Page 22 of Sight Unseen

“Let’s finish this,” Jon whispered huskily. His talented hands moved faster and stronger on my prick and the pressure built as my balls constricted. Despite the pleasure coursing through my body, I couldn’t help the vision of a pair of dark green eyes covered with blond strands staring into mine, doing the exact same thing to me as Jon was now.

I tried to push the traitorous image from my head as my orgasm built. I bit my lip, terrified that when my climax ripped through me, I would say the wrong name.

Instead I focused on the memory of Jon’s face and Jon’s body, and when I came, in a mind-blowing rush of sensation and pent-up release, I made sure I said his name.

***

Friday morning the doorbell rang. I was sitting in the family room, listening to an audiobook that Cody had given me, a mystery and detective story I was enjoying. I had my coffee, a grilled ham and cheese sandwich Jon had made before leaving for an appointment he’d had in Los Angeles for a potential modeling job.

I heard the doorbell over the book narration. I paused the story and laid my phone down on the sofa beside me. I went to the door and yelled through it, “Yes?”

A cheerful voice rang out, “Hi, Mr. Powell. I’m Suzanne Ridley, your rehabilitation specialist. May I come in?”

She sounded young, but voices could be deceiving. Her accent was also unusual, more British with a slight twang. I debated whether I was letting in an axe murder or a rehab specialist then took a leap of faith. Opening the door, I said, “Sure. I was expecting you. And please call me Nate.”

A waft of something clean and fresh hit my nostrils as Suzanne brushed past me. She stopped as I shut the door.

“You have a lovely home, Nate. Quite elegant and I see it’s been arranged to make things easier for you. Your boyfriend did this?”

“Yeah, Jon worked out the configuration. We still have the occasional mishap when we both mess up, but other than that, I’m intact.”

I moved toward the family room and motioned for her to follow me. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

When Jon had left that morning, he’d made sure to leave a pot of coffee on the machine, along with everything I might need.

I sure as fuck can manage to get a house guest a damn drink at least.

I heard Suzanne settle herself on the sofa as I went into the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Oh, not for me, thanks. I don’t drink it. I’d love a glass of water if you have one.”

“Sure.” I took a deep breath, opened the cupboard, reached in carefully for a plastic tumbler—the last time I’d done it too quickly I’d ended up knocking a glass one out onto the counter. Luckily it hadn’t broken. Now we had plastic ones. Jon had assured me they didn’t look tacky.

I placed the tumbler safely on the counter then found my way to the fridge, and took out the iced water. Luckily it was always kept in the same place, something Jon and I were learning to live with as a life rule. I was proud of myself when I filled the tumbler and took it over to my guest.

She murmured her thanks and I sat down in the armchair, leaning forward.

“You have an unusual accent,” I remarked. “Where’s it from?”

“I was born in South Africa, then lived in England for a while, and came over to the U.S. about eight years ago. I guess I’m a bit of a hybrid.”

I nodded. “So, what exactly is it you can do for me? Jon has told me all the hype about the things I need to learn, but how exactly do they translate to real life?”

What the hell can you teach me that will help? Convince me, lady, because I’m not sure anything will.

There was a warm chuckle. “Oh, you had the hype, huh? Well, let me see if I can clarify it for you. I’m someone who hopes to make your life a little easier, and helps make the transition from sighted to unsighted that little less scary. I’m here to recommend some useful tools for you to be independent, like using a white cane and learning Braille so you can read. Teaching you how to gauge your surroundings using sound. And, of course, showing you how you can acquire the information you need through hearing, taste, touch and smell, rather than through vision.”

I sat back in my chair. “You make it sound so easy.” I hadn’t intended to sound snippy, but I wasn’t going to buy the easy sell. “It’ll probably take me years to learn all that stuff. In the meantime, I guess I need someone to accompany me every time I go out, like a damn nursemaid?”

She shifted in her chair and her voice got stronger. “To start with, that’s a yes. You need to build confidence in getting out on your own and that will take time. The cane will take some getting used to as well. I’ve had people learn to use it after a few months, sometimes weeks, and others it takes longer. It also depends on your goals. Are you wanting to use public transport extensively, or is it simply for walking around locally?”

I drew a deep breath.

“For starters, it’s more being out and about, able to walk down the road without someone there to hold my hand. Walking around my own or someone else’s house, or in a park, without assistance.”

“That’s a great objective to start out with. As for the Braille—I believe you’re a sculptor?”

I nodded as my throat constricted. I’d been pushing that part out of my life into the dark recesses of my brain since I’d gotten home. I wasn’t willing to give it a voice.