Claim Me

by Geneva Lee

  “Feel free to drop my name.”

  He’d approved of my plan to host a birthday party for Sarah on one condition: the party would take place somewhere else. Booking anything in London at the last minute was a challenge. “The V&A took pity on me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to spoil her.”

  “It’s big enough. I think she wants to make a splash.”

  “Hasn’t she done enough of that?” he asked.

  “What about your meeting?”

  Alexander’s hand gripped mine tighter. “Not now, Poppet. Just be with me for a few minutes.”

  I wouldn’t argue with that. We’d had our fair share of chaos in the last few weeks. If we could steal a moment of peace, we would. Spring had brought fresh flowers to nearly every bit of the Royal Gardens. “It’s so beautiful. I think I discover something new every day.”

  Alexander inclined his head for a moment, as if considering it a challenge, then a wide grin split his face. “I know what you should discover today.”

  He led me along the path as the sun began to fade, giving up on another day, and handing us over to night. When he finally stopped and pointed, I gasped. The wisteria had begun to bloom around the Summer House, the purple petals swaying gently against its glass-paned doors.

  “How did you know?” I asked. I always missed them. The flowers were there one minute and gone the next, like so much of nature’s art.

  “They were my mother’s favorite. She would bring us down here to see them, and then she’d decorate Sarah’s birthday tables with them.”

  I tucked that image away for further consideration. “We should get back. Your feet have to be getting cold.”

  The weather seemed to agree, because the first splat of rain hit my nose as soon as I spoke.

  “Always have an umbrella in London in April,” I said with a sigh. I would never learn.

  “If you have an umbrella, you never get caught in the rain.” Alexander bent to kiss me, his palm pressing to the back of my neck, and I forgot my objection to the weather. “Come on.”

  We hurried to the Summer House and let ourselves in.

  “It will die down in a few minutes,” he said, checking the sky.

  I stared at my husband—always considering me, always protecting me—and found myself in love with him all over again. He turned, his face searching mine, and caught me staring. “What is it?”

  “I love you,” I murmured.

  “And I love you more than anything.” He stroked my cheek.

  I knew that. I’d always known, but in this moment, it consumed me: the sense of belonging and completion that only came with finding the one person meant for you in all the world. I would never know why fate had matched us, but I would never stop being grateful.

  “Poppet,” he called to me.

  “X,” I breathed, pushing onto my toes to kiss him.

  It started sweetly but urgency ran like a current between us. Our life would change again soon. Our life was always changing. All we had was this one moment. It was the only guarantee.

  That’s why he kissed me like this every time.

  And as much as I hated the idea of clinging to fear, I realized now, it also pushed us to live. That was what drove us—the passion we’d felt since the first touch. It ignited me now.

  Alexander’s teeth caught my lower lip, but I wasn’t interested in rough. I wanted to worship him. I wanted to show him that no part of him was ever damaged in my eyes. Our scars made us stronger.

  “No,” I whispered, pushing him against the door gently.

  Alexander’s eyes hooded as I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. They still shuttered against the marks that covered his powerful body, but I loved those imperfections that proved he was a man who’d fought death and won. Dipping my lips to his chest, I kissed the bullet wound that had nearly taken him from me and then the one that had missed entirely.

  He drew a harsh breath, as if I was releasing something in him he didn’t know he’d carried. I wanted to move lower to kiss every scar, to erase the guilt he’d allowed to fester there, but he caught my neck and brought my lips back to his.

  His hands swept down, lifting my dress and I stopped kissing him only for the moment it took to shed it.

  “My Clara. I want to make love to you every year when the wisterias bloom,” he whispered against my lips. “And every winter by the fire and all the days between.”

  It was so easy to get caught up in the rush of the world around us, always planning for the next moment and worrying about making it to the next day while fearing what lay ahead. But, in that moment, I knew that every sunset prepared us for another day together.

  “Love me?” I asked, and he did.

  Chapter 26

  Alexander

  There was only her and the distant sound of rain on the window panes. Her lips brushed over another scar and the sensation built into a vibration that roared through me turning into a growl. She would always free the beast I leashed. Only she had that power now. I’d given it to her.

  “Love me.”

  Her words asked something else of me entirely. She wasn’t seeking domination or release.

  What Clara needed was far more intimate. She needed to give herself to me in a way that had nothing to do with her body.

  She was handing me her heart—her soul.

  Her trust.

  I’d earned it again, and I had no idea how. But I wouldn’t betray it again. Later, I would tell her about my meeting. Later, we would decide what to do.

  Now? Now I would love her. I would worship her. I would show her that every piece of me lived for her. I’d traded everything I was to be half the man she deserved and I would spend the rest of my life becoming the man she needed.

  Her mouth continued to trace my scars, sending an unspoken message that I couldn’t quite translate. I always wondered why she gravitated toward them—how she could love the proof of my weakness. But each kiss soothed a pain I always carried. Usually, her touch ignited every nerve ending. This did the opposite. A deep peace settled over me, and I realized she was giving me permission.

  Permission to love her.

  Permission to protect her.

  Permission to need her.

  Understanding flooded through me. Clara wasn’t a weak woman. She’d fought me at every turn for her independence, and she’d pushed back whenever she felt I was being overprotective. At the same time, she’d given herself again and again. Choosing me when I lied. Choosing me when I failed. Choosing me when I couldn’t. She’d protected me through it all. Clara guarded my heart more closely than her own. She was stronger than I would ever be.

  Clara saw fear and faced it every time.

  I only had my body to offer—as a shield, as protection. My heart was no match for hers. It was as mighty and beautiful as the woman who’d given it to me.

  I knew then that she would continue to guard the lives of our children. She would continue to carry the burdens I could not. She would be the force behind my strength, and I would be her protector.

  My hand found her chin and brought her mouth to mine. She sighed into the kiss as if she knew that I understood what she was trying to tell me. I had a message of my own to send. My tongue slipped against hers, savouring her, knowing I would never have enough of her. Every moment she was more beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with her full lips and haunted eyes. She was beautiful in herself—in her grace, in her spirit, in her vulnerability and her strength.

  Lifting her into my arms, I carried her to a polished round table in the certain of the room. I laid her across it and she blossomed like the flower carved into its surface. My hands caressed the softness of her thigh and she bloomed further, opening her body to me as she had her heart. Moving up, I pushed her skirt to the swell of life she carried. As I began to draw her knickers down, my eyes caught on the scar concealed there. I fell to my knees, pulling them free and brought my lips to that place.

&nbs
p; She carried her own scars—ones she’d endured for me. This one was proof of our love in a way that no other could be. I kissed across it and Clara shuddered, her arms reaching to grip the edges of the table.

  The final piece had fallen into place—the last unspoken words made clear. Her scars didn’t show her weakness—they showed her strength.

  They showed mine.

  Nothing could change what we would endure for each other. Death was a price we’d pay for every moment of happiness we stole from this life.

  “Do you know how powerful you are?” I murmured, my mouth moving to the apex of her womanhood and lingering there. “My crown? My life? They’re insignificant compared to you. Do you know why that is?”

  “X,” she breathed, straining to see me. But she didn’t need to see me, she needed to hear me.

  She needed to understand that I was about to tell her the only truth that mattered.

  “Because you are my heart. You are my soul. Without you, there’s nothing. I am nothing. I’m less than a man. You’ve made me what I am. You are my better. You are my belief.” I kissed the soft heat of her, earning a moan. “I am a king, because you are my queen.”

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “You made me a queen.”

  “No, my love, you have always been a queen. Do you know I know?” I drew my tongue along her, tasting her sweetness. A tremor rolled through her and I smiled against her slick skin. “Because my place has always been here, kneeling before you. Only a true queen brings a king to his knees.”

  She struggled to push onto her elbow, her eyes finally able to find mine. They locked as I began to suck and kiss. Her eyes hooded, fighting to maintain control as she continued this debate. “I was on my knees from the moment we met. You lifted me.”

  “You’re such a queen,” I said, the words moving across her cunt. “Reigning over me even now. Proclaiming the truth. As you wish, Your Majesty. You’ve proven my point.”

  “X, you—”

  I slid my tongue inside her, effectively silencing any further argument. Clara groaned, sliding back to the table, as I made love to her with my mouth. Hooking my arms around her thighs, I worshipped her with my lips and fingers. I thanked her for the gift she’d given me. I thanked her for being mine until her limbs tightened, her legs closing around my head as she rode out her pleasure.

  When she finally stilled, I helped her to her feet. She clung to the table and I pushed a chair back, enjoying how her body sagged languid and boneless. Taking a seat, I met her eyes and brought my fingers to my lips, sucking her taste from them. Her mouth fell open, speechless, her eyes brightening.

  “Never enough,” I said with a groan, wanting more of her. “It will never be enough. Do you understand? I will want you every moment of every day—in my mouth, against my skin, by my side. But tonight I want you to take your place as queen.”

  Clara didn’t speak as her fingers found the buttons of her dress and began unbuttoning them slowly. My own found my belt buckle and began unfastening it. Her dress slipped from her shoulders to reveal her pert breasts caged by lace. Freeing my cock, I beckoned her with one finger.

  “Take your place, my queen,” I urged her. “Reign over me.”

  She crossed the remaining distance slowly, hovering over me for a moment before leaning down to plant her hands on my chest and push me against the chair.

  “My king,” she murmured as she straddled me. My hands found her hips to steady her, but she shook her head. “You want to be ruled?”

  I nodded, swallowing against the ache in my throat and allowed my hands to fall away. She was so beautiful—so strong and sure. I would never know why I’d been trusted with her—why life had given me her.

  Clara gripped my shoulders and lowered herself over me, sliding her seam over the tip of my cock until my eyes rolled from the restraint it took not to lift up and slam into her. She laughed. It was wicked and melodic.

  “Patience,” she moaned as she sank further. “I want to feel every inch of you as I take you. God, you’re right. It’s too much and never enough.” She rooted herself against me as she spoke, allowing me to finally fill her.

  “There’s always something missing when you’re not inside me,” she confessed as her hips began to rock. “Why is that?”

  “Because we’re not meant to be two people,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the hands still gripping my shoulders. “We’re one—inextricably bound. One body. One heart.”

  “Always,” she agreed before she took what was hers all along.

  Chapter 27

  Clara

  Someday, an angel would invent a way to get dressed for a party in under an hour. For now, by the time I’d finally tracked down my dress, pinned up my hair, and finished my make-up, we were running late. Naturally, all Alexander had to do was put on his tuxedo, but that man could put on nothing and look better than the rest of the planet.

  The museum wasn’t far from Buckingham, but the short drive took long enough for me to start worrying. Alexander seemed equally preoccupied, staring out his window, lost to his thoughts. Our only connection was our clasped hands. When we reached the party and made it past the inevitable onlookers and their cameras, I would relax. Everything was being taken care of, and I wasn’t one to fuss. Plus, with Edward there, I knew one of us would be seeing to overlooked details, and he was the far more competent party in that regard.

  When we reached the V&A, Alexander flashed me a wan smile before climbing from the Range Rover. Barricades kept the crowds away from the arriving guests. Alexander opened my door and helped me out of the car. I smiled to the crowds as camera flashes went off around us. His hand slid to the small of my back, warm and protective, as he guided me to the museum’s entrance.

  “You are a goddess,” Alexander murmured in my ear.

  I felt like one in the white silk gown that flowed loosely around me, dipping low in the back. Tamara had insisted on sending the evening maternity gown during our last shopping trip, despite my protest that I had no events that required such a fancy dress. She’d winked and told me to save it for the next one. I’d thought I would never wear it, but the party was the perfect occasion. Paired with a pair of silver Louboutins, it was elegant and sexy—and as far from the typical maternity dress as I could get.

  A deep purple carpet had been placed on the steps leading into the Victoria and Albert’s Grand Entrance. I’d taken the cue from royalty. Sarah was a princess whether she felt like one or not, and tonight, I would remind everyone. But the interior decor was all Belle and Edward, with one notable exception.

  As soon as we passed into the large space that normally served as the museum’s entrance, the entire vibe changed from buttoned up to lavishly sensual. Wisterias hung from the columns circling the room and a cocktail bar lit by subtle purple lights had already attracted a number of guests. We passed through it, stopping to greet various friends of Alexander’s family.

  Alexander’s hand left my back only so he could take mine, as though he was afraid he might lose among the strangers. My thoughts drifted to what Georgia told me the other day about always having me surrounded unless he was nearby. Tonight his possessiveness seemed to radiate from him like a field, and I found myself pressing closer, drawn to its energy.

  But it wasn’t that I sensed danger. Rather, I knew my nearness soothed a jagged ache in him that nothing else could.

  When we reached the corridor that split in the direction of the gallery, Alexander whisked me into an alcove and kissed me slowly, his lips savoring each movement. I gasped against his mouth, my fingers tangling into his hair. When he released me, his eyes were wild.

  Before I could speak, he continued toward the party.

  “What was that for?” I asked in a low voice.

  He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “The wisteria.”

  I’d done for him and Sarah, so that a tangible piece of their mother would be here tonight. But the flowers now held a different memory for me:
of fogged glass doors and Alexander’s hands.

  There were more of the delicate blooms draped over tall glass vases on the tables in the Raphael Gallery. The modern centerpieces contrasted magnificently with the Renaissance paintings that dominated the gallery. A popular band had taken up Edward’s offer to play the party and they already had people dancing in the center of the space.

  Near the cake, Belle was talking animatedly to another woman I didn’t recognize. I took the lead, and Alexander followed, as keen to avoid another well-meaning greeting as I was.

  “Guarding the cake?” I asked her.

  “Someone has to,” she said. “Look at it.”

  It was a spectacular feat of confectionary with five different tiers, all frosted in a deep indigo and covered in dripping pearls. I was more interested in finding out whether the champagne layer or the lemon layer did more to satisfy my sweet tooth.

  “I should be going. It was lovely to see you,” the girl said, brushing Belle’s hand in farewell and nodding to us before returning to the crowd.

  I gave Belle a questioning look.

  “She applied for an internship,” she explained, “but she’s been called home.”

  “Home?” Maybe that would explain why she was on the guest list.

  “Her father is a Senator. She came with one of Edward’s school friends.” Belle said. “It’s too bad. I think she wanted to stay in London.”

  Before I could dig for more information about the girl, the crowd parted for Smith and Georgia. The two were deep in conversation. Smith wore his tuxedo with authority, and when he saw Belle, a smile slid over his face. It faded when he saw who she was with.

  “May I have a moment?” Smith asked, joining us. I was taken aback to see he was speaking to Alexander.

  My husband looked to me. “If our wives approve…”

  “Go and have your important conversations,” I teased. “We’ll stay with the cake.”