chapter 8

Sneaking into the house after her secretive escape with Vincent was a challenge enough when her mother went for her morning jogs without fault at five thirty. It was near impossible when presented with the fact that Margetta would go in to wake Blue for the first time at five-thirty-five — before Blue would fall back asleep and await the following six-thirty wakeup. What this schedule meant was that, if Marian was even only one or two minutes late, Blue would have no opportunity to make her way back through her bedroom window. And she could not count on Margetta when it came to keeping a secret from Marian.

She waited stiffly, peering around the side of the house and through the thickness of the front garden's shrubs, for her mother to emerge from the house (hopefully on time) and disappear into the distance of the darkened horizon where she belonged. Nearing five-twenty-nine, Blue chewed absently on her lower lip and drummed her fingertips against the brick of the house. Then she saw it.

She saw her mother emerge with her tits practically strapped down to her chest and watched as she hurried down the driveway and merged onto the path where she broke into a trot. Taking her cue, she turned to the man who had leant against the wall behind her and taken to checking his emails... Marian was just on time, not that Vincent was quite as anxious to note as Blue. "Are you still going to be a spoil-sport and refuse to come up with me?"

As Vincent found his eyes drawn to the pair of Blue's own, he switched off his phone and tucked the device into his pocket. Though he was due for work in just over three hours, he found himself wearing something he would never wear to the office; jeans and a dress shirt... what a crime. "It's not that I'm being a spoil-sport, it's that I don't want you getting into trouble,"

Blue scrunched her nose. "Don't talk like that, you sound like you're trying to parent me," Though her tone was light, her heart sunk. It was almost as though she was searching for reasons to "ghost" Vincent in the name of self-preservation. Was syntax really a reason to end a relationship?

"How about this," The way that Vincent lifted his hands and set them on the shoulders of the cross-armed girl almost completely set Blue off — how could she ever want to leave a man like that? How could she desire in any form to get out of a relationship with a man who was so patient with her — when she lashed out in fear, when she held onto smaller misdoings and overlooked the greater gestures, when she found herself controlled by the more trivial emotions. "I don't want my girlfriend to be grounded because I'd like to see her," Blue found herself smiling slowly.

"I know Margie's schedule like the back of my hand — all we have to do is get up there and I'll handle it from there," It almost appeared as though Blue's eyes had darkened in the earlier lighting — where they were once brilliant, they were brooding. Perhaps a large part of it was due to the fact that she had been awoken no less than half an hour earlier by a man clothed even less than she in a bed of tangled sheets and a bedroom pleasantly heated.

"Blue, I'd hate it if you got in trouble,"

"I'm begging you — come up with me, I need to spend more time with you," Vincent was a man who was not easily persuaded; perhaps that was a skill of a greater business man... a requirement, even. And yet as Blue frowned slightly and twisted her hands together, the woman who he knew was stronger than most and held more attitude than many looked so vulnerable as she made her plea. She looked genuine in a way she never had before, let it be by the fact she had worn the same outfit twelve hours before hand (the fact Vincent had insisted on washing the clothes for her to wear the next morning aside) or because she didn't have a brush to take through her hair after she had woken up. Perhaps even because her face was masked with fatigue in the very way it had been when she had awoken. The cause exactly aside, there was something to her which meant that Vincent simply could not say no. And so, he found himself murmuring fondly.

"And how do you propose we get up there?"

Blue found herself grinning a wider smile.

"We go up through the back, Margie is in the laundry right now getting the first load of washing into a cycle — just follow me and walk slowly," And with that, he shook his head and watched as Blue dashed towards the far end of the house where she pried open the sliding glass door of the living room and slid inside with a motion of silence to her lips. And with that, he almost struggled to fill her quick and soundless steps. The girl who seemed to be of such haste almost every other moment of her waking day didn't leave a trace of sound or disturbance as she scaled the staircase and waited for the man who put far more caution into his steps. The ease to which her sneaking back into her own house made him wonder; how many times had she done it? Had she ever been caught? How was she so confident in her luck?

He watched with far more angst than the girl seemed to carry as she twisted at the knob of her door with motions she seemed to have gone over countless times... and with that, the door clicked, and she swung it open — had she locked it behind herself? Did she plan on coming back that night at all? The girl seemed to have far more mystery than she was given credit for.

Almost as though it took ten seconds altogether to weave through the house with Vincent in tow, she swung the bedroom door shut behind herself, motioned for Vincent to follow, threw back the sheets of her bed as she passed, waited for him to disappear into the en suite, and swiftly shut and locked the door behind herself. Though the man felt quite puzzled and too cautious to ask any questions as not to make any alerting sounds, he watched as she fumbled for the shower's handles and ran a stream of cold water — and just like that, the very bathroom Blue had masturbated in too many times to count became a space in which she could talk freely... she watched fondly as Vincent leant against the edge of the bathroom counter. "Do you always treat your guests to such a comprehensive tour?" His words were strangely quiet, though the thought wasn't strange per se given the imminent threat of discovery.

"Let's just say I was inspired by the tour of your place last night,"

"At least you know the bed quite well now," with little more than a breath of warning, Vincent drew the girl closer to himself with his hands hooked behind her elbows and his gaze intense in a strange way. Still, though he battled the stream of the shower in terms of volume, he found himself murmuring as though there was a keenly listening Margetta waiting at the other side of the door.

"Maybe you can acquaint me with the couch next time I come over... perhaps even the dining table,"

"The dining table sounds lovely — after the balcony the other night and the car last night I'd love to take you where I have all my favourite things..." And with that, Blue found herself feeling quite dizzy... in fact, she found her hands seeking the counter either side of Vincent to still herself. In the moment, she could nor care if that alone made Vincent aware of the fact he was driving her to the point of insanity. All she cared for was the fact she felt so weak in the legs she was sure she would collapse at any given moment from Vincent and his gaze alone. That was why she had lured Vincent inside — because through all the teasing and touching at every red light in the car on the way over, she knew she could satisfy the appetite which had built if she played her cards right.

"And what do these 'things' include?"

"The best meals, work issues I have to take care of at home... young girls whose names rhyme with 'Clue Fierce'," Vincent lifted a hand to tangle through the hair at the back of the girl's head as though he knew the effect it would have on the girl — this thought alone was evident as his lips curled into a small and cruel smile which suggested that (and only that) he took pleasure in the girl's undoing. He got off to watching her fall into a heap of a woman who could hardly breathe let alone speak replies of her own accord. He loved watching the girl who carried herself in the manner which suggested she had everything figured out look as though she was awaiting instruction so fervidly. "Usually when I take something to do to the dining table, I'm there almost all night... what an awful habit to keep..."

"And what if you finish early? That would hardly be all night and you do have a 'habit' for that," and before Blue could insert a remark of "I'm kidding" with the chuckle that fell from her lips, she found herself giggling like a child with a butter knife and with the back of her neck in the grip of a man who had thus far kept his hands to himself — and just like that, he tugged the girl towards himself and held his lips just inches before hers.

With the same volume he had adopted the entire exchange, perhaps even softer, he found himself murmuring in a deep, rough tone... "I will fuck you until you cry," and his eyes flickered between her own as though he was searching for something in particular — all he found was a simple strain of the girl's head from his clutch as she attempted so weakly to close the space between their opened mouths. Nothing aroused Blue more than being denied what she longed for so dearly... and perhaps that was why she felt herself growing more and more desperate as each moment passed and she lost more and more strength in her knees. Was that why she always found herself on the bottom? Admittedly, she found herself unable to support her own weight when it came to Vincent quite often. Perhaps it was time she picked up her mother's five-thirty ritual and took a quick morning run herself. Goodness knows she could use it.

"You're all talk." And with that, she found she had been given what she desired most. Vincent planted his mouth on hers, let it be in a rather aggressive kiss, and she found his hand slipping instead over the base of her skull where his fingers twisted as though they had every intention of pulling her hair. She didn't want it any differently, that much she knew. That much she accepted. She wanted no less than Vincent in all his rough mannerisms and carelessness. She wanted the very man who had been so unobtainable nights before to be the very source of her whirlwind undoing. She wanted to be marked; she wanted to be claimed and harmed and used and held and kissed and...

"Miss Pierce, breakfast is in half an hour,"

And with that, Blue made an attempt, and a rather feeble one at that, to break away from the man who tugged her hair warningly — and in that very moment, she truly wanted to know what he would do if she broke his kiss. More for longing than curiosity, naturally.

So, she did, and with great difficulty. It was with a strained "Okay, thank you!" that she confirmed her presence in the bathroom and earned a forceful tug from Vincent as her head recoiled and her eyes sprung to his from over the tip of her nose. The sight in itself was of a glory she had never known; the anger in his eyes as he wiped his lower lip with his thumb and looked her over; the questioning gaze as he assessed what he had to work with and what exactly he could or would do; the jagged, broken breaths that she watched swell his chest wearing the same clothes he had the night before.

Perhaps there was no 'right' choice when it came to pissing off Vincent – perhaps no matter how much she considered herself a junkie for punishment and a host of other fucked up things, there would be a man too much for her to stomach. That much she had feared as he slipped his hand around the base of her skull and steered her towards the basin that was cold even through her dress. Steered in its own was too gentle a word with the bite of the ceramic in her stomach and only her hands to stop her head crashing into the faucet... and yet she couldn't help but grunt softly when she found a pair of hands fishing around beneath the hem of her dress for the underwear she wished she'd had the chance to change post sleepover. Perhaps it was for the better. Perhaps she needn't complain, seeing as it didn't seem she'd be wearing them much longer after all.

"Did your mother never teach you not to complain about messes you won't clean up?" and as he hummed the words she had hardly a second to turn over, she found his hands missing... for want of a better word. It was the absence of touch that left her heart in a frenzy of panic and angst and her cunt in a state of undisclosed moisture. She had "fanny flutters", a term she seemed to swear she would never lower herself to the standard of... and yet she found herself at the rock bottom she had been working so tirelessly to avoid — in plenty more ways than just the one. She was succumbing to lesser terms, she was sneaking around with a specific member of the male species and sleeping over as though she was in a committed relationship. Two things of which she had sworn off. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

The girl, knuckles white around the lip of the basin, threw a look of tangled hair and bright eyes over the peak of her shoulder. "Who says I won't clean it up?" and with that, she found herself wishing Margetta hadn't lingered at the door long enough to hear the unconcealed, piercing sound of Vincent's belt smashing into the tiles face-first; the sound of Blue's grunt as she found a hand hooked around the base of her throat and the gaze in the mirror of a man with no expression but something entirely different in his eyes—

"Look at me," just moments before she could find the time to throw together a witty remark as she hadn't yet failed to do, she had more pressing matters to attend to. The most important of all, the fact she was yet again reminded of the fact that business men ran on a different clock entirely — at least that was what she had assumed his punctuality to be derivative of. That fact, of course, was the fact that he seemed to adjust everything he did to the tight schedule of his; no foreplay; no fucking around; no tolerance for teasing; no pause for admiration... a plethora of things all the same and all so different. Of course, she had her own concerns she would never have the voice to raise. Her only complaint, the point of teasing is to not get what's wanted... not that Vincent would know anything of not getting what he wanted when he wanted. Perhaps she was yet to assert her dominance. And by dominance she meant ability to assert the right to deny him.

Deny, perhaps, was a word far too odd in the context. She wished not to deny him of what he wanted entirely, all she could say she wished for was to be able to deny him long enough to drive him crazy... after all, crazy sex was always the best. Angry sex; a hate fucking; a revenge screwing; a deprived and desperate shag...

"Just shut up and fuck me," Blue wished with all her five feet and nine inches worth of might that she'd look just as angry as he did when she hissed through her teeth. Perhaps what gave her away was the small smile she failed to fight, or the glint in her eyes that caught on the bathroom ceiling lamp with the whisper of something Vincent wasn't supposed to know... but she found Vincent's movements steadying as he tugged the girl into his chest and held her in place with only an arm across her chest and a hand tucked beneath her raised chin. Though the action on its own wasn't quite as forgiving in nature as she found it to be, the warmth of his breath across the crown of her hair and the tenderness of his fingers wrapped around her jaw were cautious and comforting in a way she hadn't yet felt from him, despite the haste of his hips and the throb of what fell from his groin as he sought to fill her.

Through all the pleasures and frustrations of having Vincent inside of her, Blue failed to produce anything more than a soft groan as she felt her dress shifting between them and his dick testing her patience. She wanted nothing more than for his deliberately violent movements to hasten and his pace to increase to minimise the waiting game she had fallen prey to. It was the worst part of sex, she often found herself remarking — the purgatory between getting used to having an engorged extremity in a hole otherwise left empty and actually orgasming; the "in between" where it's not like it felt bad, but it felt good in the same way Blue found cleaning out her ears felt. Of course, she couldn't cum by cleaning out her ears. Perhaps if she could, she would take to doing it as often as she really should.

Blue could consider sex to be unpleasant all she wanted and preach what she had thought to be the unpopular truth until feminists and whores alike agreed... but no amount of verbal repetition could distract her from the fact that she quite liked being fucked by Vincent Carmichael. In fact, sex had quickly became something she missed, something she needed. The best part of it all, Vincent was an eager supplier — an eager supplier with a ravenous appetite, strange and violent cravings and most of all the humility to kiss a girl as a plea for forgiveness after he'd fucked her senseless.

"My father's probably sleeping on the other side of this wall," Gripping the basin for a sense of balance, Blue hardly murmured the words of warning as she found Vincent increasing with a certain aggression — what had been subtly forceful thrusts had quickly become a pissing contest for how loud he could make Blue gasp; perhaps if he managed to make the girl just loud enough, she'd cry out with the distinguishable sound which had become so strangely familiar. "...so let's just take it easy," Blue found she had only moments to stop herself from crashing chin-first into the basin as Vincent released the grip that had been supporting her almost entirely and sent her tumbling. Perhaps it wasn't the lack of embrace that sent her off with such a jolt but the fact he had not the consideration to pause in his "movements".

Vincent's voice was quiet and gentle as he slipped his hands beneath the hem of her dress and lured the material from its bundle around her hips. Though just as naked, Blue felt quite exposed with the stitching around her stomach and Vincent's jeans brushing her entire backside. "I'm managing to keep quiet just fine, why would I need to take it easy?" She had little more than two hands either side of herself on the edge of the basin and her bent elbows threatening to poke Vincent if he missed the narrow passage between them to regain her footing and prevent a trip (which would surely knock out a tooth and scar her emotionally for the rest of her life). Even then, with the push of Vincent's hips keeping her pinned against the cabinet beneath the sink and her own hands keeping her up, she felt a certain degree of anxiety towards the fact she could probably and would probably manage to fall over.

Perhaps the worst part of sex as a whole was the part where Blue felt the need to scream. The part where she was so painfully close to an orgasm she wanted to yell at Vincent to just get it over and done with; the part she felt he knew all too well about and slowed for the exact purpose of driving her insane. She couldn't scream, that she knew. She couldn't even yell the words "harder" or "faster" or any other pornographic variety for the sake of not being caught having sex with a random man at a quarter to six in the morning. All she could do was let her head drop forwards and screw her eyes shut as she felt a certain pressure build and the thing she longed for most sit just out of reach. That was far more painful than the purgatory between getting used to having an engorged extremity in a hole otherwise left empty and actually orgasming; the feeling of being so damn fucking close but not even near close enough.

"Vincent," she whispered the word of a hiss barely loud enough to dominate the sound of the shower hitting the tile... before she could issue a further warning, she found Vincent's hand covering her mouth as he shoved his hips against hers where they remained. And though the counter's edge jutted into her stomach in a way she found most uncomfortable and she just wanted him to move and thrust and push and tug, she groaned a loud sound into the man's hand and found her shoulders slumping forwards with the effort of an orgasm once so far out of reach yet now violating her in a way that stiffened and weakened her whole body concurrently.

Only when he was sure the better part of an orgasm had passed from Blue did he move again. And just as he did, she couldn't help but grunt into the man's hand with the effects of her cunt, being at its most sensitive, being battered as though it wasn't. Never in her life had she come quite as hard as she had then.

Blue didn't know whether or not the after effects of her orgasm had lasted longer than it usually had. All she did know was that it felt like a lifetime of watching her braindead expression as an effect of being fucked senseless in the faucet before she felt Vincent's hips meet hers where they remained. Before she felt her stomach grow warm. Before she felt the ragged breaths of his clothed chest against her back. She assumed it had been hardly a minute, just as it had, of her groin being in such a dull pleasurable pain she could have sworn she was cumming all over again. She also assumed that her pretend shower had been running for almost fifteen minutes. She assumed her dress was far too creased to straighten up and wear to breakfast. She assumed she had semen running down her thigh. She assumed she was a right mess.

As Vincent's hand slid from her mouth, Blue folded her hands over the faucet where she rested her head and found that no amount of pretend sleep could slow her heart that had been sent into a frenzy and revitalise her from the fatigue that was being fucked by him.

Before she could struggle away in any protest, Vincent gripped her shoulders and tugged her away from the spot she had grown rather fond of — and before she could fight yet another change in position, she found his hands dwarfing her hips and her eyes meeting his as he spun her and sunk to her feet before she could offer even a smile. Did he expect her to support her own weight? There was a reason people traditionally left love-making for the bedroom; because Vincent's dick alone was the leading cause in America for chronic fatigue and/or narcolepsy in women under twenty-five. She wanted to thank him as he pulled her underwear to her hips and prevented the spillage which would have certainly needed immediate attention — yet all she could do was smile weakly as he rose to his feet before her and looked down with a satisfied half-smile and condescendingly narrowed eyes... "Maybe you should start listening to my warnings,"

"You'll come to realise that I'll piss you off because I love when you're angry at me," and before she could offer a satisfied half-smile of her own, Vincent hooked his hands beneath the armpits she immediately feared would be rather sweaty and set her on the sink where she had been only moments before... "You're a fucking mess," and though the words alone were rather aggressive in nature, she found the tone that delivered them to be rather gentle; fond. His hands were delicate in their own right as he raked his fingers through the hair she feared would knot and tangle in the most awkward way... and yet, his fingers moved swiftly, his thumbs brushed carefully, his breaths fell calmly, and his eyes held hers confidently.

"I should take that shower then," Blue smiled softly as she held Vincent's eyes with a certain boldness that wouldn't exist had he not just been inside of her. "The big question is whether or not you're going to join me,"

"I never shower in the morning," Vincent's hand dropped from the girl's face where it had been resting and instead fell to his side... though Blue wished so dearly that it was where it had been, she couldn't help but feel a certain arousal as he crossed his arms stiffly. It was almost as if he was angry all over again. "I'm definitely going to watch, though,"

There were many things about the dining table that were simply quite odd, Blue had found. The first being that there were no bagels; her parents had no intention of actually eating breakfast. The second being that no places had been set; no glasses had been laid and no cutlery had been paired. The third being that both parents were seated. Bradley never ate breakfast with them. Thus, Blue came to two conclusions.

The first, being that they weren't convening for the sake of eating. In fact, they had no intentions whatsoever of eating breakfast.

The second, being that she was about to receive a lecture, seeing as both parents were present. There was the good cop, her father, seated slightly to the left side of the seats in front of her — distanced; out of reach; sidelined — and there was Marian, the bad cop, seated directly in front of her. It was clear that Marian had an agenda for this very reason. It was clear that she was keeping Bradley from his daughter.

It was a tactic she had used often. Where Blue would usually use Bradley to back her up in the fight against her own mother, Marian had claimed him. She had deliberately seated him so only she would have access to him. Therefore, Blue was completely and utterly screwed. She had no way out of whatever Marian seemed to be scheming.

"How did you sleep last night, Blue?"

The question alone was worrying. In fact, it sent Blue into a state of internal panic — did her mother know she had snuck out? Did her mother know that she had only returned at five-thirty in the morning? That she had avoided dinner with Richard to get laid and escape to a romantic evening that was crashed by the man himself after all? Yet there was a certain bluntness to the question meaning that it lacked a certain edge. That edge, of course, was a hint of knowing something incriminating. Something that would be Blue's transgression of the evening before and that only. Was Marian Pierce making Smalltalk? "Fine. The sun's been coming up earlier and earlier so it's getting harder to sleep in, don't you agree?" Blue crossed her arms and sat back in her chair with narrowed eyes. "But then again, nothing makes me happier than making up bright and early to sit for breakfast with my loving parents,"

"Blue, if I didn't have so much work to do I'd have breakfast with you every morning-" Perhaps Bradley would have said something further if Marian hadn't sent him such an aggressive glare of disappointment and anger alike; perhaps Bradley would have returned the affectionate, genuine, small smile Blue had offered as he had spoken. After all, Blue had a soft spot for her father.

"This isn't the time, Bradley,"

Though Marian had hissed the words just loud enough for Blue to pick up on, Blue spoke rather loudly. For what reason? She had none. Most likely the reason would be for the sake of dramatic effect, perhaps simply because she found herself growing rather agitated. She wished that she had stayed at Vincent's apartment. She wished he hadn't woken her up to take her home before she could get into trouble. She wished she had slept the morning away in the comforts of his bed she felt she had spent a life time in simply because she felt so acquainted to the sheets and the way they fit so perfectly in the centre when they twisted and tangled. There were so many things she wished which were so painfully separate from a family meeting at six o'clock sharp with no food and no coffee to sweeten the deal. So many things she didn't and couldn't have. "But I thought a nice family breakfast would be the time for pleasantries,"

"I'm not going to waste anyone's time," Blue watched as Marian sat forward in her seat and crossed her arms over the tables surface. With a slight repositioning, Blue felt half the size of Marian. That was how she knew she was in for it, when Marian made no effort whatsoever to look and seem nonconfrontational. "You know that Richard is an affectionate, caring man and rather easy on the eyes,"

"No, I did not know any of that-"

"You know that marrying him would mean that this family one day inherits the company,"

"Also did not know that-"

"So stop wasting everyone's time and accept the fact that he is going to be the one that you'll marry," Marian paused, smiled sweetly, and gave Blue a look of mock affection which made Blue feel she had never wanted to slap anyone more in her life. "People have to accept their responsibilities when they become adults, it's time that you acknowledge that these are yours,"

"So, the point of this conversation is that you think it's my responsibility to get dad promoted and take control of this company?"

"No, it's your responsibility to marry a man who is going to treat you and this family right,"

"I have no fucking desire to be anywhere near Richard! Have you looked away from the reflection in your fucking wine glass long enough to notice that?" Before she could correct the tone which would surely leave Blue grounded, she found herself yelling in a way she hadn't for years. Perhaps because her parents had become lenient in a way they should when a child was maturing into an adult. Perhaps because she had become able to tolerate so much shit from her mother over the years of her childhood that she had learnt to bite her tongue. Whatever the reason, she was due for the signature slap Marian gave like it was AIDS. That much she knew.

"Don't speak to me like that-"

"I'll speak to you however I want — I'm your daughter, not some currency you can trade off for your own benefit, you traditionalist bitch-"

"Exactly, Blue! You're my daughter!" Marian's voice, swollen with contempt and pride, filled the dining room like a foul smell with a power greater than Blue felt she would ever be able to muster. And just like that, she knew she couldn't win the argument. She had been matched. She had been bested. She had been tried and fought and beaten fairly — at the price of her own free will.

...Blue found herself freezing and sinking back into her chair.

"I've given you everything you could possibly want in the world, I've given you everything you could ask for, I've raised you — it's time you pay us back!" And though Blue wanted to spit in Marian's face that she hadn't raised her, that the help had, that the most Marian had done for her in her life was carry her for the nine months and then give her up to the care of countless stranger's arms of various expertise, all she could do was purse her lips as the back of her throat stung with the threat of tears. She felt angry and yet sorrowful in a way she hadn't since her last period — Marian tended to have that effect on people. Much like a period, she only came when people didn't want her and for the sole purpose of making everyone's life hell.

All Blue could muster the will and the strength to execute, was a shaky stance as she rose from her chair and a tearful hiss of, "Heaven forbid you do a mother's job, Marian," before she shoved her chair underneath the dining table with a force that shook the living room and startled Marian quite notably. Though she wanted to believe that she could convince her mother otherwise, she felt quite certain she was being sold off like livestock. Perhaps Marian was only doing what she had been taught. After all, she did get married at eighteen.

And if a parent whose only job was to protect the best interests of their child wouldn't, who would?