Table of Contents
Another’s Eyes
About Mariska Hutchence
Other Books by Mariska Hutchence
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Another’s Eyes
Copyright 2017 Mariska Hutchence
AVP Publishing
Copyright 2017 by Mariska Hutchence, All Rights Reserved.
No part of this work may be distributed, transmitted, or reproduced in any form or means, including photocopy, facsimile, recording or other electronic and mechanical methods without the express written permission of the publisher. Brief quotations in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by the copyright laws governing this work. For permission requests, email: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction and any name, characters, incidents or settings are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or decease, or to business, companies, events, institutions, or places is completely coincidental. All characters are over the age of eighteen and are not related by blood or marriage.
Table of Contents
Another’s Eyes
About Mariska Hutchence
Other Books by Mariska Hutchence
Join the AVP for women Mailing List
Another’s Eyes
Emma shrugs it off. “I’m nobody.” She says, lowering those gorgeous eyes from mine. I want to pick them back up off the floor again.
The anger wells up in me. “Don’t ever believe that, Emma.”
They come up and they come up fast, confused and not quite glaring. “I said my name was Constance.” She says. “I think I need to ask you to leave.”
She rises quickly as the panic wells up in me again. I struggle out of the deep couch to my feet, my face coming up just a foot from hers. This might be the closest I ever get to come if I miss the opportunity, so I take it. I reach out, my hand touching the silky heaven of her upper arm, stepping across the divide. Before she can respond, my other hand is on that perfect cheek, followed quickly by my lips on hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull back. Her lips part and the kiss is tender and sweet. Despite the desperate nature of my move, I feel her arm go around me as our bodies press together. I’m cradling the face of my dreams in my hands as I kiss her, my nose catching the scent of her coming from my own hand. It’s abrupt and shocking, but it just makes me want her more than ever.
I’m holding her and nothing could be more perfect. I feel one of her hands on my chest, working open one of my buttons quickly before sliding it inside, across my bare skin. She gasps in my mouth as I can’t control myself any longer. She arches her hips back as she feels my fingers at the waistband of her sweats, as if offering me the access that I greedily take. A moment later, my hand is cupping her humid mound, another and my finger is pressing gently into her wetness. The kiss goes on and on as we do a sort of wordless slow-dance there in the center of the room. Gently, I’m working my finger back and forth in her tightness, my thumb finding her clit as she expels air into the delicious kiss. If I wasn’t lost before, I certainly am now.
Her lips freeze up, leaving me kissing air as her breath becomes labored. She’s not moaning, but I can feel her body pulsing against my penetration, hotly and urgently. In the still of the room, I feel her cunt tighten forcefully, threatening to cut the circulation off in my fingers, pulsing as the wetness there grows more and more prominent. It goes on and on and finally I’m staring into those green eyes, showing her the first of all the things I want to make right in her life…until the light goes out.
The tears well up almost immediately and I’m completely without words for one of the handful of times in my life. She pushes me roughly to the door.
“Just go, just go, just go.” She pleads. I nod because it’s the only thing I can do at this moment, struggling with my fingers in my shirt pocket, barely able to press the business card into her tender palm before the door closes, shattering my heart.
1. Emma
M y initial reaction is one of shock. It’s been at least six months since a reporter has shown up on my doorstep, and I’d hoped that the last move would have seen the last of them. Anger came next. “No, I’m sorry, she doesn’t live here.” I say, trying my best to keep the chills that are running down my spine from showing on my face. I have no way of knowing if he’s buying it, but really, all I need to do is close the door. He’s still talking, though, and it reminds me of trying to hang up on a pesky telemarketer. Problem is, I have a hard time even with that. Confrontation is a big problem for me.
“I was just wondering if you would happen to have anything I could go on then, Miss…
Fishing. Typical. “Jones. Constance Jones.” I say. The name is on the tip of my tongue because I’ve practiced it. A lot. “Look, I really need to get back to the kids. That’s a lie, too, but I consider it justified to get the creep to go away. It’s just me and Lolo, and for the most part, I’m content with that.
“Sorry Miss Jones.” He says, handing me a card. “But if you think of anything, please let me know.” I watch him walk back down the sidewalk to his car, looking back once to see me waiting there in the doorway.
I close the door, immediately dropping the card into the bin that provides the last resting place for the junk mail that comes through the slot daily. Reporters and police; both with the same M.O. Dig for information, make the person feel guilty for not being able to or not wanting to provide it.
The light flickers. The fluorescent bulb is still humming to full brightness and his hand is already on my cheek. Those eyes. I hate those eyes.
Gripping the doorframe, I pause on the way into the living room as the flashback rolls over me. I should be getting used to them at this point. Hell, at least my knees don’t buckle anymore; that’s progress.
Lolo gracefully jumps down off the back of the couch as I sit down, arching his back into my chest as he climbs into my lap, purring a storm of satisfaction that I’ve returned from my long journey to the front door. His grey and white butt presses up into my hand as I stroke him from neck to tail. “I’ve got to go out today, Lolo.” I tell him. He answers with a tickle of whiskers in my face, his wet nose pressing into mine.
“Yeah, I love you too, buddy.” I say, picking up the remote and turning off the television. He gives me a little grief, pouting as I stand up. “I don’t like it either, but there’s no avoiding it.”
My back arches, trying to escape his touch, but my body responds as it always does. I don’t make a sound, even though I want to cry out at the top of my lungs. Maybe I don’t because if it sounds like a moan of pleasure instead of a cry of grief, I’ll feel even more lost than ever.
Showering always gives me the flashbacks and I manage to do a good job fending this one off as well. That’s what’s left of him, even after almost two years now. Flashbacks, depression, and a weird sort of loneliness that I don’t want to end for some reason. That’s definitely one of the things that I’ve avoided talking about in my sessions. Susan’s great, but even though she’s the best therapist I’ve had, I don’t think there’s any way she could possibly understand.
I scoop my ring out of the bowl by the front door, the jingling bringing Lolo running. He always sees me out, probably because it’s such a rare thing. Therapy, grocery store, and on rare occasions, the park. That’s about it. The best I can possibly hope for, right? I can’t even lay all of the blame at his feet, even though that’s what everyone that’s still in my life wants me to do. I can’t convince them that I wasn’t this perfectly-balance little sweetheart, even before.
The day is beautiful, and I know it on some level, but I’m eager to get the day done and back home. It’s not just a sense of safety that I feel there, it�
�s something else; but that’s hard to explain.
2. Blake
T he deep breaths actually do help. “What do you mean, nothing?” I say, happy that the anger I’m feeling isn’t present in my tone. He’s looking at me from across my desk, some poor photographs and a recorded conversation his only offerings this time around. I’m willing to hit him with disappointment, but the anger is something that he doesn’t deserve. “Was it her, or not?”
“There’s no way of being sure, Blake.”
I stay calm, taking one more breath quietly so he won’t notice. “I pay you to be sure, Ames.” I say, softly. He gives me some empty reassurances before leaving my office, his proverbial tail between his legs. No way to be sure. Fuck that. I’d be sure if I saw her. The face on the television screen still haunts me and is what’s been driving this, and me, for the past couple of years. Shit, almost exactly two years.
Standing by the window, I stare out on the big open field leading to the bay. There’ll be a development there one day, once we get it off the ground. I want her to be part of that vision, and I’m not going to stop until I find her.
The slim sheaf of papers on the desk drags me back, rifling through it. I’d be sure if I saw her. That thought keeps running through my head as I see the address. I press the intercom button on the phone.
“Elizabeth, call the hanger and get them ready to go. I want to be in the air in two hours.”
“Yes sir.” She responds. “Do you have a destination for me to give them?”
“Portland. Have someone open up the house there as well.”
The line goes dead and I see the light come on indicating she’s already on a call. Elizabeth knows I’m not big on small talk. I don’t usually say goodbye when I’m done talking and she’s picked that habit up from me over the years; for good or bad.
3. Emma
S he’s looking at me like I’m crazy. Hell, I probably am a little bit crazy. The crazy cat-lady. The thought makes me smile and I’m seriously considering getting a friend for Lolo. “I’ve got a project for you, Emma, if you’re game.” She says. Susan’s ‘projects’ are usually designed to get me out of my shell and for the life of me, I’m not sure if I want to be. I’ll probably go along with it as usual, though. So non-confrontational of me.
“Shoot.”
She smiles, those cold, blue eyes lighting up against her pale cheeks. “I’d like you to open up to someone.”
“I open up to you.”
“Someone besides me.”
“Who?”
She laughs. “Anyone. The mailman, the barista at the coffee shop, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to strike up a conversation with someone and see if you can keep it going for five minutes or so.”
I snort. “Five minutes? That’s a tall order, Suze.” I can see her bristle a little bit at the diminutive. She never mentions it, though; it’s my one little bit of rebellion against my therapy and even that satisfies me for the most part.
“Can you give it a try?”
As I drive home, I’m already reflecting on just how stupid it is that her project is so hard for me. I’ve already passed up the receptionist at her office building, a homeless guy out by my car, and just a minute ago, the produce guy at the supermarket. The words start to come but then they get washed away by something I can’t explain.
Shh. No words, Angel.
I look up, swerving to catch my exit a moment before it’s too late. The project can wait until tomorrow, right?
“Hey, baby.” I say, greeted at the door by my constant companion. “I wish she’d let me just have conversations with you…yeah…you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
We hang out for a while, and he’s a little peeved at me for shutting him out of the bedroom. “Hey, it’s just a few minutes, bud.” I say. “Privacy, you know.”
I prop up the pillow, settling in. I’ve been waiting for this all day. Closing my eyes, I bring up the images. They’re not the same images from the flashbacks, but they are. It’s confusing, which is why I’ve never mentioned it to Susan. It’s him, but there’s no face and those eyes aren’t burning into me. I’ve tried a hundred times to put a new face to the fantasy, but it never happens. Distancing myself from the hand slipping into my sweatpants being mine, I feel the pleasure building…up against the hard wall, supported by his rough hands under my thighs, his body thrusting hard into mine. In the fantasies, I make the sounds I never made in reality, letting him know the pleasure that is flowing through my body from his touch…
The sound of the doorbell crashes reality back down over me. I’m flushed and sweating, extracting the hand quickly like I’ve been caught doing something bad. I practically stumble to the bedroom door and Lolo almost sends me sprawling as he rushes in to claim his rightful spot on the bed.
Standing in front of the door, I’m wondering why I’m even considering answering it. It’s almost eight and I don’t really get visitors, other than unwanted ones. Anyone. Susan’s words float through my had like spider webs in a breeze. I pull the chain from its little catch and turn the handle of the deadbolt, looking out through the peephole. It’s probably not really what she had in mind for her ‘project’, so I feel a little more budding rebellion inside. Five minutes, and I’ll have satisfied her for another week.
Not the reporter guy. Suddenly, though, the face for my fantasy has appeared. Steely blue eyes are staring into mine. Normally I shy away from eye contact, but the lens of the peep hole and the door give me that buffer. I just stare at him for a moment; that short, wavy black hair, a close-shaven beard that looks like it costs a fortune to make it look so naturally scruffy. He’s waiting patiently.
4. Emma
I t’s her. It’s her and she’s staring at me, a puzzled look on her face. The haunting is over but the nightmare will never end if I can’t have her at this point. Panic rushes over me and I know how weird it’ll look if I start doing the deep breathing needed to get myself under control. Normally, I’m in control of just about everything. It’s what I do. I really should have thought this out beforehand, but even though I’ve flown half-way across the country, I hadn’t really gotten my hopes up that it would actually be her.
“Can I come in?”
I want to kick myself immediately. What an inept line. It’s out there, though, and I guess I have to live with it. My eyes study that beautiful face in case it’s the last time I get to see it this close. The green eyes I had barely glimpsed on the television screen are bigger and far more beautiful than I’d ever imagined, flecks of brown dotting the irises, her cheeks high and plump as she brushes a stray strand of that long, brown hair from her face. The pause goes on far longer than I think could possibly be good.
“Please?” I add, probably far too late.
Something in that one word changes her expression, though. Not really welcoming, more of a curiosity.
“Sure.” The cracked door closes in my face, then reopens a moment later, this time with a cat cradled in her arms. She’s wearing baggy sweats, hair down and not a scrap of makeup. She’s more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.
“Hey, buddy.” I say, holding out my hand. The cat sniffs it, then gives me a sort of a chirp that actually makes me laugh.
She steps out of the way and I step into the entryway, hearing her close the door behind us. “He likes you. Normally he’s pretty shy.”
I wonder if she’s projecting her own emotions onto the feline, but I smile warmly as she shows me into the living room. It’s small, but well-kept. Lived in. Almost too lived in.
“I’m sorry, I’m Blake.” I say as she deposits the cat on the couch.
“Constance.” She says, taking my offered hand. “Can I get you something to drink?”
I decline, but do accept a spot on the couch. The cat’s my immediate companion, rustling in my lap and coming straight up into my face.
“That’s Lolo.” She says with a tinkling laugh. It’s all I can do from crossing the small gap between us a
nd scooping her up into my arms. Ever since the moment I saw her shrouded figure being escorted from the police station, I’d wanted nothing more than to protect her, to keep her from ever having to endure another moment of torment. None of this would have ever happened if the jacket they were using to shroud her face hadn’t slipped, just for that one instant, replayed by me over and over; both on the screen and in my mind’s eye. That face had changed my whole outlook on life, in just that one moment. And here she is.
“I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.” I say, realizing that’s not really the best starting option.
She gives me a delicate smile. “I figured you had a good reason.”
“I wanted to meet you.”
Emma shrugs it off. “I’m nobody.” She says, lowering those gorgeous eyes from mine. I want to pick them back up off the floor again.
The anger wells up in me. “Don’t ever believe that, Emma.”
They come up and they come up fast, confused and not quite glaring. “I said my name was Constance.” She says. “I think I need to ask you to leave.”
She rises quickly as the panic wells up in me again. I struggle out of the deep couch to my feet, my face coming up just a foot from hers. This might be the closest I ever get to come if I miss the opportunity, so I take it. I reach out, my hand touching the silky heaven of her upper arm, stepping across the divide. Before she can respond, my other hand is on that perfect cheek, followed quickly by my lips on hers. To my surprise, she doesn’t pull back. Her lips part and the kiss is tender and sweet. Despite the desperate nature of my move, I feel her arm go around me as our bodies press together. I’m cradling the face of my dreams in my hands as I kiss her, my nose catching the scent of her coming from my own hand. It’s abrupt and shocking, but it just makes me want her more than ever.
I’m holding her and nothing could be more perfect. I feel one of her hands on my chest, working open one of my buttons quickly before sliding it inside, across my bare skin. She gasps in my mouth as I can’t control myself any longer. She arches her hips back as she feels my fingers at the waistband of her sweats, as if offering me the access that I greedily take. A moment later, my hand is cupping her humid mound, another and my finger is pressing gently into her wetness. The kiss goes on and on as we do a sort of wordless slow-dance there in the center of the room. Gently, I’m working my finger back and forth in her tightness, my thumb finding her clit as she expels air into the delicious kiss. If I wasn’t lost before, I certainly am now.
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