There was a knock at the door, and Simeon was grateful for the distraction. He knew he wouldn’t have left of his own volition, so at the second quiet knock, he turned away abruptly and strode toward the door. He was always intoxicated by the view, but he kept his gaze straight ahead. Looking at it was a bad idea, anyway.
Simeon had had his assistant select several potential properties, but when he’d walked into this unit and seen the view, he’d known Claire would love it. That shouldn’t have mattered, but Simeon had bought it on the spot.
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself.
He had to admit, though, that the expression on her face when she’d first glimpsed the harbor might have been worth it. She’d always loved the water, and seeing her there, staring out into the harbor, had also felt right. That rightness was a part of what had him so wound up.
When he reached the door, he pulled it open.
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes. Your breakfast is here. May we enter?” the building’s concierge asked.
“Good morning. Yeah, come in. You can put it there,” he said, nodding toward the dining area.
The concierge nodded and then entered, followed by another member of the building’s staff who rolled in a heavily laden cart. After they’d wheeled the cart to the empty dining area, the two men left as quickly and efficiently as they had arrived.
And then Simeon waited.
He should go, should have been gone hours ago, but he stayed, waiting for Claire to wake.
A half hour later, he heard her stir, and then a few minutes after that, Claire emerged, again dressed in her demure skirt and blouse, her hair neatly arranged, though there was nothing she could do to dampen the glow in her cheeks, or the loose, easy way she walked.
One look at her and he would know how she’d spent her night, even if he hadn’t been a firsthand witness and eager, anxious participant.
“Morning, Simeon,” she said, smiling at him shyly.
He then returned the greeting and said, “Food is here.”
She seemed to notice the tray and then looked at him and back to it, her brows lifted with question, a slight, questioning frown on her face. She walked toward it, and when she reached the tray, she lifted one of the silver domes, laughed under her breath, and then looked up at him.
“You remembered I like oatmeal?” she asked.
As if he could forget. That she liked oatmeal, that her favorite color was purple, that she rarely bought anything that wasn’t on sale. As if he could forget anything about her.
He couldn’t say that, though, so he said nothing.
“There’s only one bowl,” she said. Then she looked to him again. “You still don’t eat breakfast?”
She grabbed the bowl and then inclined her head toward the love seat. At his nod, she padded over to it, her bare feet thumping softly against the floor. After she’d sat, she folded her left leg under her and looked to him.
“I can share,” she said, lifting he bowl toward him.
He shook his head, and after a moment, she began to eat.
No, Simeon almost never ate breakfast. It hadn’t been an option when he was growing up, and he hadn’t picked up the habit as an adult.
Actually, lack of breakfast was probably why he had done so well in school. He’d had perfect attendance, and had never, not once, missed a day. At least at school he could always count on lunch, and his body had gotten used to not being hungry until then. Claire had tried to encourage him to break that habit and would often prepare him elaborate meals, telling him how breakfast was important to start a day.
Stop this shit, Simeon! he scolded himself.
He glared at Claire, who seemed perfectly content as she ate her oatmeal.
How did she do this to him? Make him think of his past, of how she was the only good thing in it, with no effort at all?
He hated this, hated her for doing it to him.
“Finish your breakfast, Claire,” he said.
Claire looked up at him quickly and swallowed, her eyes wide. He stared back at her, and though he couldn’t see his own face, he knew her expression as intense. It couldn’t be anything else, not when he was fighting with his ever-present desire for her and trying to deny how deeply she moved him.
She set her bowl down and then met his eyes again. “I’m finished, Simeon,” she said.
Her voice had dropped low, deepened with sensual need, and as he watched her, he saw her eyes darken and noticed the way her breath came out faster.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Claire swallowed again and then stood and began to walk toward him. As she came toward him, her breasts moved under her prim white blouse, and Simeon realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. It was his turn to swallow as he watched her come toward him. His cock thickened, throbbing insistently against his pants, but he again drew on his patience and self-control and waited until she stood directly in front of him.
He wanted to kiss her, claim her lips and then her body, but he didn’t. If he kissed her, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep that self-control, and he didn’t know what the touch might reveal. Besides, a kiss meant something, was far too reminiscent of those earlier times when Claire had given him the only love he’d ever known. He couldn’t go back there, couldn’t let himself remember that.
So instead, he focused on the one thing he knew he could handle.
“Do you know what I want to do right now, Claire?” he asked.
She blinked, and a blush bloomed across her cheeks. She did know, and her face gave her away.
“You want to…you want to have sex,” she said.
Simeon lifted his hands and began working at the buttons of her blouse, not taking his eyes from hers.
“No,” he said, watching the subtle change to her expression as he opened more and more buttons on her blouse.
When he pulled it open and down her shoulders, she breathed out and then lowered her eyes. But not out of embarrassment. It was desire, pure and simple, that had her gaze dropping low. He saw the telltale signs, the way she darted her tongue in and out of her mouth to swipe her bottom lip. The ragged edge that came into her breath. And even if those hadn’t given her away, her tightly puckered nipples would have.
Simeon filled his hands with her soft tits and then stroked his thumbs across her nipples.
“What do I want to do, Claire?” he asked again.
She lifted her eyes to his again, and Simeon thought he might come on the spot when he saw the burning passion in her eyes.
“You want to fuck me,” she said.
She stumbled over the “fuck” as he had known she would. Claire almost never swore, and when she did, her lack of facility with the words always gave her away. Simeon dropped his hand to the hem of her skirt and then began to move his fingers her the silky skin of her soft thigh. He stopped, and his cock twitched, when he realized she wore no panties, her sex bare under the almost-severe black skirt.
Claire breathed a little harder and Simeon began to move again until his hand was pressed against her core. He slid a finger along her puffy lips and found them slick and wet. Claire didn’t swear, but she’d always gone off when Simeon had her say all the things he was going to do to her out loud.
Her soaking pussy told him that hadn’t changed.
Simeon worked his fingers against her slit as he whispered, “And what do you want to do now?”
She arched her back and moved closer to him, an answer of sorts, but not the one he sought. He wanted the words, and wouldn’t give either of them the release they sought until he had them.
“I want… I want you to fuck me,” she said, her voice thick and heavy with desire.
“Tell me how,” he said casually, though he wanted to bury himself so deep inside her he could barely keep himself still. But he held out, knowing that hearing her would be worth it, knowing that each moment he waited would only make their eventual coming together that much better.
She reached for him and cur
led her fingers against his chest. Then she lifted her eyes to his and met his gaze without wavering. As she stared at him, she moved her hands down his chest and wrapped her fingers around his cloth-covered erection.
“I want your cock in my pussy,” she said without stuttering.
Her blush deepened and her sex got even slicker, another sign of her desire, a desire that he decided he would fulfill.
“Take out my cock, Claire,” Simeon said, his own voice far rougher than hers.
He’d initiated this game, but he was rapidly losing control and was near a frenzy as he wrenched her skirt up around her waist, unwilling to take the time to bother with removing it from her body.
Claire’s own clumsy movements mirrored his desire as she worked at his belt buckle and hurriedly opened his pants. His breath hitched when Claire wrapped her fingers around his cock and pulled it from his pants. He looked down and at the sight of his shaft in Claire’s hand, Simeon hardened more and a clear pearl of precum leaked from the tip of his cockhead.
Simeon pushed her hand away and then wrapped his arms around her waist. When he lifted her, she hooked her legs around his hips almost automatically. Eyes locked with hers, he thrust his hips shallowly, teasing at her entrance first before he began to enter her.
He pushed slowly, letting her heat and wetness coat him inch by inch. When he was completely inside her, he paused and closed his eyes against the intensity of again being inside her. She shifted in his arms, and he opened his eyes to meet hers. Her face was twisted with pleasure and she gripped his shirt tight, the desperation in her hold and in the way she moved making him move.
Simeon turned so that Claire’s back was against the wall and then he thrust inside her over and over. All that he gave, she took, and then Claire put her arms around his shoulders and laid her face against his neck. Her warm breath blew against his skin and her tight pussy gripped his cock tight, and with each thrust, he knew he took her higher. He knew the exact moment that she reached her peak, and that feeling, together with the weight of Claire’s soft body in his arms, proved to be too much.
He came and emptied himself as he continued to thrust, feeling wild and free and alive in a way he only did with her. He continued to thrust as long as he could, not wanting to break the connection with her, wanting to hold it as long as he could. Minutes passed, and it was only when Claire began to lower her legs that Simeon let her go.
She lowered her feet to the floor and Simeon stepped back, missing the connection between them. And that was how he knew he had to go. He’d stayed too long already, and he wouldn’t risk staying another moment.
He looked her over from head to toe one last time, pausing on her face to take in her soft, satisfied expression.
“Be ready when I come back,” he said.
And though he wanted to hold her close, and never, ever let her go, he left.
14
Several weeks after she’d arrived, Claire sat in her favorite spot on the balcony watching the sun set. She heard the door open and close, and though her heart leaped, she didn’t move.
For an instant she allowed herself to hope that it was Simeon. It wouldn’t be, though. He only came to her at night, in the deep darkness, usually hours after she’d fallen asleep. He’d appear like something she’d conjured in a dream, take her to the absolute heights of passion, and then disappear. Some mornings when Claire woke, she could halfway convince herself that the previous night had been a dream, that she’d created some fantasy lover in her mind.
But her deliciously sore body and the crawling need that always thrummed through her proved that he had been real.
And with each passing day, her desire for him grew. She wanted him always, not just in the dead of night, but in the morning, the afternoon, the evening. Now. Always. She hadn’t seen him for nine years, and after a few weeks she thought she was going to crawl out of her skin with anticipation even though she’d only seen him, had him inside her body, hours before.
Seeing him, feeling his touch, had awakened her, but Simeon, cruel as he was, always left her wanting.
Still, every time the door opened, she had that moment’s anticipation that maybe it was him. She knew he never came here this early, and she knew today would be no different, but hoped. And as it always was, that hope was quickly dashed.
“Evening, Claire,” Alan called.
She stood and went inside the penthouse and watched Alan as he walked in.
The last morning Simeon had been there, he’d told her Alan would be downstairs should she need anything. Claire hadn’t gone anywhere the first day, but by the next, she’d been bored and anxious to get out, so she’d ventured downstairs, excited to get out and desperate for conversation. Silly because she’d only been there for a day or so then, but Claire loved to chat, so she didn’t do well without conversation, and even more, she’d needed a distraction from thinking about Simeon and when he might show up again.
At first, Claire had had him take her to the grocery store, and it had only been after she’d selected her items that she realized she had no money. Alan had produced a credit card and shoved it at her. Claire had been reluctant and bought only necessities, but the next day she’d gone out again, and in the intervening days, she’d bought a few items of clothing and a few other things, including furniture for the balcony. Claire ignored the fact that she was settling down here, losing sight of what had brought her here and what Simeon was holding over her head.
She tried to remind herself, fought to keep perspective, but that got increasingly difficult, and the easy friendship she had formed with Alan had only made her more comfortable here.
“Hey, Alan,” Claire said, smiling at her new friend. “Were we supposed to go out today?”
She didn’t remember, but then again, she was so twisted up from wishing for Simeon she wasn’t sure if she would have.
“No. I have a special delivery,” Alan said.
It was then that Claire noticed the three large bags he carried.
“What’s in those?” she asked, staring at the bags and then back to Alan before looking back at the bags.
They were black with thick red handles and a discreetly inscribed name that she didn’t recognize. Her curiosity was piqued by what could’ve been in them and she was more excited than she could admit by this slight recognition that Simeon had been thinking of her.
Alan shrugged, reminding Claire that she wasn’t alone. “Didn’t open them,” he said.
“But where did they come from?” she asked.
Alan shrugged again, and if Claire didn’t know better, she would have said he blushed. And Alan didn’t look like the type to blush easily.
“Don’t know,” he finally said.
“Okay,” Claire replied. Then she paused, considering her next question carefully before she decided to confront it head-on. “Does he do this a lot?” she asked.
Alan frowned and then Claire began to backtrack.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put you on the spot,” she said quickly. “Just forget I said anything.”
She should have kept her mouth closed, but the question had been clawing at Claire’s mind. Claire wasn’t jealous, or at least she hadn’t thought she was jealous, but as the days had passed, she couldn’t shake the idea that maybe Simeon had women stashed all over Boston, maybe the whole country, the world, and she was just a diversion.
That hadn’t felt right. The intensity of his passion, his anger, had to mean something, but since the man himself hadn’t bothered to make an appearance that lasted long enough for her to ask any questions, Claire hadn’t had a chance to talk to him. Still, it was rude to put Alan in that position, whether Simeon’s behavior was crazy-making or not.
“I’m surprised. Not often that ladies like you noticed people like me, let alone care about putting us on the spot,” Alan said.
“‘Ladies like me?’ What does that mean?” Claire said flatly, about to go on the defensive.
“Come on, Clair
e. I can see clear as day that you are a certain type, not accustomed to rubbing elbows with the likes of me,” he said.
“Is that what Simeon told you about me? That I’m some kind of rich girl or something?” Claire asked, barely able to speak the stupid nickname without choking on her anger.
Alan shrugged. “He didn’t tell me anything about you but your name and where to pick you up. But I can see what kind of lady you are with my own eyes.”
Claire didn’t bother to try to hide how much his words annoyed her. “Well, I’ll have you know, just like I’ve told Simeon and everyone else who bothers to ask, whatever you might think of me, however I might look, my life has not been easy, and everything I have I’ve worked for,” she said.
She lifted her head quickly, and then lowered it, for some reason thinking of the way Simeon had always laughed when she’d done that. He’d said she looked regal, like a queen preparing to behead a subject for some offense or another, but she’d never liked that. She was just like everyone else, and she’d hated giving Simeon ammunition for his image of her as a haughty rich girl.
“Sorry, Claire. I don’t mean to offend you. I’m just pointing out what I see.”
“So what do you see?”
“Claire,” Alan said, expression softening, “you’re a nice girl, kind. And he’s different with you around. Just take care of yourself, okay?”
After a moment, Claire nodded grudgingly.
Alan did the same and then carried the black bags to the dining area.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.
“Okay,” she replied.
He gave her one last look and then exited the penthouse, and it was only after he’d gone that Claire realized he hadn’t answered her question.
Not that she blamed him. Simeon had probably threatened him with firing or worse if he answered any of Claire’s questions, and she knew most people wouldn’t have gone beyond their jobs and been as nice to her as Alan had, so Claire decided she wouldn’t make trouble for him.
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