35. Remy
Claire is so exhausted she falls into the sheets the moment I release my grip on her, and I don’t blame her. I certainly put her through her paces. I wasn’t sure how far she was willing to take the idea of being hurt, and while my palms had itched to smack across the beautiful curves of her ass until her flesh was as hot as her pussy, I restrained myself.
I didn’t make love to her either. It was tantric, raw, violent yet mutual.
And so fucking good.
Claire isn’t the first woman who has asked for me to get a little rough. But she’s the first who has ever made me feel like a god, giving me herself so completely, letting me control her body as effortlessly as if she were a puppet whose strings were twined through my fingers. It’s addicting, watching her toes curl and her cheeks flush, seeing the way her chest catches when she holds her breath like she’s too busy focusing on the pleasure to worry about such trivial things. I’m not sure which is the greater high—watching her face as she comes apart or feeling her sweet little pussy quiver desperately around me.
It’s weird, the sensation that floods me in the wake of my release. When I withdraw from her, she’s lying on her side, entirely at ease, not bothering to hide any part of herself from my view.
I brush her hair over her shoulder so I can look at her face and try to figure out whether she’s feeling the same strange emotions I am, and that’s when I see her eyes are heavy, fluttering closed. She graces me with a sleepy smile, but her eyes are hardly open enough to see me.
The chaos in my head only deepens as she falls asleep on my bed.
She slept here before, when I was too fucked up to let her out of my sight. That was the first inkling I had that I was in trouble. That suspicion has only proven itself to be truer than I’d initially thought. Rhea’s blessing was hardly necessary, but it has definitely helped me feel less guilty for the wicked thoughts I have of her best friend. And now that those wicked thoughts have become reality, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same once she’s gone. Even the thought of leaving her now to go downstairs and check on my guests, feels like a herculean effort. But business never stops, and I’m not going to miss my opportunity to catch Davos just to lay here next to her and contemplate my feelings.
I brush my knuckles over her neck just to be sure she’s breathing, and ease when I feel her pulse ebbing under the surface. A small sound leaves her throat; It’s dangerously close to her encouraging sounds of pleasure and makes it even harder to pull away. A small part of me hopes she’ll stay sleeping, so that I at least have a chance to do what I don’t want to. The greater part of me wants to wake her with my lips on hers and get back to it. Even though I know she’s tired, I’m not. I’m awake with the blood still rushing through my veins.
Claire doesn’t stir as I dress, nor when I draw the sheet over her. I hate leaving her at all, let alone leaving her vulnerable, so I lock the door from the inside and hope that by the time I get back up here, she’s ready for more.
When I get downstairs, the crowd has thinned, and I quickly mutter my appreciation for that. I’d intended my sister to be able to help field some of the condolences being delivered en masse, but I worked out most of my frustration on Claire already. I feel refreshed and oddly chipper—too chipper, given the circumstances. This is my father’s wake and there are people watching. I need to reign it in.
“Remy!” I hear my name from across the room and look up to see Elaine fixing me with a desperate look in her wide eyes. There’s a man next to her who looks oddly familiar—middle aged, attractive to the kind of women who are into the perfectly polished sort of guy who I’m willing to bet spends more time on his hair than they do. I don’t doubt he’s used to getting what he wants, which begs the question… what does he want?
“Elaine.” I offer her a smile and then turn to the man. “You look familiar. Don’t tell me, you worked with my father.”
“Everyone worked with Jonathan Boudreaux.” The man laughs, but he appears tense, and the way his eyes flick to Elaine tells me she’s the source of his irritation.
“This is Senator Victor Massarini.” Elaine says, gesturing to the man at her side without taking her eyes off of me. Her smile is tight, uncomfortable. But Elaine pulls no punches. She’s not afraid to be honest, so if the senator was bothering her, I doubt she’d hesitate to tell him as much.
“Senator?” I feign surprise, as if he doesn’t look like the Webster’s dictionary definition of a politician. “What state?”
“Washington.” He smiles, but it’s not genuine. It’s hollow, distracted.
“Well, I guess that’s why you look familiar. My father got on famously with politicians.” I reach out a hand to shake and after a moment of hesitation, he does the same.
“Your father got on famously with mine.” Victor amends, fixing me with a look that suggests he knows more than he can publicly say about what our fathers had in common.
Interesting.
“I have to take some cookies out of the oven.” Elaine says, glancing at her wrist, which has never, as long as I’ve known her, had a watch there. She offers our guest a stilted wave and then with her back to him, mouths ‘thank you’.
I offered her an escape, but now I’m stuck entertaining the senator for an indefinite amount of time. I glance around, hoping to spot Wes or his abominable father. It’s been a few years since I last saw Davos, but once you’ve stood toe-to-toe with the devil, you’re not likely to forget what he looks like.
He isn’t here.
“Washington to Costa Rica is a long way to travel for a wake.”
“I was here on business. Figured I’d take the opportunity to make sure the devil was really dead.” The senator is ambiguously blunt, leaving just enough of a lilt to his words that he could start laughing and tell me that’s a joke. But he doesn’t. I know exactly how he feels about my father, and though it’s akin to the hatred I held for him, I can’t figure out why he’d be telling me this.
“The state of Washington has business in Costa Rica?” I muse, knowing damn well that’s not what he meant. Victor knows too, but he just laughs.
“Personal business. I’ve got an investment opportunity I’m pursuing.” He shrugs, and I’m about to write it off as irrelevant when he switches tack, leaning into me with interest in his eyes. “There was a girl here earlier… blonde with eyes like the sea.”
I know he’s talking about Claire even before he describes her. I feel my spine go stiff at the mention of her, and I’m preparing to tell him I’m not sure who he’s referring to when he continues. “She said her name was Claire Monroe and that she was a friend of the family.”
So much for feigning ignorance. I turn and scan the crowd again, hoping he can’t see the instant anger he ignited inside of me. I don’t know who this Massarini is, but his interest in Claire is disturbing. He’s old enough to be her father, and the fact that he felt comfortable enough to ask me about her in the same breath as mentioning an investment opportunity makes my gut twist. I spot a member of the catering staff with drinks on his tray and gesture him over, taking a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks and sipping it as casually as I can. In my head, I’m already plotting Massarini’s death. I wonder if Claire will join me again.
He waits, somewhat impatiently, as I take a sip of the drink and then sigh my approval of the taste, as if I’m uninterested in the conversation. “Claire is a friend of the family.” I shrug, repeating Claire’s earlier sentiment.
“How long has she been a friend of the family?” Victor asks eagerly.
I can feel the presence of the caterer next to me, still waiting with his tray like he expects me to take another. Or maybe offer him some sort of tip. Victor seems to sense him too, because he takes a glass off the tray, musters a smile, and sends him on his way.
“Years.” I shrug and gesture to his drink. “I’d love to know what you think, Senator.”
It takes him a moment to understand what I’m asking before he peers down at his glass like he expects it to jump out at him. When his eyes turn up to me, I nod, so he takes a tentative sip. His face smooths out, his unease gone as he realizes he actually likes the drink. “Smooth.” He says, nodding approvingly.
“That whiskey was aged in a wine barrel for the last four years.” I tell him. “It’s from my private selection.”
“It’s good.” He says quickly. “So, what can you tell me about her?”
I know he’s talking about Claire again, and the thought makes me want to smash both my glass and his over his head. “My distillery? It’s a passion project rather than a financial pursuit, but—”
“No,” Victor raises a hand to stop me. “I mean the girl. Claire. What do you know about her? Where did she come from?”
I bite back the childish impulse to tell him she came from her mother, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that’s building there. “Claire’s great.” I tell him, “But I’m not going to give anyone her bio without her permission.”
The senator’s mouth opens a little like he’s about to speak, but the only word that comes from his mouth is “But—” and then he’s cut off by the addition of a new party to our conversation.
“Wes,” I clap him on the back. “So good of you to join us.”
Wes’ eyes glower even as he grins, turning on the charm for Massarini. “I’ve been looking for you.” He says, just lightly enough that it can be construed as a friendly statement. Next to him, the man Dimitri hired to play Wes’ keeper stands with his arms crossed and his jaw set. I’m sure Wes has cut his teeth on torturing the poor guy tonight.
“I’ve been around.” I assure him. “Have you met Senator Massarini?”
“Senator?” Wes harumphs, crossing his arms.
“Victor,” The senator extends his hand, but Wes leaves him hanging to appraise him coolly.
“Wes is my ill-mannered half-brother.” I say, hoping that tidbit is enough to distract him from asking about Claire anymore.
I think it works cause the way the senator looks at me is like his brain is short-circuiting. “Half-brother? As in…”
“As in our whore mother fucked my father and then left us to start over with Jonathan.” Wes grins. “But family always find each other, you know?”
“Yeah…” The senator muses, and then realizing he was staring, snaps his mouth shut. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Speaking of your father,” I say, casting another glance around the room. “Where is he?”
“Who’s to say?” Wes shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll show eventually.”
“One would think.” I shrug too and turn to clap the senator on the shoulder. “It was nice to meet you, Senator. I’m going to go mingle.”
Both of them try to say something to me, but I ignore them both as I walk away. Some part of me warns against leaving Wes with Victor, where he will say God-only-knows-what. But I have to check in with Dimitri, figure out what Elaine’s problem with the senator is, and keep an eye out for Davos or any of his sycophants.
I find Elaine first, standing in the kitchen with her hands braced on the edge of the sink, her head bent as if she’s studying whatever is in there. But as I draw closer to her, I realize there’s nothing in the sink and her eyes are closed. She startles as I step up to her, and I wonder if she really still thinks I’m capable of hurting Claire. Granted, I did hurt her, though not in the way Elaine is worried about. I’ve been on her shit list nearly from the moment I brought Claire here, and now she’s acting jumpy around me. “What’s going on?” I demand.
Elaine blinks, pressing her lips together. “What?”
“What’s going on?” I repeat myself. “You haven’t been yourself for a while. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress, but I’ve never seen you this on edge.”
“I’m just tired.” She manages to smile, but her eyes don’t get the memo. “It’s been a long day.”
“A long few weeks.” I amend, waiting for her fervent nod to continue. “Especially ever since the girls came here.” I notice the way her lips press together even as her brows lift, betraying her lack of confusion. She knows exactly what I’m getting at, even if she won’t tell me.
“It’s just the change and the stress of planning the funeral and then the wake. And I’ve been coordinating with Lionel for the will reading on Monday, so…”
“What’s the deal with the senator?”
“I guess I worked for his family before.” She sighs. “He seemed to want to try and catch up on twenty years or something. Kept following me around.”
It’s not unlikely, but something about the way she says all of that strikes me as strange. I decide to let it go, just in time, because my phone chimes with a new text. I slip it out of my pocket and step away, giving Elaine space as I read the message.
I do a double take at the name on the screen and then jam my finger against the screen to get the message to open.
Jovich:
Enjoy your whore while you still can. Her breaths are numbered.