Sinning Again

by Heidi Lowe

  She wouldn't mind. She wants me to be happy, wants me to have whatever I want, I mused, firing myself up. Knight could be good for us. He could bring us closer together. Never mind the fact that I sounded like one of those women who got pregnant to mend their relationship, or keep their men.

  Diane was in her office doing paperwork when I walked in.

  "You look determined." She peered up at me over her glasses. "Should I be worried?"

  "I'd like to adopt Knight."

  She removed her glasses. When she did that, it never meant anything good. I braced myself for the bad news.

  "I'm sorry, Lissa, but it's too late. Papers have been signed, and the kids already have their hopes up. Why couldn't you have come to me a couple of days ago?"

  I'd had weeks to put in my request. Of course I couldn't simply change my mind at the last minute and destroy the kids' dreams.

  "I know. I had to try though. Forget it." I left the room before she could offer more words of comfort, or reprimand me for missing my opportunity.

  I had to try. Just as I had when I'd learned about my sister's adoption. A naive twelve-year-old me had begged the authorities to let me adopt April. "I make her breakfast all the time. I can look after her," had been my plea at the time.

  I'd clearly made a habit of losing the things I loved most in my life.

  FOUR

  Later that evening, the brush stroke was yellow, a dark, dirty yellow. But I'd had enough of this hideous painting that went nowhere and said nothing. I tore it from the easel and ripped it in half in my rage. Then I turned my attention on the rest of the unfinished pieces, tearing them to shreds and littering the floor with them.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  "Lissa."

  "Don't!" I boxed Jean's hand away, looked at her with scorn. "Just don't."

  She swallowed. It was as though her eyes were searching mine for the last remaining shred of sanity, or compassion. "I'm sorry."

  "What are you sorry for?" I screamed at her. My lover, the proverbial punching bag, one of which she'd been a lot more than the other, lately.

  "Everything," she screamed back, and a stream of red trickled from her eye. "I'm sorry I can't do anything right for you."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're always the one crying, but you don't have the right. I'm the one who gets to cry. I'm the one who has to look at you and see what you did, what you are. Every goddamn day."

  "Don't you think it kills me to look at you and see what I did, too?"

  "Let me ask you something, something that I've always wondered. If I hadn't found the picture, would you ever have told me?"

  She looked down, nodded slowly. "I planned to tell you. I always knew I had to."

  "When, huh? After you'd fucked me enough, got bored and didn't need me anymore?" I stepped up to her, came right into her face.

  "Will you punish me forever, Lissa?"

  I stepped even closer so that we were basically standing on the same spot. We were now eye to eye, face to face. And the fear in her eyes was evident. She, the vampire, was afraid of me, the mortal. That picture didn't make a whole lot of sense.

  "I haven't even begun to punish you." The person saying these things was unrecognizable to me. This angry, bitter person who could turn with the click of a finger. I didn't want to be her, but my emotions had taken over.

  "You wanna know what it feels like to be punished? Huh?" The hand that reached for her blouse didn't belong to me, and I felt as though I couldn't stop it. I ripped the flimsy material open. The buttons popped off, scattered across the floor. She gasped but stayed put.

  "Lissa, what are you doing?"

  I didn't know. The force driving me didn't have the answers. All I did know was that I needed her, right there, right then. And I needed her my way.

  Her breasts sat snugly in a fancy white bra. Her skin was as pale as ever, like porcelain, blemish-free. Right then I hated her perfection. Why did she get to be perfect while I felt so broken?

  There was an apprehension in her stare when she looked at me. She knew she was completely at my mercy, and it frightened her.

  "The first time you took advantage of me was in a studio," I said, tugged the blouse off and discarded. "Screwed me on the floor of my studio, like I was a piece of meat."

  "Lissa, that's not–"

  I put up a hand to silence her. "I'm talking now. And I'm not that little girl anymore." I backed her against the window, the only window in the room, where the sill was a deep alcove that provided sitting space. All I had to do was look at her and she got the message, taking a hesitant seat on the ledge.

  Please stop me. Please don't let it be like this between us, my inner voice begged. We hadn't been intimate in weeks. Was this how we would break the fast?

  But I couldn't help myself. I aggressively unbuttoned her jeans and yanked them off, unconcerned when she let out a gasp.

  She reached out a hand and gently pressed it against my chest, her eyes big and doleful. For a moment her touch hypnotized me. In those short seconds, I savored it the way I used to, as though the bad things had never come to pass. But when I came back to reality, I remembered what my purpose was. She wasn't supposed to enjoy me – she was supposed to suffer.

  I shoved her hand away, brought my lips to her ear. "This isn't for you. It's for me."

  Her saccharine scent still made my mouth water. My lips being so close to hers tempted me to kiss her. It would have been beautiful to taste her kiss again, a million times more so than what we were about to do. What I was about to do. If only I could have brought myself to deliver it.

  But I went for the alternative option. The vengeful one. When I wrenched her bra down, releasing her breasts into the wild, I did so with little care. And I showed no restraint or consideration in gobbling down each breast. Rough didn't begin to describe my assault. I devoured her bosom ravenously, feeling the nipples harden against my tongue.

  Her breathing was heavy, staggered. Her moans, choked. I heard the squeaking, knocking sound of her body and head against the windowpane.

  I chomped and bit down, eliciting a cry from her. She didn't know that I hated myself for doing it, for hurting her like that. At least, some part of me did.

  The other part, well that was a different story entirely. The other part of me wanted blood. Who was the vampire here, me or her?

  Finished abusing her breasts, I tore my mouth away, admired the redness I'd caused. It would disappear shortly, to become just another memory, like every childhood scar she'd ever had. There would soon be no trace of my rage.

  I didn't bother removing her panties for the next part. A desperate woman had no time for such frivolities. No, I needed to be inside her again. Fast.

  The moistness between her legs pleased me. Despite the lubricant, my fingers battled their way through, as though they were making the first entrance ever.

  My intention had been to be rough, to hurt her the way I was hurting. But when she looked at me, looked into me, as I drove myself deep, I couldn't do it.

  I thought her body would feel alien to me, but it was just as familiar as it had always been. As precious as ever. The act had the effect of transporting me back to a time when we weren't enemies, but true lovers. Before all the drama.

  I hated how much I still needed her, even after everything that had happened. I felt like a traitor to myself for still loving her.

  Her moans were gentle, in time with my thrusts. She was enjoying me, though she must have known that hadn't been my initial intention.

  I didn't care anymore.

  My eyes wandered down to those plump, moist, blood-red lips. Self-control officially deserted, I smashed my lips to hers. She let my tongue in without resistance.

  Her kisses had always been delicious, but now, when I needed them the most, they were glorious.

  My fingers still inside her, we kissed and kissed like there was nothing else to do in the world. I didn't want us to ever part. Why couldn't it have been this simple? Why
did I have to love her so much?

  It took me a while to notice the tears once they'd started falling. And by then they were too numerous to stop.

  She broke free of the kiss, saw that I was crying.

  "Oh baby," she said, wiping my wet cheek.

  "I don't want it to be like this. I just want to love you without feeling horrible about it. I don't want to be a monster, but I can feel myself turning into one." Before I knew it I was bawling my eyes out.

  "Honey, you could never be a monster," she said softly, stroking my face the way she used to. "You're my angel. My salvation." She kissed my cheek where the tears had fallen. Then she lifted me into her arms. I wrapped my legs around her waist and let her carry me away, to wherever, I didn't know, nor did I care. I just wanted her to hold me forever, and let me forget. About everything.

  The final destination: her bedroom.

  She laid me gently on the bed, removed her bra and panties in such a hurry, I'd never seen her this charged up. Then she started on mine, kissing me while trying to disrobe me.

  Sooner or later she always took control; I always became the submissive. At the outset I'd wanted to dominate, but none of that mattered now. In the end, she was all I wanted.

  I surrendered my clothes just as easily as I surrendered what little power I had, and let her claim me. She laid me flat and kissed me everywhere. Long, moist kisses to my flesh that sent goosebumps across my skin. I trembled with every kiss.

  "I love you so much it hurts," she murmured.

  Her hair tickled my chest as she kissed her way down my body. Every one counted to her, like she was afraid this would be the last time.

  She told me she loved me over and over, as she sank deeper and deeper. Until finally, she spread my legs wide and bore her mouth down on my crotch. Her tongue was relentless as she ate, pressing her palm to my stomach, while the other hand gripped my thigh.

  "Ohhh," I whined, writhing against her mouth. My sex hadn't been this violated in so long I'd forgotten how good it felt. How good she felt. And no one made love like Jean.

  "Is that good?" she cooed while chomping down.

  I groaned in response. As if she needed affirmation. My violent writhing and beastly howling was evidence enough.

  Each time she came close to bringing me to the end, she switched it up, drew me back, and teased me all over again so that I never made it there. Neither of us knew if or when this would happen again. She would drag this out as long as was necessary.

  No one was keeping track of time, of course. It's pretty difficult to do so when you're being sent to Heaven and back, multiple times, being brought close to delirium. I judged that she'd spent at least three quarters of an hour with her head between my legs, before she came up for air. Forty-five minutes and she'd managed to deprive me of that coveted orgasm. My skin was so sensitive, I feared I would climax at the slightest touch to any part of my body.

  "Are you still with me, baby?" she whispered when she came up to my level.

  I nodded as she brushed her lips against mine. Her mouth glistened with my sap. She looked so pleased with herself. Happy. The happiest I'd ever seen her.

  I was the one who initiated the kiss, when I could take it no longer. I didn't care that I could taste myself in it.

  She stroked my thigh as her tongue caressed mine, and gradually snuck her hand between my legs. She sought out my swollen bean, with lithe fingers, and worked it in a steady rhythm.

  I was already right at the edge when she began, so I didn't last long after that.

  My orgasm was almost crippling. My body jerked, my cries got choked in my throat. Her mouth was still on mine as the jolts tore through me.

  The aftershocks seemed to go on forever. A product of my months-long abstinence from sex.

  She kissed my face all over, her naked body pressed to mine.

  "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you."

  I didn't have to ask what she was thanking me for. It wasn't the sex itself, but my willingness to connect with her again. Her unadulterated gratitude told me everything: her soul had been slowly dying, starved of the love she needed to survive.

  "You're going to leave me again, aren't you?"

  Her comment came out of the blue, after a long period of silence. Our love-making had been over for roughly ten minutes, each minute of which had passed with her arm around me.

  She must have felt the growing rigidity in my body, the resilience kicking in again. Because now that it was over, now that she'd given me what I needed, my place in her bed had promptly come to an end.

  I sat up, letting her arm fall away. I had my back to her. "We're not here yet," I said.

  She laid a hand on my back. Her touch was always cold, no matter the temperature of the room, or how active she'd just been.

  "Where are we then? You told me you still love me. Isn't that all that matters?"

  I shook my head slowly, solemnly. "It isn't the only thing I feel for you right now..."

  I didn't need to elaborate. She removed her hand. I started pulling on my clothes.

  "I'm trying, Lissa." Her voice was pleading, desperate.

  "I know you are."

  "Then what do you want from me? Just tell me what I need to do in order for us to get past this. Because it's killing me."

  I didn't need to look at her to know she'd become tearful, her voice choked up.

  "There's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. I just need time."

  I got up to leave.

  "Lissa, when you look at me do you still see someone who robbed you of your childhood?"

  There was no use lying now. We had no secrets from each other, that was the deal.

  "Yes."

  Red streaked down her face, onto her sheets.

  "But that isn't the only thing I see. That's why I'm still here."

  I could have told her I loved her again, but this was sufficient. The fact that I was still with her, that I'd given myself to her, was my declaration.

  FIVE

  "I look forward to working with you, Nadine. I think we'll make a great team."

  Jean put the pen and contract down on her coffee table, then reached over and shook her new partner's hand for the second time that evening. The deal was now sealed, after weeks of negotiations. An arrangement had been made that suited all parties involved.

  Nadine Drescoll, once the sole proprietor of Island Spice, a previously flourishing Caribbean restaurant and bar in the center of town, could now rest easy. Just a few weeks earlier she'd been ready to kiss goodbye to the business that had been in her family for three generations. Her savior had come in the form of a beautiful English vampire, of all people. A woman who couldn't even enjoy the exotic dishes herself, but had seen something special in both Nadine and the restaurant.

  "I agree," Nadine said, beaming.

  "Should I get the champagne?" Robyn rose from her seat, contracts in hand.

  "Just a little for me, thanks. I'm not much of a drinker."

  Jean shot Nadine a curious look. "How peculiar. Half of your business is a bar, yet you're not much of a drinker?"

  "And you've just bought a forty-nine percent stake in a restaurant, yet you don't eat. We're all a little peculiar."

  They laughed.

  It was true that Jean had seen something in the woman. She reminded her of an ex-girlfriend from her mortal days – an attractive black girl who'd been so passionate and tenacious in pursuit of her dreams. But it wasn't just the similarities with her ex, it was her overwhelming compassion for her employees. She'd remortgaged her home to pay them. A better, more dedicated business partner Jean wouldn't find. Not to mention her nonchalance at the whole vampire thing. Not everyone would have been so keen to work with a vampire, even in this liberal part of the country.

  "I just hope your customers are as open-minded as you," Jean said.

  Nadine waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about them. People around here just live and let live."

  "Glad to hear it.
I quite like it here. I'd like to stay for the foreseeable future..." A fleeting sadness washed over her then, when she considered the future. It didn't matter how terrific the town was, or how happy she theoretically could have been there. If Lissa didn't come around, she could never be happy again. There was always that possibility, that Lissa's hate would prevail over the love – a harrowing thought that troubled Jean daily.

  Ten minutes later, Nadine got up, retrieved her copies of the contracts. "Well, I'd better head off. We'll talk Monday."

  "Let me walk you to the door," Robyn said, jumping to her feet.

  Once the goodbyes were over, and Robyn had finished playing dutiful host, she returned to Jean in the lounge.

  Jean could feel Robyn's gaze on her.

  "I have to say, for someone who just bought half of a restaurant/bar, you don't look happy."

  Jean sighed, slouched in her armchair. "It's just a distraction."

  "What is?"

  "The business. Everything. If I could spend every waking minute with her, that would be paradise."

  Jean didn't need to look at Robyn to know that she was rolling her eyes. Whenever the topic of Lissa came up, this was her default reaction.

  The two closest people in her life hated each other, envied each other. It made life that much more difficult, seeing as she needed them both, though only one of them she couldn't live without.

  "Not this again. Doesn't it get boring pining over that girl? All she's ever done is made you miserable."

  "You're wrong. I'm the one who's made her miserable. But that changes now. Did you manage to get the number?"

  Robyn crossed her arms, looked away sulkily, defiantly.

  "Robyn? I said–"

  "I know what you said. It's a bad idea, Jean. And I don't think it will do any good."

  "It can't hurt, can it?" She stretched out her hand. "Number."

  Robyn dragged a piece of paper out of her trouser pocket, and reluctantly handed it to her.

  "You're wasting your time."