Blindsight: Complete Series

“NEED YOU, CAR WILL be there in thirty,” Hunter grunted over the phone the following Tuesday morning as I stood in the bright sunlight of my kitchen. He hung up before I could even reply. I set my phone back on the counter. Within hours of landing in Chicago, he’d called to tell me there was a chance we’d be in LA before the week was out. I guess that was his confirmation.

I shot up the stairs, jumped in the shower, and then threw on a pair of shorts and a cotton shirt. I was just shoving my laptop in my bag when my phone rattled. My mother.

My loving, doting, suffocating mother.

“Where have you been?!” came her shrill voice when I answered. I held the phone from my ear and groaned. Maybe I should have just texted from the car.

“I’ve been calling all weekend! I drove by twice and no one was home.”

“I got a new job!” I said brightly, hoping to end her spiel in its tracks.

“Doing what?”

I began to tell her how I’d gotten a job and been whisked off to an exotic locale, excitement bubbling in my voice, before she cut me off and said she couldn’t believe I’d left town without telling her.

I groaned. My mother was a difficult person to say the least. At best, she was undiagnosed depressed, and at worst, I shuddered to think of the plethora of diagnoses a mental health professional would see fit to bestow. The best I could do was try to keep her at arm’s distance, which was difficult when she lived less than twenty minutes away and expected me to report in like an eight-year-old.

“You’d better watch yourself, young lady. Not everyone has your best interests at heart, ya know.” Her admonishment rang loud and clear over the line. Another fuck-up for Erin, she was saying. Running full steam ahead into another relationship blinded by the idea of love. I’d heard it all before. Was she right? Certainly when I was young and more impulsive, but at twenty-nine, I’d made enough mistakes and learned at least a few lessons.

Therapy had taught me that I was a classic case of paternal abandonment with resulting daddy issues, which apparently translated to my falling into bed with any man that flashed an interested glance and never failed to leave me drowning in a vicious whirlpool of lust and heartbreak in a matter of months.

But this wasn’t lust, and there wasn’t any room for heartbreak. It was business.

Taking the job with Hunter wasn’t a mistake; it was a financial necessity.

“I need a job, Mom. If I’m going to try to make it in this city, I need a job, and I’m more determined than ever to make it on my own.” I said with an air of defiance.

“Well, I bet it would have been nice to have someone to talk to about this new job, but if you didn’t want to talk to me…” And there it was — the pout. She had a marvelous way of sweeping the air out of someone’s lungs with guilt and shame piled stories high.

“Maybe, but I had to make a quick decision, so I did.”

“You know how you are with those.” I could see the condescending look in her eye from twenty minutes away.

“I know, Mother, but I thought you’d be excited. I’ve always wanted to travel, and this photographer is so talented, he’s won awards and everything. I’m only a PA; I’m not anything more than someone to hold the reflector and get the coffee, but hopefully it’s a start. And it’s good money.”

“How good?” Her interest was piqued again. Oh, my mother, always driven by selfish tendencies and dollar signs.

“Very good.” I allowed myself the one slip. I usually avoided talking finances with her. She had a way of taking advantage of even the smallest openings.

“Erin—”

“Look, Mom, I have to run,” I interjected, realizing the car would be here any moment and I’d already given her more time than I had to give. “I have a million things to take care of, and then we’re headed to—”

“Okay, okay. Just keep an eye on yourself.”

“I will,” I replied. “Love you.” I hung up, relieved to finally be off the phone and off to see Hunter again.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING I found myself surviving a six-hour shoot in downtown LA on quad shot lattes and protein bars. Hunter had wolfed down two between setups and sipped his coffee every spare moment. I hovered quietly over his shoulder and watched him assess composition and angles through his lens before turning back to our model.

She was the wife of a wealthy head of a certain Pacific Northwestern outerwear company. This was her anniversary present to him, and I couldn’t deny that she was young, beautiful, and had had enough surgery to keep her nipped and tucked for many decades to come.

I packed his camera snugly into its padded bag once we’d finished. My stomach chose that moment to growl ravenously. “I’m starving. I need to eat, and then I need to see these pictures.”

His laugh filled the room before he said, “I didn’t know I would be working to the tune of your gut today.”

My cheeks flushed red as I lifted the bag over my shoulder and caught his dancing eyes. “Sorry.” I scrunched my face and shrugged my shoulders.

“It reminds me what a shit boss I am to not even give you a break, so lunch is on me.” He pulled the camera bag from my shoulder and slid it over his own, dusting a palm along the curve of my ass as he did it.

Thirty minutes later, Hunter and I sat in pajamas with lo mien and egg rolls spread out between us, his MacBook open on the coffee table of the luxe hotel room we were sharing. I watched fascinated, lifting a pile of noodles to my mouth with chopsticks, as Hunter chewed and tilted his head, browsing through the photos he’d taken earlier today.

I adored him like this. Hair damp from the shower, soft jersey shorts hanging low on his hips and a plain white tee defining his broad physique. I found myself distracted and shifting, wanting to slide onto his lap and discover the delicious sin that resided there. I didn’t understand him, but I found that I didn’t want to. He held his own personal brand of magic, and I was just content that he graced me with it.

“Look, if I soften the curve of the breast right here.” He mumbled out loud as the cursor worked over a small area. Hunter zoomed out on the photo, adjusted the contrast a finer shade, and then sat back, his eyes assessing his handiwork with a sense of self scrutiny I’d never seen anyone else posses.

“It’s perfect,” I offered.

“It’s not right.” He shook his head before punching a few buttons on the keyboard and slamming the top closed. He was shoveling chopsticks piled high with noodles in his mouth before I could even come to terms with what had happened.

“I hope you saved that. I really did think it was perfect.” I reached for the computer before his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist in warning. His dark gaze pierced me, pinning me to my seat, my muscles rigid and senses on high alert.

I loved it.

“Don’t touch.” His gruff voice fell on my ears, reminding me of his original warning, and sending slow lustful curls unfurling down low in my belly.

“I’ll go back to it later. Don’t touch my stuff, Erin.”

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes glancing from his thick fingers wrapped around my wrist and back to his darkening eyes assessing me.

“Yes…” I glanced away, trying to contain the word that so easily teetered on my lips. “Sir,” I said softly. His eyes sparked for a moment before veiling over with dark and delicious lust. I knew I’d be calling him that again. And again.

If I’d only known then his brand of all-consuming love would ruin me.

“Come here.” Before I knew what was happening, Hunter was on his feet and hauling me to the seating area. “Stay.” He sat me on the sofa and turned to fumble with something on the nightstand.

Slow beats filled the room from a small speaker, and my nerves immediately shot to standing when he sauntered back to me with a dark quirk of his lips. Hunter’s fingers trailed through the dark curls of my hair and brushed them over one shoulder. His fingertips trailed across my shoulders and goose bumps burned across my body before I felt his soft lips place a reverent kiss at the nape of my neck. My core flooded and tears pricked behind my eyelids. This was feeling — all feeling.

The deep thrums of the bass guitar charged through my blood as Hunter’s fingers danced up my skin, trailing the dips of my elbows, over my biceps and back down again. Exploring his hard body with my own fingertips, I caught his wrist here, a bicep there, before my fingers finally curled at his neck and brushed across the cold chain that was ever present. His muscles tensed before his fingers curled under the hem of the tank top I’d intended to wear to bed.

His knuckles dusted up the curve of my waist as the ribbed cotton pulled over my body. I sucked in a quick breath when he pulled the fabric over my head and my hair fell in a curtain around my shoulders, causing the cool air-conditioned room to caress the lace fabric of my bra and raise my nipples to aching peaks.

“Jesus,” Hunter growled as his hands danced across my aroused flesh, before he dipped beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts and every alarm that my body had went off at full alert. “So fucking beautiful,” Hunter uttered as his fingers teased at my waistband and his lips found the hollow beneath my ear. He wasn’t kissing — what he was doing was worse, so much worse. He was teasing, just like he always did.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, and I grew wet.

“You,” I breathed, caught up in him and the heavy music notes flooding my senses. His scent, his touch, him.

“Me what?”

“You. I want you inside me,” I whimpered as my knees buckled. Hunter’s hands clenched around my waist, his fingertips digging so deeply it nearly had me cringing with pain.

“Erin, from the first moment, I…I should have told you…fuck.” His eyes shot up and caught mine. I stood there with quiet anticipation, until his eyes seemed to harden with resolve, and he finally spoke. “I want to shoot you tonight.”

My eyes widened before my head did a slow nod in ascent. I couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe, but I could agree. There was a flickering awareness in my tummy that I would soon know what it felt like to be on the opposite side of his lens.

Hunter swayed my hips back and forth in his warm palms, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of my shorts, and with his lips at my ear, he whispered the words and hummed along to the tune while the cotton slipped down my thighs to the floor.

Within minutes, my body felt like smooth silk and melted butter as my hips swayed of their own volition and Hunter’s palms disappeared. Seconds later, he was laying me back on the inky black couch. My heart ached and my stomach fluttered as he twisted from his crouch on the floor, looking at me through the different angles of his lens. He snapped pictures, tipping his head to one side or another, that slight frown I’d grown to adore appearing on his face as he lost himself in thought.

“We need to take more off.” His eyes bore into mine and gone was the mischievous sparkle that was normally present. “Do you mind?” Hunter’s crooked smile glanced from the vee at my thighs up my body to land on my eyes. “Just the panties.”

I breathed in a few slow, torturous breaths. Just the panties. Whoever heard of just the panties? My nerves screamed for oxygen and the relief that it carried, the much needed lifeblood that would allow my brain to function normally again.

“Okay.” My stomach flipped painfully, unsure whether to run to the bathroom and toss up my lunch or wrap myself in his strong, golden arms and ride him until we were both coming and screaming and sated. “Okay,” I said again more confidently and hooked my thumbs in my panties.

“Let me.” His deep voice carried in the cool air between us, and my stomach coiled and unfurled again, slow circles twisting up my insides with nervous bliss. The pads of his fingers hooked beneath my panties for the second time today, and my thighs rocked back and forth, waiting and wanting like a whore.

“Still,” he whispered, and without reservation, I did what I was told. I held my breath as he peeled the black fabric down my thighs and slowly revealed my glistening pussy to his eyes. His lower lip pulled taut between his teeth as his eyes flicked open and closed a moment before turning up to me.

“Perfect,” he murmured and then pulled a string of pearls from his pocket.

“So perfect,” he breathed as he draped the string along the damp folds between my legs. The cool stones tingled and buzzed as arousal surged and pulsed.

“Do it for me,” he instructed, and without being told, I knew what he wanted. I took the string of freshwater stones from his fingers and trailed them across my core, dusting them along my abdomen, coiling them in the dip of my navel. And all along, he snapped away, hundreds of pictures I guessed by the time we were done and from every single angle I could have imagined.

I relaxed when he finally sat back on his ass, legs crossed and eyes riveted to the LCD screen, the beeping of the button as he reviewed the photos he’d taken the only sound over the drugging music.

“You’re fucking stunning, Princess,” he murmured and wrapped me in his warm arms, pulling me into him. “I’ve been warring with myself,” he said as he drew me towards the bed.

“Why?” The breathless word fell from my lips as my brain built up with pleasurable excitement.

“I’m bad for you, Erin.” His hands cupped my jaw, his lips hovering against my own. “But then I think maybe I’m the best thing for you.” His fingers kneaded at my waist and ran delicious circuits, lighting a current of lust in my body.

“What are you talking about?” I struggled to grasp his meaning. He was complex, his words always brewing with hidden meaning and innuendo. Was he good for me? Wasn’t he? Did I care?

“Soon. I’ll tell you soon,” he said, and with both his hands wrapped in my hair, I fell for him.

His hard body caged me in on the cotton duvet, fingers digging into my sides, hands running between my thighs, and lips everywhere. His tongue flicked at the hollow of my waist, licked around my navel, trailed along the concavity of my ribs, and then scraped at the lace covering one nipple.

“God, yes,” I whispered on wasted breaths as my fingertips trailed up his arms and over the dark ink that I’d been yearning to touch.

Raised flesh flowed under my skin as I roamed his biceps. Across his shoulders I found more. Over the inked forearms, still more.

He was covered in scars.

My eyes shot open as a ball of pain lodged in my throat. Every single tattoo that decorated his body covered a mark that he’d wanted to forget. Or remember. Was he living through the pain every time he saw them in the mirror?

My fingertips tightened around his upper arms, and I forced my mind to focus on him as his large hands roamed my curves while the music pumped on. Up my thighs he kneaded and placed kisses until finally he pulled the lacy fabric down my breasts and his lips attached in long hard sucks. I arched and clutched at his head and moaned before his fingers slid between my legs and massaged between my soaked folds. The muscles of my core bunched and tightened as my hips thrust off the bed while Hunter’s expert fingers worked me to a frenzy.

“Cum on me, Princess,” he hummed in my ear before one finger slid deep inside, curving and massaging relentlessly while his thumb turned figure-eights at my clit. My breathing grew shallow at his words, and just as I was about to unravel, his fingers were gone and his palms were fisting at my hips as his tongue drove into my pussy and licked in feverish strokes.

I rocked my hips, but his heavy hands held me in place. I couldn’t move if I tried. I didn’t want to. With my hands in his hair, fire pulsed through my body and strung my muscles into tightly bunched masses of useless energy. Hunter’s hand kneaded at my breast and pinched and twisted at my nipple as the ripples of pleasure burned from my toes to the hairs standing up at my neck.

The world swam, and before I could think twice, I was tucked under Hunter’s arm, my head across his broad chest. “Go to sleep, Princess.” His hand stroked delicately across my hair as he pressed his nose into my waves and inhaled.

“I still want you,” I mumbled, drunk with the promise of sex.

“You have me,” came his simple reply. “Sleep.”

I sighed, my eyes falling closed, one palm spread across his chest and fingering the dog tags that lay beneath the cotton. And for the first time, I felt him. Not the mystery, not the boss, not the man I pined over and rubbed myself to between the sheets at night. Despite my fucked up history in life and love, I felt him, and despite it all, it didn’t terrify me.