34. Claire
34
CLAIRE
H e was not kidding.
Keller seemed addicted to my orgasms, collecting them like he’d get a prize for exceeding five a day. This afternoon? Nada.
It’s not that he’s suddenly lost his ability to make a woman scream his name and grind against his mouth, fingers, or cock, but he stops at the very moment when I can feel my core tightening, ready for release.
By four, I’ve given up entirely. I was on my hands and knees, on the sofa, on his desk, my bed, and against the dresser, and not a single time has he allowed me to ease the constant, nagging, growing need inside me. God, he’s made me addicted to sex in mere days.
“Go away,” I grumble when he dares come out of his room, looking devastating in his blue suit and crisp white shirt. “I’m not touching you anymore.”
Which is a shame because that suit just hugs his large shoulders.
“Until midnight.” He winks, expertly tying a blue tie to complete the look of a young CEO.
“Are you going to work?” I ask, confused.
He’s always dressed a bit formally—preppy, with shirts and chinos, rather than the average college guys’ attire, though I distinctly recall a hoodie last Sunday. But this look is particularly formal, even for him.
“I’m going to pick up your mask,” he tells me.
That doesn’t explain why he’s dressed like that . “In the finance district?”
Keller chuckles. “At the Heritage. My club. Your club, one day soon. I’ll also pick up the formalities to enroll you without the usual test.”
“What’s the usual test?” I ask, wondering why he doesn’t think I can do it.
“A gangbang, darling.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“They’d strap you up and let anyone who wants have their way with you.” He shrugs. “Strangers need to be fucked in.”
“Is it…a gang ?”
He snorts. “Do I look like I belong to a gang?”
Absolutely fucking not.
“It’s a private club. You and I both know the best way to keep things private is to have something on everyone there.”
He sends me a knowing look. I snort. “So I’ve learned.”
“Typically, you’d have to be engaged or married to me to be admitted; but we live together, and Dad, Markus, and Sebastian will vouch for you. It should be fine.” He kisses the top of my head.
“What time’s the party?”
The question confuses him. “Whenever we want to go.”
I guess the party starts when he gets there. “I mean, when should I be ready?”
“After dinner? Claudio doesn’t work weekends, so we could eat out if you’d like. See if Markus and Dez want to do dinner and the movies after all.”
“That’d be nice.”
“Any movie you’d like to watch?”
I give him the complete list of all the movies I haven’t watched so far this year, not sure some are still showing. I’ve been squirrelling away all the money I could spare in view of coming here, after all.
“Markus will stab you if we force him to suffer through the new Snow White . The ratings are awful.”
“But wouldn’t it be fun to watch how awful it is and laugh?”
He considers this. “Maybe at home, with alcohol. Away from Markus.”
I see the wisdom in this. “ Captain America , then?”
“Wise. Book four seats. My card,” he reminds me. “And text me the time. I’ll reserve the restaurant before. Back in an hour.”
It occurs to me that I don’t normally see him leave.
His med school schedule is more packed than my freshman one, but I’ve begun spending most mornings in Dez’s kitchen, taking notes. If he’s not there when I head back home just to drop off goodies and pick up my bags, I don’t have time to notice it.
I don’t like it.
First, I check the theater, finding a showing at eight and another at eleven.
Me: 8pm or 11pm?
Keller: eight. Be ready at a quarter to six to head out to dinner.
It’s pretty soon, so I occupy myself by showering, applying makeup—I’m no Lily in that department, so I keep it light. Thinking of her, I text Keller.
Me: Can Lily come with us tonight, if she’s free? I haven’t properly seen her in forever.
Keller: To dinner and the movies, sure? To the Wyvern House? Only if you don’t mind ditching her ass downstairs. She can’t come up.
I grimace. It would be kind of weird to invite her to part of the evening and not the rest, wouldn’t it?
Me: Never mind then, another time.
Keller: She’ll join us, eventually. Whenever she and Cross stop that weird thing they have going on.
Me: I think the kids call it flirting these days. Not that you’d know. You’re more about stalking and blackmail.
Keller: *coercion. I never blackmailed you. Get your felonies right.
The simple fact he’s happy to say things like that to me via text, in writing , brings a smile to my face.
He trusts me. Everything he does proves as much—the credit card, even the fact I’m alone in his house, but the open discussion of punishable offenses takes the cake.
Next, I go to my closet, and sigh.
One thing should have dawned to me earlier: I don’t have anything to wear. Not to dinner with Keller , who looks positively edible. I mean, I knew that. I don’t particularly like most of my formal wardrobe. My entire collection of clothing is knee-length dresses and skirts, and formal tops. My favorite piece of clothing is the skirt I sort of stole from my ex-roommate.
I know what Keller would say: I need new clothes and should immediately purchase a ton of them. But it doesn’t sort things out for tonight. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes and I don’t have anything to wear.
The skirt’s too party-ish for a restaurant.
My heart beating fast at the influx of sudden stress, I remind myself to breathe.
It takes me a second to understand why I’m freaking out a little.
I’m used to being worried. About money, about time, about pissing someone off. But I spent an entire blissful week with little to no worries since Monday’s freak-out. Five days without anxiety spikes. This feels worse after a few days without panicking.
Breathe. There’s always a solution. You’re used to finding a way.
I grab my phone again.
Me: Hey, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but Keller looks really nice, and all my clothes cost under fifty bucks. Do you have anything I could borrow?
I would have asked Lily if she were invited tonight. As things stand, I asked Dez. She gets me. We might not have had a heart-to-heart but everything she’s said and done tells me she grew up without all the glitz and glamour and endless flow of cash.
Dez: Dude, really? You look about a billion bucks, all the time.
I smile.
Me: My grandma chose my clothes.
It takes her a while to answer, and she types for minutes on end.
Dez: Someone else used to pick my clothes too. Come raid my closet. Take anything.
I run outside, fast.
Everything changes on weekends in the Vesper House itself, but the entire street is taken by the same fever. There are a lot more people for one, filtering in and out of the house. Staff, bringing entire cases of booze, so much you’d think we’re the ones throwing the party tonight. I know our turn is tomorrow.
Next door is madness. Staff everywhere, vans unloading portable tables, catering preparing food for an army, and more.
Unlike our tower, the wyverns have a grand staircase. Dez waits for me in the entryway on the ground floor.
“Two floors up!” she says. “Come on in.”
We rush past the first floor, which is receiving cases of vodka and Champagne, and the quieter second floor. Upstairs is a renovated attic, divided up into two sides. We turn right, to a large open bedroom—the kind where even the bath is right in the middle of the room, despite there being several doors. One must be for toilets as those aren’t exposed, thank god.
It’s gorgeous and modern. I notice the kind of stuff I saw downstairs Sunday. I would have previously assumed Dez was a gymnast. Now I know better. The bed itself is a heavy metal canopy with no curtains hanging, displaying the complex network of iron bars forming a gorgeous pattern. I spot cuffs hanging from the ones at the foot of the bed.
Well, then.
I’m certainly not judging. She wasn’t expecting my company, so she didn’t tidy her room for guests. And even if she had, I doubt she would have hidden much of that.
Plus frankly? I know all that is a lot of fun.
Her walk-in closet is much larger than mine, and at first glance, I see it’s set up for her and Markus, his side on the left. Each closed door is covered by a floor to ceiling mirror, and there’s a large bench in the middle. The mirror on the ceiling tells me it’s not just to be able to check out outfits.
“We should be around the same size. I organize them by color. Just grab whatever suits your fancy.”
“Anything?” I repeat, my hand sliding from fabric to fabric.
She seems to have just about every color and material—taffetas, velvet, leather, and more.
“Well, maybe not the underwear. I’ve done some messed-up stuff in those. Although, I should have a few new pieces somewhere…hang on.”
While she opens one of the doors, filled with drawers and shelves, my eyes catch on a pale pink fabric. I know, I know. There’s plenty of pale pink in my own wardrobe. But not like this.
I pull the dress out. My grandma would say half of it is missing. More than half: the entire back and some of the skirt.
The lower layers are tulle, with a satin skirt underneath, and the top, a slightly shiny fabric I can’t name.
This is my own wardrobe, except adult.
“Can I borrow this?”
“Oh!” she grins, looking at the dress. “Darling, you can have it. I bought it as a joke of sorts. I don’t do the whole cute pink thing anymore.”
That much is true. Currently, she’s wearing ripped tights, a denim skirt, and a tank top with mesh sleeves underneath. I’m pretty sure she’s ready for dinner, too. What’s more, she looks sexy as hell. She wouldn’t have freaked over her wardrobe like I did.
Except this dress tells another story.
“If you don’t mind, it’s perfect.”
“Hang on, I have something else. It’ll make you feel great for tonight.”
She tosses a light bundle wrapped in paper at me.
Opening it, my jaw drops. “Is that…?”
“Yep.”
I blink. “But it’s all…”
The pink-haired emo chick grins. “The word is crotchless, darling.”