my father go through it, and his father before him.

“It’s a bum deal, but it is what it is,” he continues, his fingers clamping and unclamping in tight fists. “I guess I just hoped he’d
see.
He’d watch me and how I appreciated my sight while I had it, but my life didn’t end when my vision did. I’m still me. And when it’s his time, he’ll still be him, but only if he lets go of his anger.” He shakes his head sadly. “He’s just so bitter. And
that
is what is going to ruin him. Not the disease.”

I take a shaky breath and press my fingers against my forehead. They feel icy cold against my overheated skin. There are so many thoughts rolling through my mind, it’s hard to get a hold of a single one. All the puzzle pieces are snapping into place. Click, click, click, in glaring succession. The true reason behind his Scopophilia, why he doesn’t like to drive at night, how he was so sure Summer wasn’t his father’s child—because she isn’t afflicted, his need for control… The list goes on and on and I’m realizing
I’m
the one who’s been blind all this time.

“It’s genetic,” I croak, finally understanding.

Pop’s brows draw together, puckering the skin once again. “I thought—you said he told you?”

I smile weakly, though he can’t see it. “He told me about you,” I explain, my voice cracking. “He never…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I didn’t know he was losing his sight too.”

33

Jensen

When the bell rings, I don’t expect to find Holland on the other side of the door. She made it sound like we wouldn’t be seeing each other at all today. I’m not a huge fan of surprises, but this is one I think I could get used to receiving.

She takes my hand, pulling me with her as she moves with purpose toward the bedroom. She hasn’t spoken a word, but her intent is pretty clear. I can definitely get used to this.

She guides me to the bed and pushes on my chest. I smirk at her, liking where this is going. I sit down easily, staring up at her as she sweeps her little yellow dress over her head. It’s a nice fucking dress—even nicer on my floor. She’s not wearing a bra beneath and I find that hot as hell. Her panties go next, then she reaches for me, wasting no time. I help her, shrugging out of my t-shirt. She nudges me again, directing me to lie back.

I think I enjoy this domineering side of Holland.

She yanks and tugs, and I lift my ass, letting her strip me bare. My cock is so hard it aches for relief. I’m ready for her to climb on and ease the pain, but instead, she rounds the bed to the other side, opening my nightstand.

Four short lengths of rope are tossed onto the bed—the same ones I’ve used a few times on her. Her expression is deadly serious as she busies herself, binding my ankles to the posts, and I have to check myself, holding back my laughter. I also don’t mention that her knots kind of suck. She’s on a mission and I’m not going to get in her way.

She crawls on top of me, straddling my hips as she ties my wrists, one at a time. My dick twitches against her ass cheeks in anticipation, my balls pulling up tight.

After a little tug to make sure I’m securely bound, she leans over, retrieving the scarf she has worn as a blindfold on multiple occasions. I can deal with the ropes—I don’t mind not being able to move, but I
have
to be able to
see
.

“No,” I husk, ducking my head and nipping her breast. “No blindfold.”

“Yes,” she says stubbornly. “I wear it all the time for you.”

It’s a reasonable argument. She does. But she has no idea what she’s asking of me. I’m not willing to explain it to her either, though. I sigh in exasperation. Everything inside is fighting me—
begging me
to deny her request. My pulse is pounding erratically and my forehead is beading with sweat as I reluctantly surrender, jerkily nodding my permission.

With soft hands, she slides the scarf over my eyes, casting me into darkness. I swallow hard. My muscles tighten reflexively. Her weight shifts, leaving me and I decide quickly I don’t like being the one left not knowing what to expect. I don’t know if I can do this.

Fuck
, I don’t
want
to do this.

For her
. I have to do it
for her
.

My breathing is fast, too fast. I try to slow it. Try to concentrate on keeping my dick hard.

I hold perfectly still, waiting for her next move. Several long seconds tick by and I’m beginning to get too anxious to keep this up. I pull on the ropes, testing their strength when I hear the lightest movement, her feet on the hardwood floor as she approaches. A moment later, something shockingly cold glides down the center of my chest. I hiss though my teeth, aroused and uncomfortable simultaneously.

This works. As long as she’s touching me, I think I can handle it.

She continues sliding it over my skin, leaving a frigid path in its wake. My cock is practically rippling now with expectancy as she comes closer and closer. Then it’s gone as suddenly as it touched me. I pick up a light sound of crunching and I’m thoroughly confused for the briefest beat, which is good. It keeps my mind off my panic. Hot and cold surround the head of my dick, something soft and hard, rubbing against the sensitive flesh.

Ice. It’s ice, half chewed in her mouth as she goes down on me. Holy shit, I like this. She takes me in deeper, the full length of her tongue against me, her hot/cold mouth encircling my erection. Strike that, I don’t like this. I fucking love it.

She continues to bob on me, her fingers, still cool from holding the ice, grip my sack firmly. She kneads and massages. The sounds of her efforts so clear and sensual in my ears. She doesn’t stop until her mouth is fully warm again, and when she pulls away, I hope it’s for more ice. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

“You’re being awfully good for me” she whispers.

I give her a mischievous grin. “You should reward me.”

Her sweet laughter fills the room and I wish I could absorb it into my skin, let it swim through my veins.

“Maybe I’ll just sit back and stare at you for a while,” she suggests, her voice sassy and sexy.

“I’ll spank your fucking ass if you leave me here too long.” That’s not an empty threat. I’ll fucking do it. She has no idea what I’m going through for her.

“How?” she breathes. “You’re tied up.”

“I won’t be forever,” I point out.

She clicks her tongue. “I suppose you’re right. But I can’t decide what I want to do with you next.” I pick up the clicking of her nails, tapping against something solid. Probably the headboard. Her fingers snap. “I know. Why don’t we play a game?”

I twist my arms in my binds. “I’m at your command,” I remind her, my heart pumping quickly, more from excitement than unease.

“I’m going to have you smell something, and if you can guess what it is, I’ll let you eat it.”

I grin wickedly. “Deal.”

The bed shifts under her weight as she moves and I’m practically salivating. Something touches the tip of my nose, causing me to jolt. I recognize the sweet scent immediately.

“Maraschino cherry.”

“Very good.” The smile is clear in her voice. She drags the cherry across my lips and I open for her. She slips it in, her fingers making contact with my tongue, the flavor of her skin addicting.

“Again?”

I nod, smiling as I chew. “I’m starving. Give me something a little more…
satisfying
this time,” I reply lasciviously.

She makes me wait for it. My senses are all hyper alert. I’m picking up things I don’t think I otherwise would have paid attention to. My dad has talked about this before—his blind super powers. The bed tips as she comes closer to me, my body rocking with her movements.

“Tell me what it is and you can have it.”

I inhale deeply, identifying the scent of Holland instantaneously as if it’s a part of myself. A growl erupts in my chest, full of pleasure. I can feel moisture beading on the tip of my dick. “Thank fuck,” I croak. “That is the scent of heaven. Climb on my face now so I can have a taste.”

My arms are straining against the ropes, wishing like fuck I could just grab her and slam her pussy against my mouth. But I reign it in. This is Holland’s show tonight and she’s one hell of a star.

Finally,
finally
, she positions herself over me, lowering her soft mound onto my lips. I feast on her greedily, ravenously. In this position, I can probe deep inside her entrance, suck her entire clit into my mouth, lap at every inch. Even when she comes on my tongue, her sounds of elation echoing through the room, I keep licking, wanting more.

Once again, my bound arms leave me bereft, unable to hold her against me. She slips away and I groan in frustration.
I wasn’t fucking done
.

Her juices are on my face, hot and sticky. I roll my tongue over my lips, savoring her. Wondering what she has in store for me next.

Holland’s lips brush my neck and I shudder violently. She kisses her way down, the tip of her tongue teasing my nipple. It hardens for her as easily as my cock does and she bites it. I suck in a breath, willing myself not to come before I’m inside her.

I love listening to the sound of each of her kisses. Her inhales. Her exhales. Her purrs of pleasure. Every sweep of her lips, nip of her teeth is amplified. I wish I could touch her. Feel how wet I know she is with my fingers. If I could, I’d bury three in her right now.

As she continues to sample my body, she slowly crawls on top of me. With an excruciating rhythm, she glides her pussy up and down my length, but doesn’t let me inside. I start thrusting my hips upward, searching for entry. This is the closest I’ve ever come to begging. I want her so badly.
Need
her. I want to rip out of these ropes and seize her. Punish her for teasing me.

“Jensen,” she says my name on a moan, grasping me hard and guiding me into her. I gasp in gratification. All her torture was worth it. Every second of cruelly prolonged anticipation. Her pace is fast, almost frenzied, as if she tormented herself as much as me. Her core contracts, squeezing me and I erupt, coming harder than I think I ever have.

Holland drops her chest to mine, breathing fast and heavy. She pushes the blindfold off my head, her eyes meeting mine. “This is what it could be like,” she pants. “Every time could be just like this. You don’t need your eyes to experience all beauty.”