Forbidden Innocence: Tales of the Forbidden (13 page)

* * * *

Blaine waited until Shyla fell asleep before slipping from the bed. He reached for a pair of his faded jeans he’d earlier tossed over a chair, slipped them on and left the room quietly.

The house was dark and deathly quiet. He should be asleep, but couldn’t. His mind seemed to refuse to shut down, especially since now Joann was on it.

“Don’t do this, Jo,” he begged from her bed. Blaine knelt on the
floor, on his knees, the tears falling down his face as he looked upon her
white face. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

She said nothing to him. Her once bright blonde hair, now a dull,
lifeless colour to match the spirit it seemed within. She had the child, a
healthy baby boy, but the nurses informed him that Joann seemed to give
up on life and was now willing herself to die.

“You leave, who’s going to take care of me?” He sniffed back the
tears, trying another tactic to get her to snap out of it. “You’re the only
one who wants me, and if you go I’ll have no one.”

He picked up her hand, brought it to his face and lost the control
he’d been holding onto, finally giving into his tears. Her hand was cold
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as ice against his skin, a sure sign that his Joann was gone.

“Oh God!” he sobbed, lowering his face to the bedding, holding her
hand tightly.

“Mr. Cedric.” The nurse that called him to let him know Joann was
slipping stood in the doorway. “She wanted me to give you this after—”

She swallowed hard and acted like she might start crying herself. “She
asked me to make sure you got this letter.”

The woman placed it on the dresser and left as silently as she came
in. Blaine stood up kissed Joann’s hand and took the letter. He didn’t
open it, only slipped it into his pocket and left the room.

Down the still hallway to the nursery he walked, stopping to look
into the window at the baby in the crib. Joann’s son, wrapped in a warm
blue blanket had his eyes closed and a pout on his lips.

“Have you contacted her father?” he asked the same nurse that
handed the letter over. She now stood next to him, looking at the baby as
well.

“I just made the call.”

“Have the baby ready to go once he gets here, and Miranda…” The
woman stopped when she turned away after he called her name. “Joann
and the baby died. She died getting an abortion. Understood?”

“Yes. Mr. Cedric, I understand.”

Blaine opened the lower drawer to his desk brought out the lock box and opened it. Inside, under some cash and a few deeds was the letter Joann wrote to him. He hadn’t read it back then. Couldn’t. Now he needed to know what her last words were.

Slowly he broke the seal on the envelope and brought out the letter.

It surprised him that his hands shook while he unfolded it and looked up on the words of his past.

Dear Blaine,

I don’t expect you to understand what is about to happen. I don’t
understand it myself. I know you would’ve done what is right and marry
me still, raise this child as your own without the shame, but it has
shamed me to even think that you’d do such a thing for me.

I need you to please forgive me. I have done the unthinkable and
lied too. The rape incident didn’t happen the way I told you and I ask
you now to please forgive me. I love you so much that I couldn’t face you
after that night with Owen, and before you even think what I’m sure
you’re going to think, I didn’t go to his bed completely willing.

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He came to my room, drunk, with a gun, and threatened to hurt you.

He was upset over our engagement and told me of his feelings for me. I
did the unthinkable and laughed at him. He showed me the gun, telling
me how he was going to hurt you—even kill you. I don’t know why I
believed him, I just did. I begged him to not hurt you and said I’d do
anything he wanted. He jumped on my words and used me all that night
in ways I never thought were possible to be used.

I carry my shame like a second skin. There is no way I could let you
marry me, knowing how Owen used me. It wasn’t until the next morning
I learned of the bluff and before I could tell you about it all, you found
me in that state. The rape is the only story I could think of to tell you and
my father. After all, would you have believed me or looked at me the
same if the truth came out? How could someone willingly go through
what I did?

I didn’t tell Owen about the baby. Finding out about the pregnancy
is the last nail in my coffin. I can’t abort this child, for its innocent in all
of this, but I will ask one more thing from you, the man I love more than
life.

Please take care of my child. Raise him or her as your own. I don’t
want this baby to know about the horror of its birth or about his father,
who would think nothing about using someone for his own pleasure.

I also ask for you to go on without me. Find yourself another who
will stand by your side and not let anyone in, like I did, Owen. Don’t stay
in the dark. Come back out in the light once more and love another.

I beg you, Blaine. Please go on and don’t mourn me.

Joann

Blaine fisted the letter in his hand, pressed it up to his forehead, his body shaking in anger. All these years he thought Owen had raped Joann. Well in his eyes, the bastard did. He tricked her into going to bed with him.

“Owen, you bastard,” he said low. “How could you do that to her?”

Tears didn’t come this time, only the anger and bitterness. Now he had the whole story behind what happened to Joann, and yet it didn’t seem to do a damn thing to him besides piss him off.

And then it hit him.

He cared for Joann, but what he felt for Shyla was very different.
Is
it love?
The question had him thinking and thinking hard about his future.

Tossing the letter aside, he opened his cigar box on the desk, lit one 114

and sat back in the chair, bare feet up on the desk. He took a big drag, blew out a cloud of smoke, and thought about the game Owen now played.

Shyla reminded him of Joann. She had the blond hair, tiny frame, innocent eyes—like Joann. But what tipped the scale this time was the small fact of Blaine already being married to Shyla. So now what? What does he do now to get Owen out of their lives and for good?

It was a question that would keep him up all through the night.

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Shyla woke early and alone. She rolled over in the bed with the intent of snuggling up to Blaine, opened her eyes to see a pillow that didn’t appear like it had been slept on. With a sigh, she flung the covers off, slipped from the bed and picked up the new satin robe from the foot of the bed.

It was still early, the sun had yet to show itself when she left the bedroom. No one, it seemed, was about yet, making the large house feel deathly quiet and a bit creepy.

Her gut told her that she would find Blaine in his study. Down the stairs, around to the back and through the doors he showed her, she saw the faintness of light coming from under the closed doors.

She didn’t bother with knocking. Shyla turned the knob, pushed the heavy door open and went inside. The fireplace was aglow. She looked around, saw him behind the huge desk sitting back, feet up staring at the flames. As quietly as she could, she closed the door behind her, stood there looking her fill at him.

The light from the fire illuminated him in gold, making him appear even darker in appearance than what he really was. Barefoot, shirtless, powerful looking in his golden glow. Muscles on his bare chest rippled in a soft manner when he took a breath.

Slowly she walked toward him, almost afraid of disturbing him.

Clearly, he was deep in his own world.

“Blaine?” she called out softly. He didn’t say anything or act like he heard her. Closer to the desk she drew, and still he didn’t move. “You alright?”

He didn’t look at her or move, but he did speak. “She lied to me about the rape.”

“Who?”

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“Joann. Owen tricked her into going to bed with him.”

“How do you know?”

He moved then, turned in his chair, legs going down to the floor. He reached for her and she went closer, standing between his legs. “She left me a letter I never read, until now.”

Blaine picked her up and seated her on the desk, her feet on the arms of his chair, slightly open. The move had her robe opening up slightly, draping over her legs.

“You stopped me from doing this our first time,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down the inside of her legs, parting her further. “Don’t stop me now.”

Shyla held her breath as his head went down between her legs. A kiss to her thigh, a rub of the cheek and right to her pussy his mouth landed. The first touch seemed to be her weakness. She fell back on the desk and Blaine feasted upon her flesh.

His tongue touched her, parted the lips of her vagina and licked her like a cat to cream. She sucked air into her lungs when he touched her clit. He moved the top of his tongue around it several times before sucking on it hard, pulling raw, unbinding pleasure from deep in her soul. It felt so good she couldn’t hold back the moan from slipping from her lips.

Blaine moaned back against her, moved down and his tongue went as deep as it could inside her. He did with his tongue the same as he did with his cock inside her. In and out, building the pleasure; she wanted to scream from his unrelenting pleasuring of her.

“God, you taste good,” he mumbled against her. “I can get hooked on your taste alone.”

Shyla gulped in as much air as she could into her lungs and still it felt like it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

Once more, he lapped at her like a cat, pressing against her clit, teasing the nub until she was on the verge of begging him for release.

Two fingers went inside her as he closed his lips around her clit. He pulled, fucked her fast and Shyla lost it. She arched up, mouth open but nothing came out. The orgasm washed over her in tidal waves, stealing her breath, her mind, leaving her limp and weak.

She heard him stand up, felt him move over her but couldn’t get the energy at the moment to open her eyes and look up at him. Hell, she didn’t even know when she closed her eyes in the first place.

One swift motion and Blaine had his whole length buried inside her.

Shyla opened her eyes, arched up to sit up on the desk. Instantly, she 117

wrapped her legs around his waist, got as close as she could to him with hands on his shoulders. Their eyes locked and Blaine sat back down in his chair with her on his lap.

Shyla didn’t hesitate one second. She began to move, up and down, taking what he offered. Blaine held onto her waist loosely, head going back on the chair, but those dark eyes of his never left her face.

“Love me.” Blaine whispered the words so softly, so low, Shyla wasn’t too sure if she heard him or not.

His eyes closed and facial expression changed. He didn’t seem hard to her, or aloof, but more like broken and in need of fixing.

The faster she moved on him, the closer she felt the climax coming, the tighter his hold on her waist. He swelled inside her, felt the first spurt of his release and grinded herself on him as hard and as fast as she could.

The orgasm wasn’t as powerful as it had been when he was kissing her between the legs. This time the climax felt softer, had a different intensity to it, one that had her thinking of them as lovers coming together for the first time.

Blaine pulled her down to him hugged her and she hugged him back.

He sighed against her shoulder, but said no more. Only when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer did she speak.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I am now,” he said against her shoulder. “With you in my arms, I’m more than fine. I feel safe.”

* * * *

“She’s here.” Owen looked up from the papers he’d been reading. He glanced over at the young boy seated in the chair over by the fireplace. A sixteen year old—that would be his leverage. The one to help him get what he needed and wanted. His name was Tyler.

“Send her in,” Owen said, putting the papers down. The boy looked up at him, but didn’t move from the chair.

The young girl who showed up at his rented house walked into the study, acting both scared and angry at the same time. She didn’t look a bit over the age of twenty-one. A tiny thing, one that Owen knew without a doubt he could break and bend at his will.

“Linda Allen,” Owen smiled. “I’m glad to see you got my note and decided to join us.”

“Tyler!” Linda cried out, rushing to the boy, dropping to her knees, embracing him. “Are you alright?”

“As you can see, Ms. Allen, your brother is just fine,” Owen said.

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“What do you want?” she demanded, looking over her shoulder at him.

Owen smiled. This was going faster and smoother than what he thought would be possible. He half expected her to fight, scream or try to negotiate with him, not come right out and want to know what he wanted.

He snapped his fingers and one of his men brought in a small box.

Owen took it, opened the lid and showed her what was inside. A syringe filled with a powerful sedative. “We’re going to have a little talk, Ms.

Allen. After we finish, you can decide if you wish to help me, which will benefit you and your brother greatly, or not. And I must inform you, if you chose to not, well then things might get a bit ugly.