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17

Jo

J o had always loved Italian food, but ever since losing her eyesight, she’d come to appreciate it even more. In an Italian restaurant, everything was symmetrical. Pizzas were round, no matter which slice you started with. Pasta was usually all mixed together, as well. So there was little risk of stabbing her fork on the plate and coming up with a decorative slice of lemon or some other garnish, instead of some real food.

She stabbed at the plate of paglia e fieno in front of her, twirling her fork to grab another creamy, delicious bite. “This is really good,” she said, when she could speak again.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. His voice sounded vaguely strangled, as if he’d swallowed down the wrong air hole.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“I feel better now that I’m no longer wearing that dress,” she confessed. They’d stopped by her house on the way to the restaurant. “I really did feel like everybody was staring.”

“Nobody was staring, Jo. And if anybody stared, it’s only because they wanted to wish us luck.”

Luck. Do we need luck? Guilt assaulted her, hot and heavy. There were things she hadn’t told him. If Horns found her, nobody around her would be safe. And she’s brought Hugo—a man she liked, a man she cared about—right in the middle of it. But she couldn’t share all this with Hugo. And maybe all they needed was some luck.

“You’re … worried about something,” he said carefully. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, Jo, but I want you to know you can trust me.”

Jo swallowed, glad there was no food in her mouth this time. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust herself. If she told him about Horns, she’d have to tell him everything. And she didn’t think she could do that without losing it. Things were already hard enough. She’d gotten married without anybody from her family there to see it. Without her parents even knowing—because, if she’d known, her mother would have insisted on coming. And that would have made them all less safe.

“I was thinking about my parents,” she said, giving him that bit of truth.

His voice, when he replied, was husky. “They don’t know we got married today.”

“They wouldn’t have understood. They would have wanted to be here, and I … I couldn’t let them come here.”

“Are they ill?”

She shook her head. This is why she couldn’t say anything. Because any bit of truth she gave, led to more questions. And more questions. And there were parts of her life—dark, dangerous parts—that she couldn’t let him into. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “They’re not ill. I just can’t see them. But please don’t ask me anything else. Don’t make me lie to you, Hugo.”

“I don’t want to pry, and I don’t want to force you to lie.” He paused. “I told my parents last night.”

Shit . His parents probably hated her, now. “What did they say?”

“They didn’t understand the rush, but it’s not the first time I make a decision they don’t understand,” he said, his tone light. “I had to promise to bring you in for a visit soon.”

Jo ground her teeth together. She could do that. This man had married her to help her. The least she could do was face his parents. Jo picked up her glass and sipped some water, gathering her thoughts. “Your parents live in Lyon?”

“They still live in the same house I grew up in. My younger brother lives five minutes away from them.”

“Your brother. Is he the one having the engagement party? We can go together.” She hesitated, twirling the fork around in the plate to grab some more linguini. “If you don’t think your brother will mind.”

“You little minx. I told you I probably wasn’t going to attend.” He softened his tone. “But we’ll go if you want to. My brother will be delighted to meet you. He already sent me a text message saying he doesn’t think you exist.”

Jo raised her head, puzzled. “What?”

“He’s kidding. He just doesn’t think any woman in her right mind would marry me.”

Jo hesitated, biting her lip. “I don’t want to complicate things for you, Hugo. Your family’s already probably wondering what kind of woman you’ve gotten mixed up with.”

“Jo,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “Stop worrying about what they think. I made this decision because it’s what I wanted. This is my life. Our life, now.”

She nodded, though the guilt in her chest didn’t ease. Hugo was so sure, so steady, and here she was, carrying secrets that could shatter everything. She forced a bright smile on her face, putting her fork down. “This was delicious, but I don’t think I can eat anymore.”

“Good, because you’ve polished off most of the plate. There’s maybe one bite left.”

“Want to try some?”

He shook his head. “The Arrabbiata sauce was fiery. I don’t think I could taste anything else right now.”

Jo laughed. “So. Where to, then?”

“My car’s right outside. I can drive you home,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Her stomach clenched, making her think she’d eaten too much pasta. She didn’t want to go back to her place. She knew that for a fact. “You said your place was only a few minutes away,” she said. Great, now you’re sounding desperate.

“It is,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Would you like to see it?” He made a small, strangled sound in his throat.

“It’s okay,” she laughed. “You’re allowed to talk about seeing things. I know what you mean. I’d like us to go there, together.”

Before she’d realized, he’d paid the bill. “I hope you didn’t want dessert,” he said, taking her hand in his. She held on to his upper arm, and together they made their way out of the restaurant and to his car. She’d barely gotten strapped in when he parked again. “Here we are.”

“It’s a house?”

“A big house. I rented it with Alex and Ry, before they met Yvette and Isla. I meant to look for an apartment in town but haven’t had a chance to do so yet. It has a guest bedroom,” he said.

Jo didn’t know whether to be offended. First, he’d wanted to drive her back to her place, and now he was offering the guest bedroom. “I didn’t come here for your guest bedroom,” she said lightly.

“There’s three steps,” he said, his voice calm and steady as his hand hovered near her elbow, close enough to help if she needed it, but not imposing. A lot of people didn’t know how to help a blind person navigate the world, but he was good at this, guiding her without pushing her around, letting her move at her own pace.

Jo found the edge of the first step with her cane, adjusting her footing. “Got it,” she said. By the third step, she was on level ground again, and she tilted her head in his direction. “You know, some people would just grab me by the arm and drag me up those steps without a second thought.”

“Some people are idiots,” Hugo replied. Was he smiling? She wished she could see him.

She waited next to him until he’d gotten the front door open. New places made her nervous, but she trusted him. “This floor is all open-plan. Straight ahead and on your right you have the living area. At the far end, the kitchen. There’s a bathroom behind. And there, on your left, are the stairs going up to the first floor. That’s where the bedrooms are.”

“Thanks,” she said. If she were brave enough, she’d ask to go up to his bedroom. But she wasn’t quite that brave. Or not yet. And she couldn’t drink, so she couldn’t even hope alcohol would make her any braver. “Can you lead me to your couch?” Surely, he had a couch.

He did. It felt soft to the touch, and it was big—big enough that she couldn’t reach the back with her feet on the floor. She curled them up on the couch, instead, glad that she’d changed into a comfortable pair of leggings before dinner. It was her favorite way of sitting. Next to her, Hugo made a strangled sound. The weight of the couch shifted and settled as he sat down next to her.

“Jo,” Hugo said slowly. “You know we don’t have to do anything, right?”

“We don’t need to consummate the marriage, you mean?” she joked.

“Right. We don’t have to do anything. We can have a hot chocolate together, or?—”

“I don’t want a hot chocolate. Unless you don’t find me attractive, and that’s why you’re?—”

This time his groan was louder. “Jesus, Jo. I’m just trying to do the right thing here. Give me a break, will you?”

The right thing? Jo froze at his words, her body stiffening. The phrase felt like a splash of cold water. “The right thing …”

“No.” Frustration hardened his voice. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m here because I want to be, Jo, not out of obligation. But the last thing I want is for you to feel I expect something in return. I want to do this right because I care about you.”

Her anger deflated, like a popped balloon, and was replaced by something warmer, more complicated. Here she’d been worried about him considering her a burden, while he was worried she’d feel indebted to him. Which she did. But not in that way .

“I… I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know it may not seem like it, since I’m pregnant and all, but in the last few years my sexual encounters have been few and far between.”

Hugo turned towards her, his weight shifting the couch again. She could feel the heat from his body, his hand brushing hers—not grabbing or demanding, just… there.

“We can figure this out together,” he said quietly. “No rush. No expectations.”

Jo tilted her head toward him, her heart pounding. She couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to. The sincerity in his voice was enough to tell her he meant every word. “I keep thinking back to our kiss the other day.”

“Which one?” She liked the fact that his voice sounded breathless.

“Both. The first one, which was sweet. And the second one, which wasn’t.” She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing his strong forearm before finding their way to his hand. His skin felt warm and steady beneath hers, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Jo’s pulse thudded in her own ears, her fingers still tracing the edge of his hand. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly she felt him leaning toward her, his breath warm against her cheek.

She tilted her face up, her lips parting slightly. And then his mouth met hers, warm and soft and urgent. A kiss that promised more if she wanted it. Jo melted into it, her free hand coming to rest lightly on his chest. His tongue slipped into her mouth. She moaned in pleasure and sucked on it gently, the warmth of his mouth and of his body enveloping her like a safety net.

When they broke apart, she was breathless. He sounded breathless, too. He shifted closer, the couch groaning under their combined weight. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt as she pressed her forehead lightly against his.

“The bedroom,” she murmured. “I think we should go upstairs now.”

He didn’t make her ask twice. He wrapped one hand under her knees, the other one behind her back, lifting her easily. She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt him take the steps two by two or three by three, then turn right at the top. It struck her that master bedrooms were often on the right. He set her down gently on the bed, then, because she didn’t unwrap her arms from around his neck, came down on top of her.

“Jo.” His voice sounded tense. She ran her hand across his rough cheek, feeling his square jaw, with a day’s worth of stubble.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Why?” She pulled herself up to a semi-sitting position and licked his tense mouth. His answering groan was music to her ears. He rolled on top of her, pressing her down onto the bed again, crushing her lips against his lips in an urgent, desperate kiss, his lower body grinding against hers. “Yes,” she moaned, when he raised his mouth and she could breathe again.

Hugo’s large hand found its way under her summer top. The fabric bunched in his hand as he pulled it up, baring her stomach and her breasts, pulling it up over her head and arms. Jo figured he’d go straight for her breasts, except he didn’t. For the longest time, his hand hovered on her belly. She felt a moment of trepidation. The bump wasn’t that noticeable yet, but it was there. Can he feel it? Does it bother him? A part of her wanted to shout at him to say something— anything . Then Hugo’s face came closer. He brought his mouth right to her belly button and kissed her—the gentlest of kisses. Pressure built behind Jo’s eyes, but she forced the tears back.

Her fingers threaded in Hugo’s short hair, and she pulled him up, towards her breasts. She was wearing one of her favorite bras. She had four identical ones, because she liked the way they pushed up her breasts, and the black lace made her feel sexy. Hugo pulled the cups down, exposing her nipples to the cool air, and buried his head in her breasts. “So sexy.” He pulled a nipple into his mouth, sucking urgently. Jo arched her back, wanting to get more of her breast in his mouth. Wanting more. Of this. Of him. “More.”

“More?” He undid the clasp at her back and took off her bra. Before she could process the cool air against her breasts, his mouth was there, biting her nipple gently. Jo rode that thin line between pain and pleasure. More . Her hands threaded tighter against his hair. His answering groan, right against her skin, let her know how much he wanted her.

“Take off your shirt,” she said. He complied immediately, and Jo heard the shirt hit the ground beside the bed. And there it was, that smell of sandalwood and clean cotton that was all him. Jo’s hands made their way down his body, feeling every ridge and muscle, memorizing the planes and angles in his body. He was stronger than any man she’d ever been with, yet she’d never felt this safe before. She pressed her fingers to the taut muscles of his back, the warmth of his skin igniting a spark that seemed to radiate outward from her fingertips. For once, being blind wasn’t an issue. She could see him with her hands.

Hugo’s mouth left a trail of fire as it moved from her breasts to the hollow of her collarbone, his stubble scraping her sensitive skin in the most delicious way. His hands framed her waist, steadying her as though she might float away if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

“Jo,” he murmured again, his voice rough and low, vibrating against her chest. “I want this to be right for you. Tell me—tell me what you want.”

She let out a soft laugh, half-nervous, half-thrilled. “You’re doing fine so far.”

“No,” he said, pulling back just enough that she could feel the weight of his gaze, even if she couldn’t see it. “Not just fine. I want it to be better than that.”

Her hands moved to cup his face, her thumbs tracing the strong lines of his cheekbones, then down to his belt buckle. He made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between relief and pained desire, as her hand grazed his cock through his boxers. Jo pulled his underwear and pants down, relieved when he helped her.

“My turn,” he said, reverently peeling off her leggings. “This thong … I almost don’t want to remove it,” he groaned. Then he did, and they lay next to each other, fully naked for the first time. “You’re so beautiful, Jo.”

His body felt beautiful against hers. Hard, where hers was soft. She wrapped her hand around his huge cock. He groaned, and his eyes narrowed in pleasure. A few moments later, he pulled her hands away. “If you keep doing that, you’re going to make me come. And I want to get to know you a lot better before I do.”

His hands roamed her body, his touch gentle but sure, as if he were committing her curves to memory. Jo felt her insecurities—about her blindness, about her pregnancy, about everything that had ever made her feel less than whole—fade into the background under his touch. His touch was sure, but he wasn’t rushing her. Every movement was deliberate, every touch a question to which she could say yes or no.

Yes . His hands touched the inside of her knees and her legs parted wide, making space for him. It took her a long instant to understand he was waiting for permission. She answered by lifting her hips. When his fingers parted her folds, she thought she might explode then and there. She arched into him, her breath catching as his thumb grazed gently against her clit. Surely, he knew how close she was to coming. Surely, he could tell—“Come for me,” he whispered. And that was all it took. Her orgasm blew her away, her core clenching against his finger. She came, and came, in an orgasm that wouldn’t quit.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low, sensual, and Jo didn’t doubt for a second that he meant it. She could hear the truth in his voice, feel it in the way his hands lingered, reverent, on her bare skin.

She lay back against the pillow, sweaty and sated, but knowing there was more to come. “Come here,” she said, reaching out for him.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. Her hand wrapped against his cock, thick and heavy and pulsing with pre-cum.

“I’m clean,” she said. “I got tested last week at the doctor’s office. And you’re not going to make me pregnant.”

He chuckled. “I’m clean, too. We get tested every month at work.”

She pulled her knees up, opening her legs wider in invitation. Hugo took over from there, guiding himself towards her opening. She was hot and wet, but he was thicker than any man she’d ever been with, and for a moment she wondered if it was going to work. “Relax, baby,” he cajoled. “Let me in.”

Jo forced herself to relax her muscles, enjoying the heat of him. She’d never before had sex without a condom, and it felt hotter. More intimate. She felt him go inside her, inch by inch. There was no pain, but only a delicious sense of fullness, of growing pressure.

“Yes,” she moaned against him.

“Yes,” he agreed, setting off on an easy rhythm. Every time he bottomed inside her, his body pressed deliciously against her pubic bone. And she’d never come without touching her clit, hadn’t even thought it was possible to come from penetration alone, but this growing pressure inside her seemed ready to prove her wrong.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “I’m not going to last.” The auditory cue was exactly what Jo needed to bring her over the edge.