Unbound (The Braille Club #2) (4 page)

Chapter 7

The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The Braille Reception was no longer manned, and members accessed their bookings via a fingerprint scan and touchscreen computer. They were then instructed to slot their key into the computer to load their zone. The new system was working well, although assistance was always available should members require it…they just had to ring the bell.

Two Years Earlier

Guy

It was the start of the cat and mouse game Guy and Anna would become addicted to. She always kept him waiting. With their time together often snatched between work, it was precious, and this quality annoyed him. He was always desperate to be with her, but she was cool in response. This only made him want her more—the sex dynamite and dangerous as they took more and more risks.

Guy ultimately knew they would have to stop, but fear of discovery only served to heighten his passion, taking him to exquisite new levels. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to her…or for her, and she always kept him hungry. Growing restless, he realised he wanted more, no longer content with their arrangement. The thought of Anna cuddled up at home with her husband consumed him. Jealous and angry, he was guilty of breaking his own rules. He knew he was getting too involved, and worse—getting too attached. Some perspective was needed before they both jeopardised their careers. He decided to cool things off. He could think rationally when he wasn’t around Anna. It was so obvious; he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

When her usual text arrived he felt a spectrum of emotions—longing mixed with lust and excitement. Ignoring it, and her, was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He gave Anna her due, she played it beautifully. He found himself checking his mobile obsessively, but there was nothing from her and he felt his anger and disappointment building. After a week went by with no contact, he stormed into her chambers.

“Can I help you?” enquired the surprised receptionist politely.

“I need to see Anna Dunbar,” Guy said tersely, trying to retain some semblance of professionalism.

Looking at him disapprovingly, she picked up the phone and spoke for several seconds.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Anna is with a client and cannot be disturbed.”

Those words made his blood run cold. They were the same words she used at their meeting. He wondered if at this very minute, some other guy was lifting Anna’s skirt, parting her legs, and bending her over her desk.

“Sir? Sir?” The receptionist’s annoying voice pierced through Guy’s thoughts. “Would you like to make an appointment with Anna?” she asked.

He just stared at her like an idiot, before mumbling, “No, it’s fine. I’ll call her.”

“If you would like to leave your name and number, I can have Anna call you,” she said helpfully.

“I said, it’s fine,” he snapped, turning on his heel, but not before he saw her recoil at his aggressive manner.
Damn Anna to hell
, Guy thought savagely.

As he made his way back to his office, she was the only thing he could think of—he couldn’t get her out of his head. By the end of the second week at work, he was frantic, the gaping hole Anna left in his life urgent and impossible to ignore. He had to see her. Although it was late, he lifted his phone and sent her a one word text.

Guy: Sorry. x

Her response was immediate.

Anna: Sorry for what?

He understood then she wasn’t going to make this easy, but then, that was his Anna. She had him completely bewitched, and he quickly replied.

Guy: Missing my appointment…can we reschedule? x

His heart was thumping as he nervously waited for her reply, and he jumped when his phone beeped.

Anna: Mmmmmm thinking…

He was on tenterhooks, knowing she was only a couple of floors above him and the thought was driving him wild.

Guy: What are you wearing? x

His mobile beeped again, and he gasped. The photo Anna sent him showed she still wore nothing beneath her skirt; it was shocking and deeply erotic and he loved it. His breathing quickened and his fingers trembled as he replied.

Guy: Can you squeeze me in? x

His mobile beeped, and he saw another picture: a packet of wet wipes. He groaned, feeling himself harden.

Guy: Is it going to be messy? x

Anna: Filthy!

Her reply had him salivating. The office was quiet now; most people had already left. Guy wouldn’t have cared if the place was still crowded, which was stupid, but then again he wasn’t thinking with his brain.

Guy: Shall I clean you? x

Anna: Flat 2A, Clover Street, Westminster.

Confused, it took Guy a second to realise it was Anna’s home address. Excited, he was up and out the office in minutes, punching her address into his Sat Nav while steering the car. Blood roared in his ears, all he could think of was being with Anna…being inside Anna. As he parked he realised he had no recollection of the journey. His fingers shook as they pressed the buzzer of 2A, then the door opened and he stepped inside. Anna stood naked except for her hold-up stockings and high heels, her nipples already hard and her face composed.

What happened next was pure animal instinct and a total loss of control. He lunged at her, grabbing her roughly, his hands between her legs, and her wetness slick on his fingers. He pushed them into her mouth while she tried to loosen his belt. He slammed her into the wall, knocking her hands away as his mouth closed on her breast. She yelped and moaned as he sucked hard, her nails digging painfully into his back. He teased the nipple back and forth, his teeth gently nipping. Anna ripped his shirt open and pushed him hard—it was now his back against the wall and her mouth on his chest. When she bit him, it was the sweetest pain, and something he’d never experienced. He roared, shoving her to the floor and spreading her stocking-ed legs apart before savagely thrusting deep inside her. He pounded into her selfishly, animalistic, with only one thought in his mind: dominance.

As her nails sunk into his back, he gasped, and it was enough to make him pause. He looked into her glassy eyes…what a deluded and naïve fool he was. This was what she had wanted all along. He shuddered inside her. Just like that, the madness lifted to be replaced by shame. Rolling away, he lay on his back, arm covering his eyes as his chest heaved up and down.

“Anna,” he whispered, disgusted with himself. He could have hurt her; he had been brutal, and he certainly hadn’t addressed her needs.

He felt her stand and then the graze of something on his chest. His eyes popped open to see Anna’s heel lightly dragging on his skin. He looked up to see her standing over him smiling, her lips bruised, her nipples taut and dark. Her sex was framed by the lace of her stockings, her long legs enhanced by the high black heels. He felt himself harden again as she moved the heel down his chest and he saw the flash of red on the sole.

His breathing quickened as the heel travelled towards his groin. When she pushed his sac with the toe of her shoe he gasped, his gaze locked onto hers. Walking down to his ankles, her foot slid between his legs and nudged them apart. Anna stood there as he lay spread-eagled and vulnerable. His heart hammered as she lifted her foot and placed it along the length of his shaft. Fear and excitement rushed through him as he looked at Anna’s face; it was as remote as ever. When she moved her foot up and down, he closed his eyes briefly, sublime pleasure moving through him. The pressure of her heel kept the experience dangerously erotic as it moved faster and faster. When the toe of the soft kid leather nudged against the head of his arousal, he moaned, knowing he couldn’t hang on much longer. When he saw Anna’s fingers slip between her own legs, he climaxed. Instinct made him move as Anna’s own orgasm made her foot slam into the floor.

Chapter 8

The Braille Club, London, One Year On: The bespoke hood that every Braille member received had state of the art technology. Wireless headphones delivered the highest quality digital sound, using Adaptive Noise Canceling Technology. New breathable fabric kept the wearer cool. Now, however, like the sensory suit, the hood enabled touch…to the face, to ears, and to the head, making temperatures rise from within.

London 2014

Siena

Benedict stared in distress at the scene that met his eyes and rushed to Siena.

“Don’t touch my arm,” she said in alarm.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asked in a rush.

“Get the twins,” said Siena, ignoring the question. Benedict scooped the crying twins into his arms and comforted them. Their crying lessened, and with Siena cooing their names, it stopped completely.

“Right, we’ll go down the stairs together. Put your good arm on my shoulder,” said Benedict firmly.

Although consumed with the DNA results and getting to them before Benedict, she knew arguing would be futile. Every step she took jarred her arm and made her wince.

“Put the twins in the playpen, Benedict—I’ll get their bottles and food,” said Siena, the nausea starting again.

“No, I’ll do that. You look terrible—go into the lounge and sit down.”

Siena shook her head. “I’ll come with you to the kitchen; at least I can tell you what happened.”

Cold sweat had formed on her forehead as she moved, her eyes fixed on the kitchen island. Just seeing the paper lying there made her heart race. She jumped as Benedict strode past her with the twins, placing them both in their highchairs. He turned and noticed how strained she looked.

“What is it, Siena? What’s wrong?” He followed her line of vision, frowning. The doorbell rang, making them both jump.

“Grace,” breathed Benedict, and he went to open the door.

Siena saw her chance; she grabbed the paper and stuffed it into her jeans as her heart hammered. She had no idea what to do and or how to tell Benedict. She could hear her mobile ring but ignored it as Grace entered the kitchen. They spent ten minutes with Grace showing her around the house, and then they were en-route to the hospital.

Benedict’s voice was quiet in the car. “Tell me what happened, Siena. Was it your diabetes?”

She couldn’t lie to him; it was his biggest fear. “No, it was a panic attack, a bad one, and I fainted. I guess I fell on my shoulder.”

She saw his face harden. His handsome outline contorted as an expression of pure rage passed over it. Tension settled heavily into the silence in the car.

“The usual one?” his voice was tight.

“Yes, sorry,” she whispered, feeling the shame wash over her.

“Siena, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong, but maybe it’s time we took professional advice.”

“Noooooo,” said Siena vehemently. “I’ll never allow anyone inside my head again.” Her breathing quickened as the shock of the day and Benedict’s comments made her burst into tears.

“Siena…”

***

Benedict

Benedict pulled the car over and gingerly took Siena into his arms to avoid jarring her shoulder. He saw terror in her eyes. It was at these times he cursed the fact he had left Nick Waters breathing.

“Okay, okay, I understand. No psychiatrists,” he said hurriedly, appalled by his lack of sensitivity. He felt the tension leave her body. “We must get help in. Shall I call your parents?”

Siena nodded, and he saw light flood into her dim, hollow eyes. Her expression changed to relief and at last a small smile appeared on her lips. Pulling the car back into the traffic, they reached the hospital fifteen minutes later. Today convinced Benedict Siena should not be left alone. Fragile from her attack, with an ongoing illness, she was a disaster waiting to happen. Images of her falling down the stairs with the twins in her arms made his driving home that day even more erratic. It was his biggest fear that she’d hurt herself or the twins because of her diabetes, and now these panic attacks. He tried to suppress his anger for Siena’s sake, but God help him, if he ever got his hands on Nick Waters he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Helping her out of the car, they walked towards A&E, arriving at its doors just as his mobile rang. Fearing it may be Grace; he pulled it out of his pocket and frowned.

“It’s the lawyers.”

Siena pointed at the sign that stated mobile phones should be switched off. With reluctance Benedict let his voicemail kick in. He switched his mobile to silent; he wouldn’t take the risk of turning it off in case Grace needed to contact him. The reception was quieter than expected and they were processed quickly before taking a seat in the waiting room.

“I wonder what they wanted,” Benedict mused.

***

Siena

Siena’s mind was running riot. Had they requested a copy of the DNA results be posted to them also? Was that the reason they were calling? Had they received them? She sat there rigid; time was running out. She had to find a way to tell Benedict.

“Siena Green?” said a nurse, and they both stood.

***

Benedict

Benedict’s mobile vibrated in his pocket as they followed the nurse, and he saw another missed call from their lawyers. Whatever had happened, it was obviously important, he thought. Just as soon as he could, he would ring them.

Doctors and x-rays filled the next hour. Siena’s shoulder was dislocated but thankfully not broken. They had given her an injection for the pain, but her scream was loud and anguished as the doctor skilfully rotated her shoulder into place. They left shortly afterwards, both ashen and shaken, Benedict clutching the painkillers the hospital had given him. Neither of them spoke on the drive home. Both exhausted and preoccupied, they just didn’t have the strength. Glad to be home, Benedict led Siena upstairs. He wanted to help her undress, take off her jeans at least, but she stubbornly refused. One look at the set of her face told him it was useless to argue. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with her robe draped over her shoulders. He pulled the covers back to let her slip into bed. He sat next to her, concerned, his hand caressing her exhausted face as sleep claimed her.

What a day, he thought as he stood, giving Siena one last look before closing the bedroom door. He found Grace in the playroom with the twins and he slumped down on the sofa.

“How’s Siena?” Grace asked anxiously.

“Asleep now. Her shoulder was dislocated but they fixed it at the hospital,” said Benedict, grimacing at the memory.

“Poor thing,” said Grace sympathetically. “Let me get you a coffee,” she insisted, “you look worn out.”

Benedict nodded and took his phone out of his pocket and noticed several calls, all from their lawyer. He listened to his voicemail and heard their lawyer asking to contact her urgently. He went through the rest of the messages, their lawyer becoming more and more desperate. Benedict had a bad feeling; the lawyer had insisted Benedict call her, no matter when, no matter how late, just call. He frowned, not liking the sound of that, something was wrong. Tiredness overwhelmed him but he lifted his mobile.