by Colet Abedi
“I’m sorry, Miss Walker. You will remain here until Mr. Sinclair returns. Those are my orders.”
“I don’t work for Mr. Sinclair so I don’t have to follow his orders,” I tell him.
Sergei acts as if he doesn’t hear me.
Before I start having a panic attack I sit down on one of the purple couches that faces Sergei and take a few deep breaths. We can hear the party in full swing outside and the ridiculousness of this situation is not lost on me. Fortunately, I don’t have to wait long. In a minute Clayton opens the door and steps into the room. Sergei nods to his boss and leaves us alone, taking my phone with him. I stand up and stare at Clayton.
I search his face and body for any sign of injuries and I’m thankful he’s unharmed. His blue eyes beam at me with a heat that robs me of my breath.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Clearly he is.
“Is Davis—”
“Don’t. Say. His. Name,” he says harshly. “He’s been taken care of.”
Taken care of? What does that mean? Do I really even care? Only for Clayton and Michael. I don’t want anything to happen to them because of me. That would suck.
And then the impact of everything that’s occurred this evening hits me. From our fight about Erik’s stupid comment, which nows seems like it happened a million years ago, to the women outside the bathroom talking about Clayton’s mad sex skills, to disgusting Davis.
All in one night. In less than a motherfucking hour. Who knew?
“Sophie.”
I look at him and I’m trying my hardest to keep it together. I so don’t want to cry right now. I wonder if I’m cursed.
“Clayton,” my voice sounds hoarse.
“Come here.”
At least ten feet of purple and gold carpet separates us. I look at him and know exactly what it will mean if I cross the distance and walk over. I think about the consequence for half a second then slowly make my way to him. I stop just short of a foot from him and our eyes meet.
“I want to hurt Davis again for even daring to put his hands on you.”
Again? Oh God. Is Clayton going to jail for me?
“You didn’t—”
“Kill him?” Clayton says harshly. “No. But I wish I had. Michael stopped me. Michael and security have thrown him out.”
“You didn’t have to throw—” I begin to say.
“Didn’t I?” he interrupts me. “I keep telling you that you’re mine,” he says passionately. “I won’t let anyone ever hurt you.”
My heart thumps loudly in my chest as we stare at each other. The energy between us is electrifying. The tension, palpable.
He reaches out and buries his hand in my ponytail as he steps close to me. He pulls my head back so I have to look up at him. His eyes dance with fire and all I can think about is how badly I want him to touch me.
“You’re mine, Sophie,” he commands. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I tell him immediately, because it’s true. At least for now.
I see a glimpse of satisfaction on his face before he crushes his mouth to mine and I welcome the assault gladly. His tongue sweeps into my mouth and claims complete ownership.
I. Am. His.
My words only solidified what my body and soul already know. I wrap my arms around his neck and he pulls me up toward his body. Instantly my legs encircle his waist as he grinds his pelvis into mine.
He wants me. And I want him.
He tears his mouth away from mine and licks his way down my neck as his hands move under my dress to grip my bare bottom. I moan in response. I missed him. I missed the touch of his skin on mine.
“I need you,” he whispers against my neck.
“I need you, too.”
“Now, Sophie,” he says roughly as he pulls away and looks down at my face.
My answer is to kiss him back and pull that magnificent mouth of his back to mine. His hands, those hands that the women at the party seem to fantasize about push my lace panties aside as he walks with me and pushes me up against the wall. His fingers work their magic, stroking me, and in seconds I’m dying with need and about to come. I grab his muscled shoulders, his hair, anything that I can touch as he makes me wild with desire. It feels like it was an eternity since the last time he touched me.
“Clayton,” I beg.
I feel him unzip his pants and I can’t wait any longer. I want him so bad, so deep inside me that I think I will scream if it doesn’t happen. He rubs himself against me, teasing me, making me moan out for a satisfaction that only he can give. And then he whispers into my mouth.
“What do you want, baby?”
“I. Want. You.”
He doesn’t make me wait. He thrusts into me and we both moan at the same time from the pleasure of it.
“God, I missed you,” he pants into my ear.
I lick his neck, his jaw, any part of his skin that I can get hold of as I revel in the feel of him inside me. Desperate for what is to come. What only he can give me. I feel every sensation. Every part of his body that touches mine heightens my pleasure. It’s him. He is my heroin. He’s my addiction. Everything about him turns me on.
He starts to move with a fierce intensity, pushing me up against the wall as his thick shaft thrusts so far inside me that I think I might die from the sweet torture.
His hands grip my hips as he moves, teasing me with his fullness before he increases the tempo and I begin to feel like I’m about to come apart.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper against his neck. How many nights had I dreamt of this moment? How many nights had I wanted him so badly that I thought I couldn’t live from the pain of thinking it would never happen again?
This man is my sweet heaven and hell. All combined in one breathtaking package. He grinds into me and I scream out as my orgasm bursts through my body. I try to hold back my cry and bury my head into his neck to muffle the sounds I’m making. “Clayton.”
He throws his head back as he comes and I feel his body tremble into mine. We stay like this for a while. Plastered against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist, him still inside. Our breath is shallow. He buries his face in my neck and I bury mine in his. I love the way our bodies fit each other, and the way this man makes me feel, and I silently thank god for bringing him back into my life.
“I could stay like this forever,” he tells me.
“Me, too.”
But all good things must come to an end.
He rubs his cheek against mine then slowly pulls out and we quickly clean up. I pull my hair out of my now destroyed ponytail and run my fingers through it. I’m surprised when he stands in front of me and pushes my hands away and begins to do it himself.
I stare up at the intense look on his face and wonder what he’s thinking. A second later I realize that I actually asked the question out loud.
He kisses me on the lips very tenderly.
“It would scare you.”
“Try me.”
His large hands cup my cheeks as he sapphire gaze burns into mine.
“I’m not going to let you go.”
A girl can dream.
I keep my head down and blush past Sergei. I wonder if he knows what we just did. God, how embarrassing. We walk into the main hall where we entered the party, and as luck goes, we run right into Jane. All things considered, I really shouldn’t be that surprised. Although I must say, the look on her face is priceless. She’s shocked to see me. Like mouth hanging open shocked. Her eyes linger on our entwined hands and I can tell she’s pissed.
I’m not going to lie, this makes me happy. Very happy.
“Hi Jane,” I say politely. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
I wonder if I’ll be struck by lightning.
“Sophie, was it?”
As if she doesn’t remember my name.
“You remember Sophie, Jane,” Clayton says forcefully.
Jane plasters a fake smile on her fa
ce and brushes back her blonde hair.
“I remember now.”
“Are Elizabeth and Eduard with you?” Clayton asks coolly.
“Somewhere here,” Jane says, unaffected by his frigid voice, then pins her gaze to me. “So you’re the Sophie that Abby hired as help for her wedding.”
God this woman is a bitch.
“Yes, I am,” I tell her evenly. “I’m painting her portrait.”
Jane gives me a catty smile. “So you’re not attending the wedding with the family.”
“She is,” Clayton interjects. “Sophie is my date.”
I am? I watch as the color leaves Jane’s face and along with a feeling of satisfaction, I find myself getting really nervous that Clayton would say that without asking me about it first.
We would be together in front of his family. I’d meet them. His mom and dad. The thought of it makes me nauseated and excited at the same time.
“How nice,” Jane grits out. “If you’ll excuse me—”
She starts to walk away then stops as if she remembers something and looks over at Clayton. Her smile is sugar sweet.
“Have you spoken to Amelia?”
My heart rate speeds up and I find myself gripping Clayton’s hand tighter.
“Why would I?” He seems unaffected by her insinuation.
“I thought you two were back on,” Jane says innocently. “You know, she is my plus one.”
Motherfucker. Amelia’s coming? Or worse, is she already here?
“Amelia and I aren’t together anymore,” Clayton tells her in an icy voice. “I don’t know where she is or what she does, nor frankly, do I care. You’ll do well to remember that, Jane.”
She shrugs her shoulders, ignoring his cool demeanor. “Come on, Clayton,” Jane digs in. “She’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had. Of course you care.”
And with that she walks away.
I hate the bitch. If Jane had a theme song it would be the same one the Wicked Witch of the West had.
“Sophie.”
I look up at Clayton and try to play it cool. Like awful Jane had zero effect on me.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I will have Abby tell Jane that Amelia is not welcome.”
I’m momentarily stunned that he would do this for me. That he cares so much about my feelings makes my decision easier.
“No,” I say shaking my head. “Please don’t. She’s Jane’s plus one. They are friends. It’s completely fine. Amelia means nothing.”
I lift my chin confidently and meet his gaze.
After a second of analyzing my face to see if I’m telling the truth, he finally smiles.
“You’re right. She doesn’t,” he says.
I’m proud of myself. Not just because I didn’t roll into a fetal position and curse the gods for my fate but because it’s how I actually feel. I can sense his gaze move over me appreciatively and I’m shocked at how bad I want him again. I want to be alone with him and feel his naked skin against mine. Just us.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.
He’s definitely a mind reader.
8
I’m acutely aware that I’m in Clayton’s bedroom.
And that we’re all alone.
It’s funny how last night I was perfectly at ease here. But now that he’s taking up practically all the space in the room, it’s a completely different story. And even though we were just intimate in Georgie’s house, during a party no less, I suddenly feel like a born-again virgin.
There’s one light on next to the bed and someone from Clayton’s staff lit the giant fireplace. My gaze is drawn to the plush rug in front of the roaring fire that looks inviting and extremely romantic.
Besides the occasional crackle it’s dead silent, as was our car ride home. Sergei had given me my phone back and I used it to text goodbye to Erik and Orie; Clayton didn’t want us to do it in person since he was sure someone would try to convince us to stay. Thankfully, we left unnoticed.
“Can I have something brought up?” Clayton asks politely as he takes off his jacket and throws it on one of the chairs. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head as I take in his appearance. Without the jacket on I get to see the outline of his chest so much more clearly. God almighty, he’s built so perfectly. It’s almost unfair to have so much of a good thing going for you. He unbuttons the top few buttons, exposing a part of his tan chest. My mouth waters. Literally. Waters.
I’ve never seen anything sexier.
And then the earth moves in slow motion and I see him. I really see him. I watch how he lowers his head, I take in the straight line of his jaw, the sensual curve of his lips, and something switches inside and a crazy kind of boldness takes over.
“Don’t,” I tell him in a surprisingly strong voice.
He looks almost startled as he meets my gaze.
“I want to,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything. But then he really doesn’t have to because I can read him so well.
His eyes light up with desire and I try not to fidget under the intensity I see. He stands perfectly still as I embrace the alter ego I never knew I had until now, Slutty Sophie.
I reach behind my neck and grab hold of my zipper and slowly pull it down, all while keeping my gaze firmly locked on Clayton’s. I step out of the dress easily and stand before him in my heels, wearing nothing but a black lace thong and bra. My confidence soars when I see his reaction. The way he’s watching me makes me feel like a sex goddess. And so I continue. I slowly slink down my bra straps, with one thing in mind; all I want is to have this gorgeous man begging to have me.
My bra hits the floor and instead of being embarrassed or shy, I feel more empowered. He takes a step forward, staggers almost, and I put up my hand and shake my head.
“No.”
Those beautiful blue eyes of his move over my body and linger on my breasts before meeting my gaze again. His look is feral. Animalistic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this before. Not even in the Maldives. I walk toward him in a way I’ve seen women do in countless sexy movies I’ve watched. I think I’m doing a pretty good job because his mouth is half open and I can see the deep breaths he’s taking, I know, to stay in control. When I’m only inches away he tries to reach out and take hold of my hip but I step just out of his reach.
“No touching until I tell you,” I command.
My words unleash something raw in him. Barely contained. I know he’s going to have a hard time. This hot, gorgeous man of mine who always has to be the one in the driver’s seat, the one calling all the shots, now has to try to restrain the caveman in him. I see his hands clench and unclench at his sides as he takes another deep breath, all while keeping his enigmatic eyes pinned to mine.
I reach out and start to unbutton his shirt. I take my time, because with each button comes an extra slice of skin that I get to touch. Skin that I’ve been dreaming about for a month now. He feels incredible. Hot, so hot and so damn appealing. I feel like a sex-starved addict. Like I’ve been waiting all my life, when it really hasn’t been that long. I continue until it is completely open, then I slowly push the offending material off his shoulders, exposing those muscular arms and letting my hands move over his well-defined chest. I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t delusional when I imagined his body back home. It is perfect. Droolworthy perfect.
I hear a hiss of breath as he tries to remain still. It only fuels my fire, giving me more power. I run my hands over his body, lightly caressing every inch of skin, memorizing every line, moving closer to inhale his smell. My hands move to his pants and I unhook them and pull down the zipper. I rub him slowly, intentionally trying to drive him mad, the way he’s done to me so many times. I place a soft kiss on his stomach before I am brave enough to look up at him.
His face is etched with desire, his eyes a smoky blue. I know he is teetering on the edge, barely able to restrain himself, just waiting to unl
eash on me. I can feel this all around me. I pull his pants down and run my hands over his butt, the sides of his thighs to his calves, silently worshipping every magnificent part of Clayton Astor Sinclair. And then I make my way back to his shaft and rub my hands along the length of him.
“Sophie,” he whispers.
I don’t respond. I just rub my tongue along the tip before I move my mouth over him. I don’t know who I am or what’s come over me. I just go with it because I suddenly feel like a porn star, like I was born to do this. I take him deeper, work him with my hands then run them over his legs, over his ass. His hands suddenly reach down to grip my hair and he lifts me in one fluid motion then he picks me up and practically throws me on the bed.
I try to kick off my heels.
“No,” he says roughly. “Keep them on.”
Fuck.
My legs come up as I lean back on my elbows and look at him. Holy mother of god, he’s magnificent. I throw my hair to the side and know my eyes are bright with desire as they stare up at him. His hands now roam possessively over my body.
“You want to play, Sophie?”
My chest heaves before I move my high-heeled leg up a bit higher and stare at him, silently answering. Before I know it, he grabs my ankles and pulls me down toward the foot of the bed and rips off my thong. In less than ten seconds his mouth is between my legs and his hands are holding my bottom, pulling me closer to him as he strokes me. My hands grab hold of the sheets and I try to hold off the tremor that is about to come over my body.
“Clayton,” I whisper with longing.
He bites my inner thigh and licks it.
“You want to play?” he asks again before he resumes, and licks me until I’m shaking with an explosive orgasm.
He moves up and takes my breasts in his mouth as his hands continue to rub me. I can’t even think straight. I just want him inside me. Now. I want to feel him so fully embedded in me, like he was born to be there.
And at this moment I really think he was.
“Please,” I say to him.
He moves above me quickly, robbing me of his magical hands, his mouth now whispering against my lips, the tip of his shaft brushing against me ever so slowly, like he’s about to plunge in, but then drawing back.