Chapter 28 - Sunshine
Chapter twenty-eight
I wince as I stand from the toilet and curse Sasha for the hundredth time this morning.
My ass is sore, although that’s the least of my worries.
The man he let fuck me raw, then killed while he was still hard inside me, wasn’t my type.
But, and this is proof I have to be close to full sexual awakening at this point, I really do love anal.
Even if the man wasn’t my type, the sensation of being filled after all the pain that came before was more intense than anything I’ve ever felt.
Sasha didn’t realize I came, which is probably in my favor.
I doubt he would react positively to another man making me come.
Especially after the way the scene ended yesterday.
Luckily for me, I guess, if you have a very low bar for luck, I wasn’t left in the room with the body for long before Sasha’s cleanup crew came in.
I don’t know how much instruction he gave them, but they must be very loyal because not a single one looked me in the eye.
One older man came in first, maybe an hour after Sasha left me, and untied me gently before wrapping me in a soft blanket.
He asked quietly if I needed anything or any help back to the cottage, and when I said no, a low whistle brought the rest of the crew into the room.
They zipped the body into a bag with more respect than I expected, and within ten minutes, every ounce of blood was gone, and there was no trace of the murder that had taken place. I made my way back to the cottage the long way, trying to keep my thighs from rubbing where my new tattoo was.
I’m drawn out of my thoughts by the sunburn-like pain on my inner thigh, yet another reminder of what Sasha inflicted on me yesterday.
Sore asshole, inner thigh tattoo that I can’t even fucking read because it’s in goddamn Cyrillic.
I assumed he had his name scripted in English, but clearly that was too easy.
He had to have known that I don’t exactly have anyone to translate something so close to my intimate area.
So now I have a fucking mystery tattoo that stings like a bitch.
Finally, as if his permanent fucking mark wasn’t enough, my nipples are just now becoming bearable.
I had to sleep shirtless, on my back, because even a thin sheet was too much to handle.
They’re so sensitive, and I can already tell that once the pain completely subsides, I’m probably going to love having them pierced.
Which makes me so angry. The man sent me a list of masochistic things he threatened to do to me, followed through on many of them, and I came on a stranger’s raw dick, in no small part because of the pain.
The feeling of Mike’s (RIP) hairy thigh rubbing my raw, fresh tattoo, the terrible pain of the nipple piercings making me try to bow off the table, having nowhere to go, thrashing against the restraints…
My traitorous pussy gets wet just thinking about it, and I know that moving on to some vanilla man will never be possible now that I’ve had a taste of more.
The endorphin crash yesterday did leave me to wallow a tiny bit further into the pain of Sasha’s stubborn refusal to listen to the truth, but the residual pain is keeping me grounded today.
I manage a very delicate shower before dressing in a linen shift dress and no bra for my meeting with Blanche.
She messaged me early this morning asking if I would join her for lunch, and I’m not sure what she’ll have to say.
The cleanup crew was thorough and fast, but if she found out about what Sasha did on her property…
I hope she doesn’t fire him, or worse. Even if he’s being an ass, I don’t want him to go to prison.
Although he’d probably end up running the entire place, then staging a coup…
“Lucy dear! What a lovely dress!”
Lost in my thoughts, I’ve made my way to Blanche’s office on autopilot. She doesn’t seem upset, with her usual wide smile and a tea service already set out on her desk. Assorted sandwiches and cakes complete the spread, and my stomach growls, the earlier knot of anxiety fading.
“Thank you. And thank you for the lunch invitation. I wasn’t expecting you back in town so soon.” I peek at her over my teacup, but her face doesn’t give anything away.
“Yes, well, you know how things are. Sometimes things happen, and it’s better to be close to home.”
Shit. Okay, well, I guess she knows. But she still doesn’t seem mad. I hum noncommittally and stuff a sandwich in my mouth before I can offer up any information that incriminates Sasha.
“I reviewed the footage from the scene that Sasha directed yesterday while I was gone.”
Hell.
“The two of you are just supernovas, I swear! I always think it’ll be impossible for you to embody me and my Henry any more than you already have, and then you surprise me again!
Watching the footage was like looking in a mirror.
You know, I screamed the same way when he pierced my nipples the first time! ”
I choke on my mouth full of sandwich, sending a soggy piece of bread flying across Blanche’s desk. It lands just short of her teacup, thankfully, as she stands up to walk around and smack me on the back.
“I’m…fine…” I manage to cough out, swallowing and gasping for air as she continues to hit me harder than I would have thought possible. All of her pickleball, I guess.
“Goodness, don’t scare me like that, dear.” She sits back down, eyeing me like a toddler who can’t be trusted with their own plate anymore.
“I’m sorry, I was just surprised.”
She tops off her tea and leans back in her chair.
“Henry was so mad at me the day of those piercings. I don’t even remember why! I’m sure I mouthed off in front of someone I shouldn’t have, or he could have been mad at whatever I did to him the last time I was in charge—”
“You were in charge?”
“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a wink, not bothered by my interruption.
“I gave just as good as I got, I promise. But anyway, as I was saying, Henry left me in the basement for much longer, but otherwise, the scene was just as it was back then.” She sighs wistfully, and I open my mouth to ask if Henry also shot a man dead, but think better of it.
“I just wanted to check in with you, Lucy. I’ve enjoyed having you live here and getting to know you, and I hope you don’t mind me saying that I consider you a part of the family now.”
Shit. There are tears in my eyes immediately, and I know she sees them. Thankfully, she gives me a chance to pull myself together and continues.
“It’s come to my attention that Sasha is no longer staying at the cottage, so I wanted to ask you if you were okay and if there was anything I could do to help.”
The urge to tell her everything, starting with how it felt to be one of the only kids in elementary school without a dad, all the way to Sasha stomping all over my heart but still bringing me to more intimate heights than I thought possible last night.
I want her to hold me and smell like a mom, even if she doesn’t smell like my mom.
I want to tell her how sorry I am for intruding into her home under false pretenses, and how I cried so hard when the DNA tests showed that I was a Sinclair that I threw up.
I don’t. I sniffle and smile. I’m too afraid that Blanche would toss me out of here on my ass, especially since I used one of the grandkid’s hairs for the test. As reasonable as she is, that might be a step too far, and if she kicks me out, this will have all been for nothing.
I need to stay and get some info. I just haven’t been able to get my mind straight after all the distractions with Sasha.
“Well, you know how it is, Blanche,” I say quietly, but steadily. “Young love isn’t an easy road.”
Her eyes light up at my admission, and she returns my smile. “It isn’t, my dear. But the best love stories are always worth it.”
Hours later, I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about the script that should arrive later and batting away fresh tears.
I’m not surprised, necessarily, but still disappointed.
Hurt. Flipping to one side, the alarm clock on the nightstand mocks me.
I’m no closer to falling asleep than I was when I first came to bed, but I have managed to regain all the anxiety that faded during my lunch with Blanche.
Maybe I should just take some melatonin and try harder…
Before I can get up, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. Who the hell is texting me at five in the morning? My blood runs cold when I see the name on the screen.
Lawrence.
Shit. I haven’t really given him any more thought since we left our meeting and my life fell apart. It looks like he’s called me a few times over the past few days, but I haven’t exactly been glued to my phone.
Lawrence:
I don’t know who you think you’re kidding, ignoring my calls.
Lawrence:
If you don’t answer the next one, you’ll be sorry.
Shit, shit. My phone lights up with his incoming call immediately, and a pit of dread grows in my stomach as I answer. Before I can say hello, Lawrence speaks quickly, as if he doesn’t have much time.
“Listen here, bitch. I was too nice to you in the beginning, and you don’t have a fucking clue who you’re dealing with.
I got you that job with Blanche to get me information, and if you haven’t figured out your own shit about your deadbeat dad by now, that’s your problem.
It’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.
I don’t care how you get it, but I have on good authority that she keeps a thumb drive with blackmail information on the Taranovs as insurance in case her precious Henry gets fucked over by his Russian whore of a wife.
I want that material for myself. You have one week to find it, or you’ve outlived your usefulness to me.
Text me when you have it, and I’ll arrange a meeting. A week, Lucy, or you’re finished.”
The line goes dead, and I try to fight the crushing pressure of his threat.
Blanche’s office isn’t exactly Fort Knox, but there’s no way I’ll be able to find any excuse to dig around for an important thumb drive.
She probably keeps it in a safe, or a safety deposit box in some random city, booby trapped to hell and back.
I’m trying to breathe, with limited success, when I hear a knock on the front door.
No one is there when I open it, but the next script has been delivered and sits ominously on my sunflower doormat.
Picking it up like it’s poisonous, I remind myself that after the last scene and the call from Lawrence, things really can’t get any worse.