by Geneva Lee
“Don’t stop,” she urges, breathless. “All of you. Give me all of you.”
I come with a violent surge that blasts from me so hard that she has to hold onto the counter.
She enjoyed it.
I have to make her see. I keep going, my cock remaining hard as it moves into her soaked cunt. I ignore how impossibly good it feels to fuck her when she’s full of me.
“Alexander,” she calls, discomfort running through her voice.
“Need…need…” But she needs to see—see the real me, the real danger of freeing me. She still has time to put me back in my cage because once I’m fully released, I’ll take her captive and never let her go. I’ll use her. I’ll control her. I’ll ruin her. Or my world will.
Clara manages to free herself and turns around, leaving my cock pulsing with unfinished business. As soon as she’s gone, I realize my mistake. I can’t punish her for my past. I have to protect her, and now I’ve pushed her too far. I need to show her that I can be gentle, that I can keep the dangerous part of me locked away.
“Brimstone,” she whispers.
No. Not now. I need her too much. “I need to be inside you.”
She shakes her head. Not like this. Not taking.
Together.
I wrap my arms around her and lift her to the counter. The pause gives me time to gather myself. I find my control. I find her. My cock is still hard, still desperate to be inside her. I tenderly move it across her swollen sex and watch her, hoping she understands this is about something else. She stares for a moment before wiggling her hips to slide herself over my cock.
I let her take the lead. I can’t help feeling like I’m coming home as I join with her. This isn’t about fucking. This is connection. She clings to me, her eyes locked with mine, and I know neither of us can deny everything between us has changed again. There’s no longer a path without her—there’s no future that exists outside of her and me. I don’t know how to do this. She has to show me how.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Things are very normal. It’s the only word I can think of, even though I don’t have much experience with it. After last night, I might have thought things would be tense between us. Instead, I’m watching her get ready in the mirror, wondering why she bothers with even a drop of bloody make-up. She doesn’t need it. Her eyes flit to mine in the mirror and rake down my body. There’s not an ounce of reservation or disgust as she takes in my scars. If anything, she looks like she’s thinking about the same thing I am.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to take you back to bed,” I warn her.
“Yes, please,” she whispers before sighing. “Don’t even think about it, X. I’m going to be late already.”
As if she could say no to me. “I warned you that I’m a man who takes what he wants.”
I prove my point by throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to her bedroom.
“Put me down!” Her palm smacks me. “I’m late.”
“Stop fighting me, or you won’t make it in at all.” I can think of much better ways for Clara to spend her day than sitting behind an office desk, and I can think of several inventive ways to ensure she doesn’t have a choice.
Of course, I might be able to convince her. I let her fall to the bed before dropping over and crawling up her body, giving me the chance to catch her skirt with my teeth. When it’s at her hips, my fingers dive past her lacy thong to her wet cunt. “See, poppet? You’re still dressed.”
She moans as my thumb finds her plump clit and strokes circles over it.
“Although this bra is vexing.” I want more of her. All of her. I don’t want her to leave—not for work. Not for any reason at all. “Your tits belong in my mouth. Don’t they, Clara?”
Her hands grab the sheets as she arches, her body tensing. She’s so close to release, but I’m not ready for her to come yet. I pause and wait. She needs to learn that patience is rewarded. Plus, she hasn’t answered my question. I brush my cheek against hers, my scratchy stubble scraping gently over her soft skin. “Clara?”
“Yes!” she squeaks, and I reward her by plunging my fingers inside her, drawing her orgasm from her with precise strokes. Her hips thrust against me. I’m not the only one who wants more.
I brush a fallen strand from her face, so I can drink in the pink hue of her cheeks and watch her slowly return to me from wherever my machinations just took her. I will never tire of seeing her like this, glowing with the bliss of her climax. I want her underneath me every hour of the day, coming again and again. We can pause to eat. I lean to kiss her, about to tell her just that—but someone knocks on the door.
Who the fuck got past Norris?
I kiss her more insistently, hoping she didn’t hear. There’s another, much louder knock that makes her go rigid. I give up. I’m not meant to be happy for hours on end, after all. I give her my hand, and she stands on shaky legs, adjusting her clothes and looking around for her blouse.
I wish I was dressed because she takes off for the door before I have my jeans on. We’re going to have to talk about answering the door. It’s not safe anymore. People will try to get to her now that she’s been linked to me. I’m slipping my shirt over my head when the yelling begins. It’s muffled, but I make out enough through the walls to know she’s not in danger.
She is, however, having a rather heated argument.
No one needs to know I’m here. It will only complicate matters for her, but I can’t stop myself from padding into the hall. I’m about to go out to her when I catch an older woman say, “That’s what you said before. When did you start seeing Alexander again? Don’t try to deny it! Your appearance with him at that ball has been all over the internet. We have people who can help you spin this.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Mom.”
Mom. Fuck, I really don’t need to put Clara through this. I don’t want to give her mother the wrong idea, and Clara’s already had to deal with my father. I step backward so I won’t be seen and debate returning to her room. But I can’t decide which she’ll dislike more: being left to deal with her mother alone while I lay low or being put on the spot for an introduction.
She decides for me. I hear her loudly instruct her mother. “All I really want is to finish getting dressed. I need to be at work in less than an hour.”
Her mother just speaks more loudly, ignoring her. “I called Lola this morning, and she thought that we might try—”
“You called Lola?”
I scroll through my mental file on Clara Bishop but can’t recall a Lola.
“She’s going into PR, and she’s very savvy about social media,” her mother says.
“She’s twenty-one, and she’s had fifteen majors since she got to university!”
“Lola is set on public relations.”
“You know what?” I hear Clara stomp across the flat. “I’ve got this. I don’t need you or Lola or Dad helping me out.”
There’s a pause and then an unmistakable sob. I’m nearly out of the hall before I realize it’s her mother crying.
“You’re cutting me out of your life, Clara. You know how dangerous that is. Does he even know? Have you spoken with him since the story was leaked?” she sobs.
Her questions reverse my previous decision to stay out of it. I don’t think. I just know that I won’t let Clara apologize to her mother for what the media did to her yesterday.
“He knows,” I answer her mother’s question, leaving no room for her to misinterpret what I’m saying. Clara’s gaze falls on me, her eyes shutting for just a moment, and I know she’s bracing for impact. But I won’t let her endure it alone. I’m surprisingly good with parents. “You must be Clara’s mother. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bishop.”
I extend a hand, but her mother doesn’t move. She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open. She’s a lovely woman if a bit overdone. It’s obvious who Clara gets her looks from.
“Mom,” Clara says softly. “Thi
s is Alexander.”
She looks between us twice, shaking her head and turning on me. “Well, I’m glad she told you. Relationships must be built on honesty. Don’t you agree, Alexander?”
“Of course.” I force a smile for her sake.
“I think it would be best for all of us, particularly Clara, if we had someone attempting to contain this story. I’m sure you agree with that as well.” She taps her fingers, waiting for me to agree with her. I suspect most people don’t bother disagreeing with her often. I’m not most people.
“Unfortunately, I can tell you from personal experience that it’s very difficult to control what they publish, whether it’s true or not,” I point out.
She shakes her head, dismissing me outright. I’m reminded of my father. “We have to do something.”
“I can’t promise anything, but I do have my best man looking into the circumstances behind the story,” I say.
Clara’s eyes widen with horror. “You shouldn’t be dragged into this.”
“This happened because of me. It’s the least I can do.” Why does she have to argue with me? I don’t know what it will take to convince Clara that she’s going to have to get used to things like this happening—as well as allowing me to deal with them.
I suddenly find myself hugging her mum, who clutches me like a life preserver. I’m not sure she’s going to let me go.
“Thank you,” she whispers as Clara shoots a sympathetic look at me. “It’s so nice to see Clara has found someone.” She finally lets me go, and her tears are miraculously dried when she hits me with, “We’d love to take you both to dinner. Do you have plans tomorrow?”
“Mom!” Clara looks like she’s going to kick her out.
I suppose it’s fair.
“I’d love to,” I say before Clara gets too worked up.
“You’d what?” Clara asks, but Mrs. Bishop is already linking her arm with mine as she makes her way to the door.
“I’ll arrange everything.” She pats my arm reassuringly. “You don’t have any food allergies? I’ll call Clara with the details. Harold will be so excited.”
I swear that she didn’t even pause for a breath. Clara’s already at the door, trying to shoo her out.
When she finally manages it, she slumps against the door, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry about that.”
“She seems to be a bit of a handful.” At least, her intentions are blatantly transparent.
“I can get you out of this,” Clara says quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
I frown. “I don’t mind going to dinner with your parents.”
“Are…you…sure?” She gawks at me. I must really be shit at this boyfriend thing.
“Stop staring at me like I need a straight jacket. Unless you don’t want me to go to dinner with your parents.” Is that what this is about?
“No!” she shrieks, startling a bit. “Of course, I do, but I understand if you aren’t comfortable.”
“Isn’t this what boyfriends are supposed to do?” I ask. “Meet the parents. Charm them. Earn the privilege to debauch their daughter.”
Clara continues to stare.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, replaying the last few minutes and looking for clues. I’d been polite. I’d agreed to dinner. “Did I do something to upset you?”
She swallows, shaking her head. “Nope. I just don’t deserve you, X.”
“You don’t.” She’s not wrong about that. “No one deserves to put up with me.”
Her finger presses to my lips, her blue eyes growing sad. “Don’t say that.”
“Where did you come from?” I ask softly. “Who sent you to save me?”
Clara’s eyes pierce through me, and then her mouth is on mine. I don’t think. I react. I press against her, urging her leg up to coil around me. I can feel her damp heat against my groin, earning the attention of my cock. It takes more than a little effort to pull away and remind her that we have other places to be.
“You have to get to work,” I whisper, unable to resist tempting her to change her mind. My own plans for today can wait. “Unless…”
Her tongue flicks over her lips. “Unless?”
“You want to call in sick and let me show you what a good boyfriend I can be.”
She takes a deep breath. “Sorry, X. I can’t play hooky on my third day of work.”
I let her go slowly, knowing that she has a real-life to return to. I can’t cage her like I’ve been caged no matter how much I may want to.
“Tonight,” I tell her.
“Tonight,” she repeats.
My mobile rings as soon as I step out the back entrance. Norris is there, waiting by the Bentley.
“Yes?” I answer.
“I assume you’re with her,” my father says distastefully.
“What do you need?” I bypass his slight. I don’t need my good mood ruined by him.
“I assume you’re coming to the country this weekend. I wanted to be certain you didn’t try to back out of it.”
“I’ll be there,” I confirm, sliding into the car.
“Good. You need to get out of the city,” he says pointedly.
And away from her. I know what he’s thinking. “Clara will be there, too.”
“Alexander, I don’t—”
I hang up on him and smile.
“Home?” Norris asks me.
“Where’s that?” I murmur absently. My home isn’t ahead of me. It’s behind me with her.
“I’m sorry?” he prompts.
“Yes,” I say so he can hear, staring out the window as we merge into the morning traffic. “Take me home. I have a note to write.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I wait for Clara near a Tube station, unhappy that she insisted on taking one from work. I wanted to send a car, but she reminded me that it would be easier for her to slip out if my private security wasn’t standing by.
I had Norris send a man in plain clothes to follow her anyway, just like he’s doing now. He managed a security sweep of the restaurant Clara picked for this afternoon. I couldn’t talk him out of it. But I’d been firm on wanting to do this—meet her family—on my own.
So far, I’ve only spotted two undercover guards casually milling on the same block. At least, they aren’t planning to sit next to me at dinner and poison test my soup.
Clara arrives in a flood of passengers, pushing her way through the crowd, handbag on her shoulder. Her eyes scan in front of her, teeth sinking into her lip. A few others glance curiously at her as though they recognize her, but no one stops her.
I wonder how much longer she’ll enjoy this already-questionable normalcy. She stops and lets the other passengers continue in a surge toward their own lives, and I wait, keeping her in my sights until she’s the only one left lingering in front of the station. She’s still wearing the light blouse and tightly fitted skirt from this morning. My mind skips to the lacy thong I know she’s wearing underneath, and my cock stiffens.
Forcing myself to ignore the growing ache in my balls, I prowl toward her. Clara turns her head as if sensing me and startles for a second. Her momentary panic quickly shifts, though, and she presses her lips into a tight line.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” she admits.
I catch her in my arms, pleased when she wilts against me. She reaches up and tugs the bill of my baseball cap.
“The Yankees?” she says with a raised eyebrow.
“I have a thing for yankees,” I say meaningfully, stealing a swift kiss. Even the momentary brush of my lips to hers is like an electric jolt. But it’s not centered in my groin this time. It hits directly in the center of my chest like I’m being brought back to life.
“Oh really?” She pulls gently away, slipping her hand into mine.
I let her take the lead, completely willing to be at her mercy this evening. She’ll be at mine later tonight. “I think they gave it to me on my last American tour.”
Clara stops, blinks hard
, and lets out a deep sigh.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, instantly concerned.
“It’s going to take some time to get used to hearing about things like your American tours.”
“I’ve only been on one,” I tell her, starting forward to keep us moving. “I think I was twelve. It’s a bit of a blur.”
“It suits you,” she says, an undeniable note of affection in her voice. “You look very American. No offense.”
“You’re American, so I’ll consider it a compliment,” I murmur. Jeans and trainers had felt like the easiest way to keep a low profile. I’d even go as far as to put sunglasses on under the cap. I start to apologize for my casual appearance when she tugs away and darts over to a shop stall.
Adrenaline rushes through my veins, pounding harder with each step it takes to close the new distance between us. The shopkeep says something to her, and I fight the urge to snap at him. Clara holds up a book and responds before putting it back on the table with a laugh.
As soon as I’m closer to her than he is, I relax a little. By the time she turns back to offer her hand again, I’ve rearranged my face into calm.
“I love Notting Hill, don’t you?” She asks with a sigh. “I’m always finding little treasures.”
I nod, gripping her hand more tightly so she won’t be able to let go of me so easily. I have never been to Notting Hill. I don’t admit this to Clara. I’ve driven through naturally. I’m aware of it, of course. There are plenty of places in London I’ve never actually visited. Given that I’m usually surrounded by a security team in public, I don’t adventure out often. Tonight, though, I find myself in the bustling neighborhood. There is something wonderfully ordinary about its streets. People move about, going to and from their lives.
And by some miracle, I’m managing to blend in.
“It is a little warm.” Clara presses a hand to her neck, and I see it’s slightly dewy. She points to an antique shop. “I should go in there. I need a lamp.”