A.N – I am very sorry for (once again) leaving this story in limbo for months, but I have a real life to attend and I am investing a lot of time in other writing projects at the moment (not fanfiction, I'm not cheating Zorro with the A-Team this time. Those stories are also on hold). I wanted to wrap this up, finally, in this chapter, but I thought I better post it as it is now, a bit short, or I may risk not posting it for a much longer while.

D and V will carry on trying to have sex, so of course, this is a new instalment of the 50 shades of Zorro, marked between "XXX". Enjoy. And please, review. Thanks.

Chapter 90 – Mindfulness

Diego returned to his room carrying a small candle in his shaky, nervous hand. He hesitated outside, in the corridor, but he finally knocked on the door softly before he came in, not waiting for an answer. The room looked darker now, with the curtains fully drawn, but with the candle light he spotted Victoria in bed, hiding under the covers, immobile. She looked asleep, but Diego knew she wasn't. How could she?

Glad he had that tiny candle with him to find his way in the dark, he walked to the bed and left it on a small dish on the side table. Then he took off his clothes, that were quite sweaty after all that vigorous wood chopping, and he got under the covers on that side, careful not to touch her. Looking at the ceiling, he sighed deeply before he talked, sinking his head on the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Victoria. I'm sorry for taking off like that, but I had to take my frustration somewhere else, away from this room. I put all my anger to good work, smashing wood with an axe as if it was Tomas's head, and I'm relaxed now to carry on in a civilized manner. I know it sounds silly, but this kind of thing really helps to release tension. At least for us males, the primitive cavemen we are."

She didn't react at all to his words, and for a moment he wondered if she was really asleep. But no, her breathing was too fast for that.

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault, not at all. Please, talk to me. Por favor."

"I have nothing to say, Diego. I don't want to discuss anything right now. Please, go to sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Alright. Good night."

"Buenas noches."

He turned on his side to rest back to back to her, but separated by a few inches of empty space in the middle of the bed; a small gap that felt like an abyss.

The silence that followed was too oppressing, too difficult to bear. Diego's mind was racing while he watched the flickering flame of that burning candle cast shadows on the wall: what could he try now? How could he fix this blunder?

They both knew sex would never be the same between them after the rape, but he refused to give up on the wonderful moments they had shared before, and he carried on thinking on ways to reconnect. At some point, through that mist of gloomy thoughts, he realized Victoria was crying.

Diego turned to spoon her, even if he was risking further rejection of his touch.

"Victoria, I love you," he said, holding her against his naked body when she wriggled to get out of his embrace, making disgruntled noises. "Shhh, it's me, Diego, your husband, and I refuse to resign myself to a lack of sex life with the woman I love because of the actions of that horrible man. Relax, just relax… We can do this."

"No, we can't! Please, let go of me!"

"Calm down, por favor. Cálmate."

She wriggled a bit more, but then she finally settled in his arms, seeking his warmth and the comfort he provided, although she carried on crying.

"Why can't we go back to normal, Diego? Why I can't enjoy your touch anymore?"

"Shhh, you will, don't worry. You will."

His hand caressed her arm gently, and little by little it found its way to her bosom, over her night gown. She tensed immediately, rejecting his touch.

"Look, I think we could try something different to push the images and feelings of that horrible moment out of our minds," he said, withdrawing his hand.

"How? Because I already tried, and they always come back."

"I read about this in the Hindu Vedas and the teachings of Buddhism: a way to relax the mind, and focus only in the present moment. Nothing else should matter. Only the now. Like this: try to focus only in the touch if my finger, in that sensation, ahora. Don't let your mind wander, don't try to imagine if this is my finger or somebody else's, what happened before, or what may happen after; just feel it. Focus on how it feels. It helps if you try to imagine a white paper, and try not to think about anything else at all. Leave your mind blank. Try, please."

After a few seconds of gentle caressing in silence, she spoke again.

"I tried, and I can't."

"Keep trying. Just feel my finger, and think of a white paper. Focus on my finger."

He carried on drawing small circles on her skin with his index finger, ever so slowly.

"When you find yourself thinking on something else, say "white paper" out loud, so I know you are having trouble. I'll do the same."

"White paper," she said almost immediately.

"I know. Relax. Look, I'll take your gown and give you a back massage, alright? And you just focus on how the touch of my hands feel. Don't do anything else. Don't think. Just feel."

He helped her off her gown, and she lied in bed on her belly, still as tense as a board. He left the bed for a moment and returned with a small bottle, pouring a small amount of that cold liquid on her back. She recognized the scent: rosemary on vegetable oil.

She tried to concentrate in the soft touch of his warm hands, sliding slowly along her skin, helped by the slippery oil. As he said, she tried to leave her mind blank, ignoring all the worries, the sadness, the anger, the shame, and all that mix of feelings that consumed her. Little by little, she started to unwind and loosen up, truly relaxing. He reminded her from time to time she should relax and try not to think, only feel, imagining a white paper. Soon, she found herself so relaxed, enjoying the massage so much, she thought she would fall asleep at any moment, hanging in that odd borderland between sleep and wakefulness.

He blew off the candle and carried on caressing her in the dark, wandering further from her back. Not that she noticed the darkness much, as she had her eyes closed all the time, in the brink of falling asleep. His hands wandered down her rear end, and then she couldn't help it: Tomás's ugly face appeared in her mind.

"White paper," she said with a slurred, sleepy voice, concentrating in the whiteness, and in Diego's touch, that felt so nice, unlike the rough groping of that vile man.

"Me too: white paper. We can do it," he said, whispering close to her ear.

XXX

Diego carried on kneading Victoria's arse with one hand, and used the other to grab his already semi-erected pennis. The mindfulness business was working wonders for both: Victoria wasn't complaining, truly relaxed, and with the help of the rosemary oil lubricant, he got a glorious hard-on in no time at all. Following his own advice, he left his mind blank, enjoying his own soft touch, that he directed to the right spots, circling expertly on his glans, that soon got wet with pre-ejaculate fluid.

Perfect. Then onto phase two: in the dark, he carefully turned the half-asleep Victoria on her back, straddling her. He tentatively reached for the bottle at the bedside table, and poured a bit more of the oil between her breasts. She gasped softly but she didn't say anything, so he dipped his right hand in the oil, rubbed it on his left, and slowly continued the body massage, starting at the shoulders until he stroked her breasts gently, covering them in the slippy, aromatic oil.

"White paper," she whispered, almost inaudibly, barely awake, swimming in that blurry and ambiguous zone between consciousness and sleep.

Indeed, white paper, he thought, pushing out of his mind the images of that horrible man groping his beloved. His wife. White paper! Concentrate, dammit! None of that mattered now. None. Only that this just felt so good.

He leaned over to kiss her, and the tip of his shaft rubbed lightly on her legs.

"Is that Bulgy?" she said slowly before he reached her lips, with a soft tone of almost sultry quality, and a hint of wonder and expectation.

"White paper, remember? White paper."

"White paper," she repeated, obediently.

When he leaned on her in the dark to find her mouth he missed the spot, but he left a trail of wet kisses on her neck and chin until he found her lips. He lingered on them, moisturizing them, until she opened up for him, inviting him in, this time so willing. And keen. Very keen.

Their tongues played together for a while, and during that time, none of them tried to say those two words, despite having more flashings of the rape. Little by little, they kicked Tomás out of their minds and concentrated in the whiteness, and in the now. Only the now. Like the delicious feeling of wet tongue over wet tongue. She passed her arms around his back and neck then, taking a more active role, feeling more awake, drawing him closer.

When he left her lips for a moment, the words just poured out of his mouth while hovering over her face.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Yes, let's do this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Paint my white paper with wonderful colours, please."

"As you wish."

He left another trail of kisses on her skin, until he reached her nipple. She used the technique he had taught her, concentrating fully in the now, in that powerful sensation, and the result was mind-blowing for her. She got so excited by the touch of that skilled, slippering tongue, she nearly had an orgasm, resulting in that familiar sensation down there, melting wet as never before, even more when his tongue travelled south to drink from her fountain. She had to stop him shortly after, holding his head up, thinking she could burst in pieces if he continued.

"White paper?" he said. His voice sounded disappointed.

"No. Rainbow-coloured paper, not white!"

"What?"

"Take me, please. Take me now!" she said, urgently, spreading her legs wide open. Living in the now claimed for that. The now demanded it. "Now!"

He complied, finding his way into her lavishly soaked sex, a stark contrast with the dry land he had encountered before. Thanking Buddha and all his wise followers, he started pushing, thrusting while leaving his mind even blanker, concentrating all his consciousness in the feelings his now rock-hard member sent to his brain. Victoria moaned and cried more than ever, obviously enjoying it as well, begging for more, and his body moved on its own accord to please her. Soon, he had contradictory feelings: on the one hand, he wanted to get released as soon as possible to accomplish his goal of impregnating her, and on the other hand, that felt so damn good he wanted to hold on for as long as possible. But then, she moaned and arched her body as she came, and he let go as well to ejaculate inside her for the very first time, not withdrawing.

XXX

Right after they climaxed, they both laughed, almost hysterically: they had made love, and they had truly, truly enjoyed it, no longer considering it a task they had to perform that night. Their wonderful, special, wedding night. The one they had been waiting for since the day they met.

"From now on, I love white paper," he said while panting and chuckling, hovering close to her face.

"And I love you," she replied, pulling his head down to find his mouth again.

ZZZ

Ten days went by slowly, and during that time they used the white paper technique more times. Quite a few more times. And, as nothing happened down there, it could only mean one thing.

"Let's face it. I must be pregnant," she said one morning. "I should have had my period a few days ago, I'm well overdue. And my breasts are swollen." She wanted to sound happy, and confident, but in reality, she was a wreck, dreading his reaction. "What do you think?"

He was expecting it, and although initially apprehensive, he smiled wide and kissed her.

"Wonderful, that's wonderful, mi amor."

"Are you sure? We'll never know for certain if that child is yours or not."

"I already know. Of course is mine," he said, touching her abdomen. "And, if he is a boy, we'll call him Esteban."

"Of course. But…"

"Mine," he insisted, interrupting her, with his hand still on her belly.

"But you don't…"

He put a finger on her lips then. "I said: mine."

"Alright. Yours. Should be tell your father?"

"Yes. Because he'll be as delighted as I am."

The look on her face then could not show more gratitude and relief.

ZZZZZ

A.N - Nearly there now, really, really there. Finally. And if not… well, white paper! LOL (at least these two are back on the hanky-panky, yay!)