Sensation

THIRD PERSON’S POINT OF VIEW

“Let me help you with that—”

The slap landed hard across Lucian’s face, sharp and stinging. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before—not from a woman, and certainly not one so much smaller, so seemingly fragile than he was.

He clicked his tongue, his gaze sweeping over her again. Her right hand braced against the wall for support; her left still hung in the air, frozen from the force of her strike. Defenseless. Weak. One wrong move from him, and she’d crumple to the floor. And yet she’d found the nerve to fight back. A rare breed, indeed.

“You’re a prideful little thing, aren’t you, Seraphina?” He ran his teeth over his lower lip, his eyes raking from her flushed face down to her bare feet. “I offer you my help, and you have the gall to refuse.”

A smirk played at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He couldn’t look away—not from the way the light caught her skin, not from the fire in her stance even as she trembled. She was beautiful, in a raw, unpolished way that made his blood run warm.

“I can undress myself. I’m blind, not paralyzed… sir.” The steel in her voice hit him square in the chest, and admiration flickered through his gut. Her fighting spirit shone through even as she tried to hide it behind polite words.

“Oh? Is that right?” He tilted his head, his tone laced with challenge. “Then prove it. Walk into the bathroom. Show me you don’t need me to lift a finger.”

Sera straightened her spine, her chin high. “And if I do?”

“Then I’ll never offer to help you with something like this again.” His voice was light, teasing—but his eyes tracked every shift in her posture.

Everything had been going according to plan until moments ago. As he’d expected, Sera had signed the contract—believing it was nothing more than an agreement for shelter and care while her sight recovered. But the Vitale family never played fair. Deception was in their blood. That document was more than a contract; it was a marriage license, binding her to him legally with no ceremony, no fanfare. And buried in the fine print was another clause: she would bear his heir. His grandmother’s doing, of course.

Lucian had never taken women seriously—not really. They were distractions, or diversions, or sometimes just background noise while he focused on expanding his empire. He had no interest in love, or marriage, or any of the domestic nonsense the old woman pushed on him. Money he had in spades, stashed away in accounts across the globe. His businesses thrived in every corner of the world. That should have been enough.

But for his grandmother, it was never enough. So here they were: him, staring down a woman who had no idea what she’d signed up for, and her, about to prove just how stubborn she could be.

His focus snapped back as Sera began to move, her fingers brushing along the wall as she found her way into the bathroom. He followed, his gaze fixed on her every careful step.

She needed to bathe—his grandmother had made that clear, ordering him to see to her comfort. But they’d gotten stuck on the simple matter of undressing.

It was obvious she was still adjusting to her condition. Not born blind, forced into darkness overnight—he could only imagine the disorientation, the struggle to map a space she couldn’t see. Most people would have given in, asked for help without hesitation. Not her.

He watched as she lowered herself to the floor, her hands moving slowly over her clothes, feeling for buttons and seams. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

She wasn’t pale, nor was she dark—her skin was the warm brown of a true asian, glowing under the soft light. Chestnut hair fell past her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. Her body was neither too full nor too thin; her height, her curves—everything about her was… right.

A low whistle escaped him as she pulled her shirt over her head. Even seated, her hourglass shape was impossible to miss. But she was too thin, her ribs just visible beneath her skin. Abuse from her family, he suspected. She’d need filling out.

Her top half was bare now, save for her bra. Next came her pants. She stood slowly, and he noticed her hands were shaking. Good. Let her struggle. Let her break and beg for him.

How long are you going to keep up this act? he thought, his gaze raking over her as she fumbled with her zipper. He watched like a predator tracking its prey like a predator tracking its prey, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin. Her body was incredible—soft and curved and his, whether she knew it yet or not. He waited for the moment she’d crack. But it never came.

She didn’t ask for help. Why? Pride? Or something deeper he couldn’t quite place?

SERAPHINA'S POINT OF VIEW

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she worked at the button of her pants, her fingers trembling from cold and nerves. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his stare—heavy, hot, impossible to ignore. She knew she shouldn’t let him see her like this, but what choice did she have? They’d be living under the same roof, and the contract said he was supposed to help her adjust to her blindness.

I must have lost my mind when I signed that paper. Help from him? A man she could barely stand to be in the same room with? It wasn’t right for a stranger to touch her, to help her with things as intimate as undressing. And why had his grandmother insisted he be the one to care for her?

Finally, the zipper slid down. She pushed her pants off without hesitation, even as awareness of him burned in the back of her mind. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t chase him away—so she’d just have to endure.

She reached for the wall again, her fingers tracing its surface as she tried to orient herself. But the bathroom was bigger than she’d expected. Where was the sink to set her clothes? The toilet? The shower with its soaps and shampoos?

She sighed, long and heavy. Her pride could only take her so far.

“Lord, please tell me this is okay,” she whispered to herself. Then, louder: “Are you still there… sir?”

“Yeah. Need something?”

She bit her lip, frustration flaring. Even his voice sounded like he was laughing at her. But she had to stay calm—she had no idea how many months she’d be stuck with him.

“I… I need help.” The words were dragged from her throat.

But silence answered her. No footsteps, no movement—like he’d frozen in place, just watching her.

“Damn it! Did he leave me here?!” She hissed under her breath, turning in the direction she thought he’d been standing. “He thinks I can’t do this? I can! I can handle it, you bastard!”

She furrowed her brow and took another step, her hand still on the wall for balance. Three steps in, she collided with something solid—but it didn’t feel like plaster and paint.

“Another wall? Why didn’t he tell me there was another wall here?” She grumbled, gripping the surface in front of her. But something was off. It was warm. And there was a hard, long shape pressing against her stomach—what kind of wall had that?

She ran her fingers over it, her blood turning to ice as realization dawned. This wasn’t a wall. It was him.

She stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the tile—but strong arms caught her before she could fall. Even blind, her eyes went wide with shock.

She could feel the hard lines of his body against hers, the heat radiating from his skin. And that thing pressing into her stomach…

“W-What is that?! Is it… wood?!”

A low laugh rumbled through his chest, sending shivers down her spine. His lips brushed against her ear, his breath warm and dangerous.

“That’s my hard cock.”

“Asshole?!” She shrieked, her whole body going cold. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this—for his crude words, for the way his body felt against hers.

She tried to push him away, but he only laughed harder, holding her steady.

“Relax. I have no intention of using it on you. You’re not my type—too skinny, not pretty enough. Not even close.”

“Then why don’t you let me go so I can punch your face?! If I could see you right now, I’d tear you apart—even your nose holes would get an earful!” She panted, her words tumbling out in a rush of anger.

She straightened up, ready to pull away—but his hand stayed on her arm. She wanted to snap at him, but she needed his help. So she bit her tongue and stayed still.

He guided her to the edge of the tub and helped her sit, then stepped away. The sound of his footsteps faded.

“I’m getting cold… just give me the soap and shampoo. I can manage from here.” She called out, but no answer came. Instead, she jolted as cold water poured over her head and streamed down her skin.

“I said I’d do it myself!” She gasped—the shock of the water sending strange sensations through her body. She’d never felt anything like it—unexpected, intimate, unsettling.

The water cut off, leaving silence in its wake. She strained to hear him, but there was nothing—until a hand touched her side, slick with soap.

A soft, broken sound escaped her lips before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her heart racing.

Lucian’s fingers moved slowly along her ribs, his touch light enough to send shivers across her skin. She could feel her pulse thrumming everywhere—at her wrists, her neck, between her legs.

But she wasn’t the only one affected. Lucian stood behind her, his jaw tight, his lip bleeding where he’d bitten it too hard. He was fighting a battle he hadn’t seen coming.

For fuck’s sake. He thought, his body tight with need he’d never felt so sharply. This is impossible.