31. Claire
31
CLAIRE
I don’t make it to the ile flottante lesson. Keller does let me send Dez a quick apology, which she answers with a promise to show me her creme anglaise another day. Then he carries me to his bath and proceeds to thoroughly lather, wash, and explore every inch of my skin.
Eventually, we head out to our respective classes. I’m half floating on a little cloud all day, not just because of the million ways I was pleasured and worshipped this morning, but because I feel…free. Unburdened. Like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders the moment I spoke to Noah. I shouldn’t have put it off as long as I did. In fact, I should have stood firm months ago when I tried to break up with him, knowing it was the right thing to do.
If I’m honest with myself, the distance is only part of the reason. He just didn’t make me feel…well, much of anything. It took Keller for me really understand the extent of how a person could yearn, crave, desperately want closeness with another, but I knew all along that there wasn’t much romance between Noah and me. Just familiarity and habit. We were used to each other. In the long run, I’m sure even he will see I made the right decision.
In the meantime, I’m getting so many disparaging texts, I might just block him.
And then there’s the series of phone calls and texts from my grandmother that I don’t even look at, knowing what they’ll say.
Well, I told her I’d talk to him, not that I’d say what she wanted me to.
I would have just put my phone on do not disturb if I didn’t want to stay in touch with Lisa, Lily, Dez, and Keller.
One week here and I have more people in my life than I had after eighteen years back home. I was shoved in a closet there, taken for a prude or a bore by my peers, no doubt because of my wardrobe, my family, and yes, my boyfriend. He was popular enough, but even Noah kept me apart from his friends, never correcting anyone’s assumption that I wasn’t someone worth knowing.
They gave me a second look here, and most people decided I’m someone they want in their life. Thorn Falls is good for me in so many ways. I mean, this city’s intricate inner politics are insane—they gave me a hell of a scare last weekend. But I got the memo. I understand their vibe. They want to keep what they do private—not because it’s wrong, not because it hurts anyone, but because outside judgement would disturb their inner peace.
I get it. I wouldn’t want everything I do with Keller, or to Keller known to the entire world. Even if Keller seems to take a certain pleasure in showing it off to his little circle. And I don’t seem to mind.
On Thursday, he finally has the patience to teach me to blow his cock, rather than simply fucking my mouth. He covers it with a delicious, tangy, fruity substance and lets me lap at it like it’s a lollipop, occasionally directing my mouth, my hands, my tongue. I very much like it. I think he’s about to come, his legs so tight they lift up from the floor, but instead, he abruptly pulls me to my feet, turns me around, and bends me over before plunging in my pussy.
It’s so, so fast, and easy. The folds are always drenched in his presence, only waiting for his cock. And now, he can’t get enough of it—and he certainly doesn’t neglect my ass.
It’s fair to say that his two orgasms per day guideline was in fact, not exaggerated. Most days, we exceed it. And half the time, I’m the one demanding it.
On Friday, I’m babysitting Octavia for the first time. I’m a little intimidated to find myself alone with a kid I know next to nothing about, even with a written set of guidelines.
“Hey, Vivi. What would you like to do this afternoon?”
“Can you draw a unicorn?” she asks, somehow doubtful, like she doesn’t truly believe I could manage such a feat.
“I absolutely can draw a unicorn,” I assure her confidently.
“My teacher told us to draw our favorite animal. Mine is unicorns, but I don’t know how. Can you show me?”
I hesitate a little, because, objectively, I am rather good at drawing, and I have a fair amount of practice at unicorns from my early teens, but I don’t want to draw something completely out of her reach and discourage her. I opt for a middle ground; there’s no point shading and rendering a perfect horse musculature, but I’m not going to condescend to the kid and draw stick figures. If she wants to learn, I’ll teach her.
Retrieving my favorite notebook—that one that matches hers—I take about five minutes to sketch a unicorn, while she gasps in shock.
I grin. “Want me to show you how?”
She does. By the time Lisa’s back, we’re still working on hers, and it frankly looks pretty damn good.
“Mom, Mom, look at my unicorn! I drew it myself,” she adds proudly. “It took five sketches but I know how to do it properly now! And we’re going to color it.”
“That’s amazing, darling. But Claire’s supposed to go home once I’m back; how about you color it next time?”
The biggest golden pair of puppy dog eyes known to man set on me, accompanied by a truly pathetic pout.
Damn, she knows what she's doing.
"Sure, let's color. That's the most fun bit." To Lisa, I say, "I'm off the clock after you're here, all right?"
She rolls her eyes. "You're still working with my kid."
"Hardly. This is fun."
Lisa smiles. “Well, if you’re off the clock, would you like some wine? I have red, white, and rosé.”
I don’t ask if she knows I’m eighteen. She does. “I haven’t had much wine before. Just a glass of champagne last week, with Keller.”
“Ah, no worries. If you want to try, I prefer rosé early, because it’s light and refreshing. A good red is worth its weight in gold, especially with the right food, but they’re dangerous. Hangover for twenty-four hours guaranteed if you have a sip more than you should. White’s good, especially when you’re dealing with cheap wine. It can be great, but most places will just serve you a basic chardonnay.” She grimaces, so I take it that’s not a good thing.
“So, what white do I want to order?”
“A Pouilly-Fumé, darling,” she says, practically moaning. “Arlo keeps them well stocked. You wanna try?”
“I feel like you’re going to ruin my palate for average chardonnay.”
“You’re hanging out with Kellers, kiddo.” She winks. “You don’t need to settle for anything average.”
That makes me laugh a little, though the thought is a little bit scary. Sure, I’m hanging out with Keller today, but it’s in no way guaranteed I’ll have his attention forever. And he has made me so very fussy about a lot of things, I don’t believe I’ll ever settle for less again.
Excellent sex. The best baths. Awesome food. All of my desires considered as needs, and instantly granted. That’ll turn any girl’s head.
Lisa doesn’t have that worry; she’s Keller’s sister, they’re part of her family. She’ll never have to leave this place if she doesn’t want to.
She hands me a half-full beautiful glass, and delicately tilts it to mine. “Cheers, darling. It’s really good to have another girl around here.”
“Good evening, ladies.” Arlo walks in, dressed in a dark suit with a black shirt and tie, his hands on the knot.
Jesus, that man should come with a warning label. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be this hot.
“Dada!”
He undoes the tie and tosses it to a side table, bending down just in time to take Octavia in his arms.
“I’m coloring the best unicorn with Claire. It looks so good! And I drew it.”
“No! You drew this? I don’t believe it. You can’t possibly have.”
This prompts Octavia to immediately restart unicorn number nine on the next page, which is good for her practice. It ends up being more anatomically correct than the first, and with a more dynamic tail.
Lisa, Arlo, and I oooh and aaah , appropriately impressed.
“Would you draw a dragon for me one day?” Arlo asks.
Octavia looks at me. “Can you show me dragons next time?”
“Absolutely. I am a dragon specialist.” I make a mental note to practice before Tuesday.
Spotting my example on the open notebook, Arlo whispers, “You’re very good. We have an artist in the house, huh?”
“Oh, no. I mean, I love to doodle, but it’s nothing serious.”
He slides my notebook forward, frowning. “It could be. I can imagine that unicorn on a collection—bedding, pillows, skirts, T-shirts, you name it. Maybe mama-daughter PJ sets. Those dreadful onesies selling crap-tons, too.”
“Language, Dada.”
Abashed, Arlo pats Octavia’s head. “Sorry, pumpkin. Dada’s thinking about work, and work makes him use bad words.” He returns his gaze to me. “Can you draw it digitally and send me a sketch? I’ll speak to Eric about designing a range.”
My jaw falls. “You’re serious?”
He shrugs. “Our brand might be well-known for the complex catwalk and Oscars gowns and the four-figure cocktail dresses, but the bulk of our money comes from the ready-to-wear retail things. Octavia models a lot of our children’s collection. The actual style of the clothing doesn’t change much, but we vary colors and prints. Good art is hard to come by—that is to say, good, unique styles that no one else can legally copy. If you’re willing to sell us the rights to some drawings, it’ll earn you a fair bit of cash. Not to mention royalties.”
“I…” I blink. “Yes. Definitely. A hundred percent.”
He smiles. “I’ll shoot you a contract next week. You can get your lawyer to look over the details.”
“Unnecessary.” Somehow, I know Arlo won’t screw me over. And even if he wanted to buy my drawing for fifty bucks, that’d be fifty bucks I didn’t have before.
“You know what I think? A family shoot. Darius, Octavia, and Claire. They’d be perfect, they’re all already so airbrushed. And, the actual artist in the shoot? Plus, Darius’s girlfriend? The fans will go crazy.” Lisa looks very self-satisfied.
“This is why you should work for me,” Arlo tells Lisa.
She laughs. “I’d murder you within a week.”
“If you’re up for it, that’s a good idea,” Arlo tells me.
I’m stuck on the word girlfriend. Did Keller tell his dad and sister I was his girlfriend?
I take a sip of the wine, just for something to do, and my eyes widen. “Oh, this is good .”