Trust Me (81 page)

“Again?”
he whispered and she frowned then realized that she was actually enjoying it. It hurt, but not very; it did, however, cause her to feel the moisture begin to flow between her legs. Creighton raised his eyebrows waiting for her to answer and with a soft blush she nodded. He smiled, bent over and began to lick and suckle her nipples until they were both wet and hard, then quickly flicked them with the crop again before trailing the leather tip back down her body again, flicking it after caressing her with it. When he reached her wet crotch, he flicked her gently and she moaned - or tried to - around the cloth. He flicked her harder and smiled when she gasped, opening her labia, watching the moisture between the lips leak out onto the sheets. He flicked the crop against her clitoris making her moan. He continued his torture; flick, moan, flick moan, flick moan and once more watching as she arched her back, her legs and arms tensing as she climaxed. Creighton flicked the crop once more, hard; sending her to spiral over the edge of passion then slid the tube out of her, rubbing it across her clitoris.

Sandra
tried to scream but found she couldn’t and forced herself to remain silent; she tried to move her hips against the mattress, but she was held too securely. She closed her eyes to the sensations, trying her hardest to resist making noise. A few agonizing, arousing moments later and she felt her legs being untied as the vibrator continued to tease her swollen, throbbing clitoris. Her legs were lifted in the air and she opened her eyes, watching as the man sat on the bed between them and quickly thrust into her, all the while continuing to rub the purple tube against her. Sandra was certain she would never endure, but as his thrusts became urgent, deeper, harder, she found the strength and tightened her vaginal muscles around him, feeling and taking his release with all the vigor she could muster. A few breathless moments later and the vibrator stopped; her arms were released and she could speak again. Creighton lay across her, her arms and legs wrapped around him as they panted for air.

“That
was insane,” she whispered, listening to his chuckle.

“Total
control means total release,” he told her. “You have no choice but to take what is given and accept your orgasm to the fullest.”

“You
are amazing,” she said with a giggle.

“So
are you. Maybe we can do that again later?” he asked as he rose above her to look into her eyes. She blushed but nodded, causing him to smile happily. He wrapped her in his warm embrace, rolling over on the bed and pulling the covers over them both.

“Sleep
now my love,” he whispered next to her ear. “Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day for us.”

“Wake
up my love.” Sandra heard the words, spoken softly, warmly like melting chocolate across ice cream. She moaned, curling deep beneath the layer of soft blankets, her eyes refusing to open to the intrusion of her dreams. A soft chuckle echoed through her misty mind, and she smiled.

“Wake
up or I’ll have no choice but to wake you up.”

“Is
that a threat or a promise?” she asked, hearing the soft chuckle again, feeling the warmth of his mouth against hers.

“I
want you, but we’re quickly running out of time. My mum will be making breakfast soon and calling all of us over; it's tradition to have one last breakfast before the wedding, sort of a sendoff. If I’m not in bed when Kristine or Derek comes looking, there’s going to be questions.”

“But
I don’t want to get up,” she grumbled, her eyes still closed. “It’s too early.”

“So
you don’t want to get married today?” Sandra’s eyes popped open suddenly as realization drifted into her mine. It was her wedding day!

“I
do want to get married,” she said, sitting up in the bed, staring at the dark eyes that smiled back at her. “What time is it?”

“A
little after nine o’clock. We slept much later than I had intended and my parents are already up. I’m going to sneak out the window, hopefully without anyone seeing or hearing me.” Creighton leaned into her and kissed her lips passionately, lingering until she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. He slowly lowered her to the bed, his mouth traveling across her cheek, down her neck and to her exposed breast as a knock sounded at the door.

“Shit,”
Creighton grumbled when the doorknob began to jiggle.

“Sandy,
are you awake?” the voice called out.

“It’s
my grandmother, hurry; she can’t find you in here.” Creighton stood up and gathered his shoes, slipping them on as quietly as possible. The knock sounded again and her grandmother called out a second time.

“Yes,
Nana, I’m awake, just give me a minute to get up.” Creighton hurried to the window with Sandra on his heels, turned and kissed her briefly, then opened the glass barrier and climbed out and back into the tree.

“I’ll
see you soon.” He promised her, easily making his way down to the ground. Sandra watched as he looked around the area for any eyes that may be watching and glanced up to her and smiled, hurrying around the side of the house to the back and disappearing from sight.

“Sandy,
are you up yet?” Nana said again. Sandra shut the window quietly, gathered her robe and hurried to the door. She tugged the chair free and moved it aside, unlocking the door and opening it to reveal her grandmother who stood in the hallway. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining with irritation.

“What
took you so long?” she demanded.

“I
was tied up in the covers,” Sandra blushed thinking it wasn’t exactly a lie; she had been tied up, quite nicely, just a few hours before.

“Well,
you’d better hurry up. Breakfast is nearly ready and you still have to shower.”

“Can
I do that first?” she asked, feeling slightly sweaty and certain she smelled from last night’s encounter.

“Only
if you hurry. There’s not much time before we have to leave and Creighton will be here soon for breakfast. You don’t want him to see you looking like this.” Sandra nodded, turned and gathered her toiletries, glancing back to the bed as her grandmother stepped into the room. Creighton had cleaned up before he woke her and thankfully put everything right again, so there was no evidence of their last bout of passion as a single couple.

“Now
don’t take long,” Nana said sternly. “I expect you back downstairs in half an hour, so hurry up.”

Sandra
walked into the bathroom down the hall and closed the door. It was a much larger and more modern room than one would have expected for the age of the house. It was a necessity, according to Creighton, when he helped her settle into his room the night before. With five children and two adults, a small bathroom was out of the question so William had busted through the guest room and took part of it to enlarge the bathroom.

There
was a claw-foot tub with a small window above it and a detached shower on one wall, a double vanity with two large mirrors on the opposite with a toilet on the wall next to the door. The floor was white tile while the walls were painted a pale blue and the towels and curtains were a dark midnight blue. The light in the white ceiling was simple, old and held a single bright bulb that bathed the room in a brilliant glow. The room was warm regardless of the sterile appearance and felt inviting and comfortable; like the rest of the house.

Sandra
quickly scrubbed her face with the special cleanser Rochelle had given her, then brushed her teeth and climbed into the shower. She shampooed her hair with a vigor that left her head tingling and after rinsing it thoroughly, applied a generous amount of conditioner, working it through with her fingers. Ten minutes into her routine and she was finished, shutting off the water and stepping out onto the thick blue rug in front of the curtained enclosure. Thoughts of the afternoon filtered through her mind and she found her anxiety and excitement rising to new heights. She was eager to get through the day and back into Creighton’s arms as his legal wife.

Quickly
wrapping a thick towel around her torso, Sandra gathered her toiletry bag and robe and looked back at the woman who smiled at her from the mirror. She looked older, mature and happier than she had ever seen herself and Sandra couldn’t help but giggle with anticipation of the day. The handle to the closed door jiggled softly and she knew her time in the bathroom was up. With a deep sigh, she walked to the wooden barrier and pulled it open, then stepped back into the room as the man pushed his way in, a black pistol held in his dirty hand, the end pointing directly at her.

Sandra
gasped, her heart pounding in her ears when the man shut the door behind him, smiling at her; showing his rotting yellow teeth beneath thin chapped lips. She couldn’t believe this was happening and her mind quickly ran through a million scenarios at once. Was this a game, a mistake, had he harmed her family or Creighton’s? What the hell was going on and how was she going to get away?

“So
you’re the one he’s marrying?” he asked in a broken accent. Sandra tried to place it, but she was too nervous to think beyond the moment at hand. “He owes me three years of hell,” the man continued. He took a step forward, forcing Sandra to step back. She tried to step aside, but ran into the vanity, stopping her retreat. The man stared at her, his eyes roaming over her slender towel clad frame; his bushy blonde eyebrows rising in approval.

“Nice
work; he has taste.” Sandra tried to back away again when the man reached the gun toward her, lifting a strand of wet hair across its end. “Real nice.” He smiled a wicked, lustful grin to her making the long scar on his cheek more visible. It was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach; then instinct took over and she raised her fist, pulling it back and letting it slam into his nose hard. The man staggered backward, blood streaming down his face as he began cursing in a language she had not heard before.

Sandra
found herself moving before she knew it; the door to the bathroom swung open and she was running down the stairs and into the kitchen where the family had gathered, laughing and talking cheerfully until they saw her; dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, her hands shaking violently.

“What
the hell?” Papa said as Cathy stepped to Sandra’s side.

“A
man,” she gasped. “In the bathroom…with a gun.” Cathy led Sandra to a chair as William and James hurried up the stairs and into the bathroom. The noise of children playing in the side yard echoed around the confusion while the sound of tires squealing outside could be heard through the house; the front door opened to the sights and sounds beyond. Kristine sat down next to Sandra while she blotted at her wet hair with a kitchen towel.

Sabrina
ran to the entry and looked out as a flower delivery truck sped off down the road. Creighton, Derek and Andrew were walking up the walkway toward the house when the truck passed them, causing them to stare after it. Sabrina shouted at the three, waving a hand toward them and watched as they began running. Emma had just poured Sandra a cup of coffee when Creighton rushed in, his eyes round with concern, looking around and seeing Sandra wrapped in a towel, tears streaming down her face, shaking like a leaf.

“What
the hell happened?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Sandra as she flung herself at him, sobbing hysterically.

“There’s
no sign of anyone now,” William said, stepping up behind the couple.

“Who?
What’s going on?” Creighton asked with a deep frown.

“Come
sit down,” Nana insisted, holding a chair out as Creighton walked to where she indicated, sitting down with Sandra on his lap. Irena stepped up to his side and handed him a blanket from the parlor, watching as he wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Here,
drink this,” Emma insisted, pushing a cup of coffee into Sandra’s hand.

“What
the hell happened?” Creighton asked again as things began to settle down.

“I
just got out of the shower when a man came in with a gun,” Sandra said, shaking on the man’s lap, her tears slowing and control slowly filtering back over her. “I didn’t know what to do, I just acted. I punched him and ran down here.”

“The
delivery truck?” Creighton asked Andrew, who frowned.

“Can
you identify him?” Andrew asked with a frown, his police training coming to the surface as he took up a seat opposite the couple.

“Tall,
skinny, rotting teeth,” she said sipping her coffee. “He had dirty blonde hair and bushy eyebrows. Now he has a broken nose.”

“You
punched him?” Creighton asked, lifting her hand and looking at the red swollen knuckles. Sandra nodded, now aware of the pain radiating up her wrist.

“Mum,
can I have a bowl of water and ice please?” Emma hurried and did as asked while Andrew took out his cell phone.

“Anything
else you can recall?” he asked her, dialing a number.

“He
had a scare on his left cheek; it was large from his ear to his mouth.” Andrew glanced to Creighton, then to their father and Derek, who were standing side-by-side next to them.