Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Claire
The door opens and it wakes me up. My eyes catch Seth walking in, holding something. I reach my arms and stretch my muscles, the room much warmer than last night. Plus, the personal heater known as Seth definitely made me more comfortable.
“Morning. I know you’re looking for caffeine, but I knew there were fresh oranges. So, how about mimosas?” He asks while holding the wine from the chiller—almost a full bottle from dinner.
A cappuccino may be my drink of choice, but a mimosa is a close second. “I’ll allow it,” I say, getting out of bed and taking care of myself in the bathroom.
I’m washing my hands after brushing my teeth, and I pause when I see my reflection.
My skin looks like it’s glowing, the break from wearing makeup has been kind of nice.
I’m the kind of person who wears makeup because I love doing it, but it’s not something I’ve missed the last few days.
Also, the way Seth looked at me? Made me feel better than any night I’d been out with a full face of makeup on.
I use my travel size bottle of moisturizer, following one of the morning routines I’m thankful I’ve been able to keep on this weird trip.
Opening the container that holds my pills when I travel, I take my last Prozac and a little jolt of worry hits me.
I always bring a few extra, but after this, maybe I start carrying a full week’s worth.
Walking out, I hold the teal and blue capsule, looking for my water bottle. Now, I’d be lying if I said I’d never taken my med with a mimosa but having a swig of water feels like a better start. It’s about balance—one of the best things a therapist has ever told me.
“I’d like to try and get home because this is my last one,” I say, tossing it in my mouth, and chasing it with some water.
“What is it?” Seth asks, pouring fresh orange juice in the flutes.
“I’m a member of the Prozac club.” I put my hand up, trying to show him that it doesn’t bother me to talk about.
“You should be okay if you miss one. Or if it’s late. It’s a delayed release.” He pours the bubbly into the glass and again, he surprises me. When I don’t say anything, but my eyebrows push into my forehead, he continues. “I was part of the same club for a few years.” He offers me a flute, smiling.
“I swear, you’re unlike any man I’ve ever met.” I lift my drink and he clinks his glass to mine.
Therapy. Meds. Coping mechanisms. Seth seems to be a walking green flag—and it’s greener because he put the work in.
“I did plug in your laptop and your charging bank while we have power. Chatted with Jess this morning and she says the generators are off and the power’s on for now.”
I take a drink, the mimosa a perfect blend of the sweet, fresh citrus and the sharp bubbles. I’m afraid I’m going to give this man a complex with too many compliments.
“And we can do some laundry. I figure we could at least wash the crew necks we lived in yesterday, with anything else that could be washed together.” He suggests something so simple, yet why is it that I’m turned on as this man talks about laundry?
Seth zips open his suitcase and starts pulling out the things he’d like to wash. When he pulls out a tie, he hangs it on the back of a chair. I’m painfully aware that I’m still wearing my lingerie, a black shirt over it, but my nipples tingle like they’re itching to be touched.
He looks up at me, just for a second, before standing with his hands on his hips. “What’s that look for?”
Oh, you know, just turned on by you talking about laundry. Or wearing a tie. Or using a tie. These are the thoughts I have but refuse to share. Instead, I say, “No look.”
I do my best to keep my face as normal as possible, taking another drink.
“Your cheeks are all pink. What is it?” He tries to coax the answer.
Trying to laugh it off, my eyes fall on the tie, for just a second, and he clocks it. His eyes land on the tie, before he crosses his arms and looks at me.
“Ohhhh. Okay. It’s the tie.” He picks up the fabric, wearing a smirk that’s making me wet, and runs it through his fingers. The tie is black satin and I know it’s soft in his hands.
I set the flute down and say, “It’s only a tie. And, no look.” I wave a hand in front of my face before crossing my arms.
He walks closer, knowing I’m not telling the truth, wearing that greedy smirk. My legs want to buckle, get down in front of him, but I force myself to stand.
“What could I do with this tie?” he questions, but sounds like it’s only for him to think about. “I could tie your hands together. Use the frame of the bed. Not let you touch anything.” He’s in front of me, pulling the tie around my shoulders—my arms still crossed.
He takes one of the ends and rubs it along my jaw, before putting his fingers under my chin and tipping my face up to his.
“Or I could blindfold you.” His words fall down my skin, and my breasts are heavy, knowing he’s only a lean away.
I can’t help but bite my lip at the suggestion. Because I want all of it.
“You just gave yourself away. Biting that lip.” His mouth is close to mine and before I can argue, or lie and tell him he’s wrong, he puts a full kiss to my mouth. He tastes me and I open for him, wanting him to take all that he wants. Give me all I need.
“Turn.” Seth’s voice is rough and pointed.
There’s nothing to do but follow directions. So I turn, my ass pushing into his hips. The tie comes up and he places it over my eyes, tying it behind my head. The thick fabric steals my vision and there’s a sort of thrill of not being able to see what happens next.
My awareness for Seth is through the roof. It’s like all of the details, every clue, is amplified. When he finally stops moving around me, his lips find my ear lobe, nipping it as he growls, “Arms. Up.”
I lift my arms and Seth grabs the bottom of my lingerie. Slowly, he pulls it up over my head, each inch of my skin becoming bare to him. The only thing left on my body is his tie and my black lacy thong.
I hear the sound of him folding my clothes, most likely setting them somewhere, but I don’t move. When I feel him close to me, I itch to wrap my arms around him, pull him closer.
I shiver when I feel his finger tips graze the side of my ass to the front of my hip. He pushes his length against me and it takes everything I have to not bend over and ask him to fuck me.
“You’ve got a thing for lace, huh? You probably like the way it rubs on your skin.” He takes a hand, and rubs down my center, over the fabric.
I answer with a simple, “Yes.” My knees want to wobble and fail me but I lean backwards into him, giving a little more access to my front.
“Are these panties dry? Tell me what I’ll find if I check.”
He emphasizes the word “if” and I bite back a moan. I can’t imagine him not touching me.
“They’re wet.” My words are clipped and have me begging for breath.
“Are you soaking through for me, baby?” he croons. “Tell me.”
I swallow past the needy lump in my throat and do my best to answer. “Yes. I know I’m—soaking wet. Waiting for you.”
“You think you can be patient?” His words are quick to meet my answer.
“Yes,” I lie.
“Let’s get you on the bed,” he says while guiding me. The front of my legs hit the mattress, then he turns me and pushes me back.
Suddenly he’s gone. I feel him moving around the room; hear him, but he’s not touching me. I’m aching for him; even though I said I could be patient, I don’t know if I can.
My stomach contracts at his absence, the burning in my core scorching—that’s what he does to me.
“Scoot back,” he says. I move until my head hits the pillow.
I feel him press into the bed, hear the sounds of the mattress giving way. He carefully hooks a pinky at my entrance, feeling my panties for himself.
“Oh, Claire. I think we can do better than this.”
I expect him to take my panties off. Touch me with his fingers. His mouth.
Instead, it’s a jolt that I’ve never felt before. One which sends my shoulders up and off the pillows, leaning forward, before falling back into the bed.
It’s something cold, wet, leaving a trail as he moves it up the inside of my thigh.
An ice cube.
Seth moves up my body, the ice in his fingers, away from my skin.
He takes a nipple in his mouth, nipping it, rolling his tongue.
The warmth of his lips is quickly replaced with the ice cube and a whine falls from my mouth.
Part of me wants to pull the blindfold off, watch him tease me with fire and ice, and the other wants me to beg him to keep going.
Moving to my other breast, he starts with the ice, swirling it on my skin until it’s almost numb. Over and over. He licks around the ice cube, lapping up the wetness. The soothing of his mouth, followed by the chill of the ice, is inching me closer and closer.
Then he’s gone. His mouth. The ice cube. Nowhere to be found. My panting breath fills the space, and just when I’m about to ask where he went, he puts the ice cube on my clit.