5. Claire
5
CLAIRE
T hen.
Every time Riley Ransom fucks me, it’s like it’s the last time.
When the rest of the staff goes home for the night, we rut like animals in the stables.
My nose fills with the sweet scent of horse and hay and Riley’s sweat—that hard, masculine scent—and I tuck into his chest to inhale more of it and stifle my moans.
He has me pinned up against the wooden stable wall. The straps of my dress have fallen down my shoulders, my breasts bouncing in clipped stutters against his chest.
I grip his shoulders and lick the shine from the wiry muscles on his neck. He tastes like salt and grit.
Sex with Riley Ransom is filthy, and I’m obsessed with it.
The only thing that’s clean about me is the bottom of my feet. They haven’t touched the ground. Ransom won’t let them.
Not his princess.
His arms are tucked around my rear, cradling me tight against him. My pleasure builds, fast and hot, until it bursts like a moonflower on a full moon. I cry out as my orgasm hits me, but he doesn’t stop.
I whimper. “Fuck, Ransom…”
“Nuh-uh, princess. I ain’t done with you.”
He pounds me so hard it hurts.
I feel each thrust in my bones. In the roots of my teeth. And I love every second of it.
Because Riley Ransom is the only person in Belleflower who doesn’t treat me like a precious glass figurine.
Ransom treats me like I belong to him.
Over the past six months of sneaking around for quickies in the stables, I’ve become addicted to being his.
His moan is hot against my ear, his breath puffing at my hair. I match his roughness and nuzzle the cloth handkerchief around his neck until I find the heat of bare skin. I sink my teeth in, sucking and pulling the skin there. I squeeze my legs tightly around his hips as he pushes inside of me, as deeply as he can, and finally goes still, emptying himself. I close my eyes, savoring the fullness of his heat.
We catch our breath, panting together, gentle with each other now that our rough passion has burst. I nuzzle my nose to his.
“I like this,” I tell him. I use my fingertips to readjust the blue handkerchief around his neck. “You look like a real cowboy.”
He grunts on a laugh. “Try it on.”
I take his invitation. I unhook the knot and move the bandana to my throat, tying it in the back. “What do you think?”
“You look like a real cowgirl.”
“I am a real cowgirl.”
He tilts his head. The bite I left from earlier is already purpling. “I had to wear something to hide your vampire marks.”
“Aw.” I protrude my bottom lip dramatically. “Poor baby. Where does it hurt?”
“Why, you gonna kiss it better? Or just gonna bite harder?”
I grin widely, showing off my teeth.
Riling up Ransom is my favorite activity. He gives as good as he gets, and nothing turns me on more than the push-and-push of our competitive natures.
But every now and then, I give. Just a little.
I tilt in so our noses touch. “I’m going to miss fucking you in the stables,” I murmur.
I feel his grin on my lips. “Imagine how good it’s going to feel in a bed.”
“In a Parisian bed. Silk sheets.” I kiss his lips. “Warm, fluffy croissants for breakfast.” I nibble the scruff on his jaw. “Champagne with freshly picked berries at the bottom.” I trace the bulge of his Adam’s apple with the tip of my tongue.
He moans and starts to swell again inside of me.
“Quit it.”
I nip his lip. “Quit what?”
“You know what you’re doing, woman.”
Princess when he adores me. Woman when I’m being a pain in his ass. Pain in his balls. Pain in his throat.
I still haven’t decided which term of endearment I like more .
I grin. He growls and kisses me—hard, playful kisses all over my face—until I’m squeaking with laughter.
We’re interrupted when the house bell strikes. Three times. A loud, vibrating gong that you can hear miles out.
My good mood deflates, the knowledge of what comes next sharpening. Anxiety rustles around in my chest like a squirrel in a pile of autumn leaves.
“Daddy’s calling,” Ransom says.
“I have to go. Put me down.”
“One more for the road.”
He grips my hips and gives me a sudden, rough thrust that makes me gasp. I’m still floating on the unexpected bolt of pleasure when he finally pulls out of me. He lowers me down gently back into my flats, one foot at a time, so my toes don’t touch the dirt below us.
As I readjust my underwear over my hips and Ransom fixes his belt, I start to drill him. Because Ransom—God love him—can be thick as a bolder sometimes.
“Are you packed?” I ask.
“Since Wednesday.”
“With your passport?”
“Yep.”
“And you know to be ready?—”
Ransom cups the back of my head and pulls me in close.
“Eleven fifteen,” he recites. “Round the back of the main house. You and I will jump in a car to take us to the airport. Get checked in with time to kill, and then we’ll be wheels up and Paris-bound and leave Belleflower in our rearview. No looking back.”
He strokes a stray strand of blonde hair back with his thumb, those chestnut eyes looking down at me. “How’d I do?”
The anxiety squirrel morphs into butterflies. “Perfect. ”
I remove the handkerchief from my throat and put it back around his. I adjust it to hide my bite marks and tuck it into his shirt.
I like putting my man back together as much as I like making him fall apart.
He crushes my mouth in a kiss, and it becomes harder and harder to leave him.
Soon, we won’t have to sneak around, stealing kisses like criminals.
Once I’m out from my father’s tight grip, we’ll be free to be ourselves . New country. New city. New us.
I lower back onto my heels and force myself to step back. “See you tonight.”
“See you.”
As I pull away, his hands slide down my arms, over my wrists, until only our fingertips are touching.
“Love you, Bear,” he says.
I will never get tired of hearing that.
“Love you more.”
Before it becomes officially impossible to extract myself from him, I break our link. I bunch up the bottom of my dress, and the tall grass tickles my calves as I quickly climb the distance between the stables and the main house. With each step closer, the tightness in my chest starts to return.
I’m not sure when my home began to feel like a prison. I’m sure I had good memories here. Didn’t Daddy teach me to ride a horse? Or ride a bike? There’s no tire swing in our front yard. No hints of a carefree childhood to hold on to. If I have happy memories, they’re buried somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, or they’re frames stolen from sappy movies and lines from romantic books with happy endings.
Now, every time I pass the tall Grecian columns in the entranceway, my heart gallops with anxiety .
I’m twenty-four years old. I’m a grown, capable woman.
I shouldn’t be sneaking around like a besotted teenager.
But that’s the type of fear my father instills.
The doorman stands at the doorway in his suit, hands folded in front of him. I greet him, but he dutifully ignores me. The bottoms of my shoes have gathered mud, so I leave them in the foyer. There’s a small oval mirror hanging above a carved oak table. I rake my fingers through my hair and shake out straw. Daddy doesn’t like my hair tied back, but he likes it even less when it’s messy, so I remove the thin band from around my wrist and pull it back.
I see a woman in the mirror I barely recognize anymore. Small, upturned nose. A forehead slightly too large for my face. Eyes that shift from gray to blue depending on the light. But the most unique feature about me is the two front teeth that sit forward in my mouth, separated by a thin gap. After being not-to-affectionally dubbed “bunny” one too many times, I’ve learned to conceal my teeth with rosy lips that protrude into a permanent pout.
Lips that, moments ago, were laughing and kissing now look like they haven’t smiled in a decade. The house casts a shadow of gloom over every one of my features.
“Claire. Is that you?”
His deep, booming voice sends a stab of dread in my chest.
“Yes, Daddy.”
I cross the foyer and step into the adjoining dining room. The table has already been set, and my father’s plate sits in front of him. The first thing anyone notices about my father is his eyebrows. He has thick, long hair and a gray beard, but his eyebrows are the star of the show. These thick, bushy cloud wisps above his eyes that seem constantly twisted in disappointment .
“You’re late,” he says.
The maid pulls out the chair beside him. I take the seat and remain still as she unfolds my napkin and drapes it over my lap. “I was brushing Calypso,” I lie.
“We have people for that.”
“It’s a bonding technique. The more in sync we are in the stables, the more in sync we’ll be on the showgrounds.”
Daddy’s mouth twists in a frown. His plate holds a serving of roasted duck with candied carrots, onions, and sweet potatoes, along with a dinner roll and as assortment of leafy greens plucked from the garden. His knife clicks against the plate as he rips into his duck.
“We need to talk,” he says.
He knows . It hits me like an arrow, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. He knows, he saw the charge on his credit card, he’s canceled my flight, he ? —
“Your performance at the Cantier was less than perfect.”
I blink. “Calypso and I received the highest score.”
“Do you judge your worth on the failures of others?”
My jaw tightens. “No, but?—”
He cuts in, his voice sharp. “You and I both know you could do better. Your form was sloppy. You slouched. What are you doing for core work?”
Getting fucked religiously by Riley Ransom .
“I’m seeing Nina.”
“The Pilates instructor?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Three times a week.”
“Make it five.” The twin doors open from the kitchen. The server steps in with my plate. My anxiety turned my stomach to knots before, but now—maybe from my previous nightly Pilates —I’m feeling famished, and the crisp skin on the duck makes my stomach pinch.
Just as he’s about to set the plate in front of me, however, my father gestures with his knife.
“No need. Take her plate away. Thank you.”
Fury rises into my cheeks. The server hovers, unsure, but knows better than to disobey and so, slowly, starts to back away.
I stand abruptly. “If I’m not eating, I won’t sit here.”
Daddy looks up at me, his gaze flat. There’s a shiny piece of duck in his mustache. “Then ask.”
My molars grind. “May I be dismissed?”
“You may.”
As I start to back away from the table, I suddenly feel as though a string is attached to my palms, pulling me back.
This could very well be the last time I see my father.
If I don’t tell him now…I never will.
That knowledge summons up a new courage into my chest. I turn and look square at my father. “Daddy?”
“Hm?” He’s already turned his gaze away from me, digging back into his food.
I find my gaze examining him studiously, the way he examines me. I size up the bald patch on the back of his head. The wisps of white hair growing from his ears. The deep valleys of creases along his forehead.
This man loved me once, didn’t he?
Did something change in me to make him love me less?
Or did something change in him?
I press my lips together. “You aren’t perfect either,” I state. “But that never stopped me from loving you. I just wish you’d do the same for me.”
He pauses the motion of his fork and knife. His gaze hits me. There’s a ghost of something in his gray eyes. A whisper of regret, maybe?
Or perhaps he’s just stunned that his precious puppet spoke out of turn.
It’s none of my business anymore. I’m done waiting for him to grow a heart.
The poor server is still hovering, so I take advantage and pluck the dinner roll from my plate. I stick it in my mouth, swivel out of the dining room, and quickly scale the steps. When I make it to my room, my blood is prickling with a new kind of heat. The second I’m inside, I text Ransom.
[text:] One hour, cowboy
He sends back a thumbs-up.
I pull my suitcase out from under my bed. As I check to make sure I have my passport and the boarding passes, I munch on the dinner roll—even plain, it tastes like sweet victory.
Twenty minutes till, I call the car service and confirm that they have a car scheduled. I perch at my window, the blinds peeled back just enough, and stare down the long, dark road.
Fireflies twinkle by the fence. For the first time, my heart lurches.
I’m going to miss this place .
As much as I hate it, Belleflower is home.
But I need to get out of here. If I don’t, I’ll never know what it is to stand on my own two feet.
I have it all planned out—the hotel where Ransom and I will stay for the first few weeks. And then orientation, and I’ll be in school, earning my MBA. My acceptance letter is tucked into my purse. Tuition won’t be easy without Daddy’s money, but it will work out. It has to work out.
I stress eat the rest of the roll until it’s nothing but crumbs. Finally, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. The cab curls around the side-winding roads and approaches the house.
I shoot Ransom a text: Cab is here. Come now .
I grab my bag and pull my purse over my shoulder. I touch the crystal doorknob.
My gaze gets caught on my promise ring.
That glint of diamond on my ring finger. The ring I’ve worn every day of my life since I was thirteen.
When I put this ring on, I promised to be perfect. A good, obedient, intelligent little girl. Pure of heart and body. Dedicated to my own excellence. The perfect future Belleflower Queen.
But over a decade has passed, and the dream of wearing the Belleflower Queen crown gets further and further every day. It’s a stupid dream. Like holding on to the fantasy that every Christmas, a man on a magical sleigh will leave me presents. But…
It still hurts. Even all this time, it still hurts that I was never good enough. A bruise on my heart that won’t heal.
Hell with it.
I twist the ring off my finger and set it down on my dresser. Then, I open my bedroom door and quietly slip out.
Sometimes, Daddy spends his evenings drinking whiskey and listening to music in the sitting room. Tonight, it’s quiet downstairs. I exhale a tight breath. Small graces.
I take my luggage and hobble downstairs with it as quietly as I can. I wanted to bring more, but I couldn’t shove too much away without arousing suspicion. Besides, I’ve calculated that once I’m there and making some money of my own, I’ll be able to buy clothes of my own?—
The night air is brisk. I’ve made it this far. The car is already parked outside, the driver standing near it. He greets me and takes my luggage. I look around, but…there’s no sign of Ransom.
[text:] where are you???
I stare at my phone. A couple of minutes later, it pings.
[text:] I’ll meet you at the airport.
My heart hiccups. This was not the plan.
I’d scheduled everything so meticulously. I’d reminded him. Countless times. There is no room for deviation .
I send him a scourge of texts. He doesn’t reply.
“Ma’am?” The driver holds the door open for me.
I get inside, but I feel as though I’ve swallowed a horseshoe whole, the metal bend stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe. He shuts the door behind me, and all the crickets and owls and nighttime Kentucky sounds get sucked away into a vacuum of silence.
The ride to the airport is a blur. I pay the driver, check my bag, go through security, and find my gate. But I can’t focus on anything. I spend the whole time clutching my cell phone and staring at the blank screen, praying for it to ring.
And then, finally, it does.
I answer quickly. “Ransom. Where are you? ”
My voice is tight. Even I can hear the tremble.
Then he says my three least favorite words in the English language. “I’m not coming.”
All the blood leaves my face.
“What do you mean you’re not coming?”
His tone is sad but decided. “I can’t leave. This is my home.”
“I thought…I thought I was your home.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry .
Two words that could never mean so little.
I unpin my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
His voice is firm suddenly. “No. Bear. You said it yourself. You stay here, you’ll never be anything but your daddy’s prize. You gotta go.”
“I can’t do this without you.”
My voice hitches. People are starting to stare. I bow myself over and let my long hair fall like a curtain in front of my face.
Ransom’s voice comes through the phone so clearly that if I close my eyes, I can imagine he’s holding me and whispering in my ear. “You can. And you will. If leaving me means finding yourself, you’re going to get off your tight little ass and march your way up to that plane. You hear me?”
I swallow. Everything is too tight to speak.
Ransom continues, his voice soft now. “You’re the strongest, most capable woman I know. You can do this.”
Over the loudspeakers, the attendants are calling. It’s time to board.
I close my eyes.
“I hate you,” I whisper .
Meaning it. But meaning something else, too.
There’s a long pause. “Go catch your plane, Claire.”
The very sound of my name in his voice hurts me.
How many times has he moaned my name in my ear?
How many times have I heard it grunted in frustration when I piss him off?
How many times has he said that word through rumbling bouts of laughter?
Anger lashes my heart like a whip. “Fuck you.”
I end the call, white-knuckle my purse, and line up with all the other travelers. I hand over my one-way ticket to Paris and board the plane.
I don’t let myself cry until I’m thousands of feet in the air, where no one down below in Belleflower can hear me break.