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