9. Claire
9
CLAIRE
T he Equestrian Club looks just as I left it.
The building is a rounded, glass-encased structure shaped like a horseshoe. The curve allows onlookers a perfect view of the racetrack, where horses and riders parade back and forth for the diners sipping mimosas underneath fascinators.
The Promise Sisters have a standing reservation, apparently. You need an invite to get into the country club. The host—who I’ve never seen before in my life—recognizes me. He bends in his stiff dinner jacket and says, “Mr. and Miss Preacher. Welcome. Right this way.”
Greeters stand straight-backed and welcome us with polite smiles. As we walk toward the table, I let my body bump against James’s. “How does it feel to take my last name?”
“Dangerously good,” he murmurs in my ear.
We sit at a prize table catty-cornered to the glass windows, lending us a perfect view of the race track. There’s a bountiful bouquet of dripping lilies as a centerpiece, which is delicately removed and replaced with a carafe of orange juice and prosecco.
Hudson straps the child to a harness at his chest, its bare, chubby feet kicking and bouncing. Just when I think James might have some male company, Hudson kisses the side of Mary-Kate’s face. “Do you need anything?” he murmurs.
She shakes her head and waves him off. He gives us a polite nod and then vanishes into the other room, bouncing little Jake against his chest and squeezing his small foot.
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
“There’s a playground outside,” Mary-Kate responds with a flick of her hand.
“They’ve made some updates.” Violet smiles. “Isn’t Jake precious?”
I can’t tell one baby from the other, but I say the thing you’re supposed to say when confronted with a squealing freshly born.
“He looks just like Hudson,” I say.
The girls exchange a fugitive look and then burst out laughing.
“What am I missing?”
Mary-Kate takes my hand and squeezes it too hard. “We have so much to catch up on.”
They deliver finger sandwiches with mayo and cucumbers. Small bowls of creamy, white mushroom soup. Pimento cheese on crackers lined up perfectly on a slim plate.
Nibbles that aren’t meant to fill you up but to pad the stomach for the bottomless mimosas that pass back and forth across the table .
My Promise Sisters have grown up. Everyone has had kids. Jake is Mary-Kate’s second. Elspeth has one. Violet has three.
“That’s amazing,” I say, meaning it.
“It’s a pain, is what it is,” Mary-Kate says as she plucks through the finger sandwiches, pushing them around the plate until she finds the one with salmon and cream cheese. “You really have to be careful about what you put inside of your body. You do all this work for them and—for what?”
“And they’re ungrateful.” Violet sighs. “All my children said Daddy first. Can you believe it? I carried them for nine months, and they have the nerve to learn his name before mine.”
“It’s infant identity transference,” James says.
He’s been quiet the whole brunch, so when he speaks up, the girls stop what they’re doing and blink at him, as though just remembering he’s there.
“Go on,” I encourage.
“I take it you’re the primary caretaker,” James says.
“Yes,” Violet agrees.
“In the beginning stages of life, psychologists theorize that infants fuse their own identities with that of their primary caretaker. In short, they don’t think to give you a name— mama —because you are the same as them. Daddy comes easier because they can differentiate between themselves and him.”
Violet tilts her head as she considers the information. “That’s…strangely comforting.”
“He’s like that,” I muse. “Strangely comforting.”
James’s eyes catch mine from behind his glasses. I smile at him.
Our attention is derailed when a tremor rushes through the room, like a flutter of birds taking off all at once. People lift up in their seats and crane their necks to look out the large, open windows.
On the racetrack outside, I see men leading their horses, one by one, across the field. Onlookers strain to watch the parade.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“Showing off the studs,” Elsbeth says dreamily. Her eyes are fixed on the men, not the horses.
“I’m going to have a look,” James says. He stands and touches my shoulder on his way over.
What he means is I am overstimulated. I need space .
I grant it. I watch him leave. He perches like a cat on the benches by the big windows to peer down below. He fits his earbuds back in his ears. He’s settling himself.
His ass looks amazing in those pants. Tight. Asking to be gripped.
I may have also had too many mimosas.
My bones are looser. I want to sink into my puffy dress the way one sags into a beanbag.
“What about you, Claire?” Mary-Kate asks.
“What about me?”
“Are you and James thinking about children?”
I turn to James and call out, “James, what do we think about children?”
James takes out his earbud. “They’re wonderful. Especially when you can hand them back to their owners.”
Violet touches the back of my hand to comfort me. “He’ll change his mind when you’re married.”
I can’t help the grin that tickles my lips. “I certainly hope not.”
My gaze fixes on the nape of James’s neck. I want to draw my fingers through that fine, dark hair .
I don’t want kids, but…I do want this man to bury himself inside me, fist his fingers through my hair, and…
I shift in my seat. I’m leaving a puddle in my underwear at the thought.
“Excuse me,” I say and drop my napkin on the table. I make my way to the restroom. My feet know the way, even if I haven’t been here in years—around the corner, through the narrow hall, to the door marked “Mares.”
As I’m entering, someone is exiting. She wears a large, floppy-rimmed hat and chunky, square sunglasses rimmed with neon green.
“Bonnie?” I ask.
She slides her glasses off her nose to look at me. “Claire?”
I’m flooded with a sudden rush of joy for seeing this woman. Bonnie and I weren’t closer than any of the other women—but right now, she’s not sitting at that Kafka-ian nightmare of a table where I feel like I’m on trial for some imaginary crime, and that fact alone is enough to make me pull her into a hug.
Her pregnant belly nudges between us. I soften my hold.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she says breathlessly.
“Don’t be. He was an ass.” Oh. Okay. That champagne tongue is really kicking in . I back up and rest my hands on her shoulders. “How are you?”
Her face pinches. “I’m a Belleflower Queen. As of last year.”
I squeeze her shoulders. “That’s huge. Congratulations.”
Somewhere inside of me, a little blonde girl is screaming with envy.
Stop, Claire. Just stop it.
“It’s quite the honor.” Her voice is strangely hollow when she says it, though .
I point to the table. “We’re all sitting over there if you want to join us.”
Bonnie tucks her chin. Her straight, dark hair falls around her face. Immediately, she shoves her glasses back on, as though she’s in witness protection. “I can’t. I’m only here to sign Hank up for the polo match this weekend. We’re married.” She flicks the back of her hand dismissively to show a blocky diamond ring. “He loves polo. He’s quite good.”
The hand holding up her ring trembles lightly. “Are you okay?” I ask her.
“Please don’t tell them you saw me.”
“Sure, why?—?”
“Got to go.” She gives me a quick kiss on the side of my face and then hurries off, her flats shuffling as she goes.
How bizarre .
When I get back to the table, the girls are refilling everyone’s glasses.
“Was that Bonnie?” Violet asks immediately.
Before I can confirm or deny, Mary-Kate lets out an exhausted sigh. “Ugh. She thinks she’s so much better than us since she became last year’s Belleflower Queen. But she’s been nothing but a disappointment, in my opinion.” She drops her voice, low and secretive. “Some women crack under the weight of the crown, you know.”
“She’s our friend,” I hear myself saying.
“Oh, Claire. You’ve been in Paris for so long.”
“Not that long.” My refilled mimosa tastes pulpy and stringy. I’ve lost the taste for it. I scan across the room, and my eyes find James. He’s still sitting on the bench, tall body hunched over his phone, scrolling through it.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, excusing myself. I get up and walk over to James. It’s not until my shadow touches him that he finally looks up from his phone.
I climb into his lap. He immediately uncrosses his legs to make room for me. I wind my arms around his shoulders, look him in all four of his eyes, and say, “Save me.”
“You’re drunk,” he observes.
His tall form makes me feel small. Like a little girl in Daddy’s lap.
Especially when he chastises me.
Except there’s nothing familial about the bulge between us.
I shift ever so slightly in my spot. “You’re hard.”
“You’re in my lap,” he says by way of explanation.
“Is that all it takes?”
“Every inch of your body turns me on, Claire.”
Those blue eyes. I could lose myself in those sky-blue eyes.
“Prove it,” I tell him. He tilts his head against mine. I whisper in his ear, “Come back to the table. Let me sit in your lap. Put it inside of me.”
“You’re being a brat.” His voice is a low rumble, like far-away thunder. It makes me shudder.
“Then tame me.”
I’ve never been submissive. To any man, ever, in my life.
Except James Calloway.
His dominance is a heady, erotic fog that makes it hard for me to catch my breath.
Dizzy, I unwind from his lap. He takes my hand, and together, we walk back to the table with the Promise Sisters.
“James! You’ve returned!”
“Just in time,” Mary-Kate says. “They just brought out dessert. ”
Tiny egg cups with barely half a scoop of perfectly orange sorbet sit in front of us.
James takes his chair and casually pulls me onto his lap. I adjust my dress, and for the first time, I’m grateful for the huge, gaudy skirt. It covers both of our laps completely. No one notices when James slides a hand underneath my ass and tugs down his zipper.
“Sorbet?” Violet asks, motioning to the cups in the center.
“No, thank you.”
“She’ll have one,” James says. “Pass them over.”
I rise just enough to collect a cup. When I sit back down, I find James’s hand and his bare cock. He pushes my panties to the side and guides his erection inside of me.
My heart is hammering in my chest. I sit back slowly, easing him inside of me. It’s hard to swallow back my whimper, but I succeed.
He’s so thick. He feels wonderful.
“Claire,” he says.
“Hmm?”
“A spoon, please.”
I give him a dessert spoon. James hooks an arm around me, holds the cup, and leans over my shoulder to scoop a bite of sorbet into his mouth.
The women have dissolved into speculation about the polo match this weekend. I shift, trying to adjust to the feeling of him so full inside of me without anyone knowing.
God . We’re terrible people. But there’s such a rush to it.
I love knowing that this man owns my body completely. He can take it whenever he wants it…and no one has the slightest idea.
“How is it?” I ask. Because I need something to distract from the heat pooling between my legs. I want to badly to grind down on him, but I can’t. I can’t bring attention to us.
“Sweet,” he replies. “Try it.”
While everyone’s attention is on their conversation, his hand drops to my thigh and slips underneath my dress.
My spine stiffens. His fingers are freezing from holding on to the small glass cup. He draws his cold touch up the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and then finds my hot sex.
I suck in a quick breath. He doesn’t flinch. His cold fingers nestle between my lips and nudges my swollen clit. It takes everything within me not to move as he teases me. My sex is burning, and the chilly sensations are a sharp contrast. He pets me with slow, teasing motions, drumming his fingers languidly, playing me.
I’m vibrating on the edge of pleasure.
“Claire,” he says.
“Mmm?”
“The sorbet.”
Right . I grab the spoon. My hand shakes when I lift it to my mouth. It’s a burst of mango sweet, but I can barely taste it. His touch has warmed with the heat of my arousal. His fingers are hot and slick in the same way I’m hot and slick, and with every pass, I edge closer to the height of my pleasure. My body contacts around his stiff muscle.
James is made of metal. My tin man. Impossible to tell that he’s cock-deep inside of me. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. If I put my hand to his chest, I’m not even sure his heartbeat will have changed.
No one knows he’s driving me crazy underneath my dress.
His tempo changes. He stops teasing and starts to flick me. Lightly. Over and over. Rapid, tight little taps directly on my aching nub .
The taps themselves? Not bad. But when they’re delivered in rapid succession …
Everything in me clenches. All of my attention zeroes in on each small…teasing…flick of his fingers until…I come undone. I grip the tablecloth as I grind my orgasm out, twisting in his lap.
I can’t help it. A small moan escapes me. I catch the attention of the girls at the table.
“This…sorbet…” I gasp. “So good…”
As calm as ice, James removes his hand from between my legs. He wipes my wet on my thigh. I feel filthy, slutty, and exhilarated.
“That,” he states, “is the best dessert I’ve ever had.”
I shift in his lap. His hard cock rubs against my throbbing sex in such a delicious way a quiet, tiny whine escapes the back of my throat.
James doesn’t budge, but he swells suddenly between my legs. From rock-hard to diamond-hard.
What did it? The orgasm? The exhibition of it all? The whimper?
For science , I test him. I part my lips at the shell of his ear and exhale another quiet, desperate whimper. Just for him.
His hand clamps around my arm. He lifts me suddenly off his lap. I make a small noise of discomfort as he leaves my body, and in a single subtle move, he tucks himself back into his pants and stands.
He uses my body to shield his dignity, though. His pants don’t leave a lot for the imagination right now.
“I’d like a tour of the club,” he says. There’s a dark note in his tone only I can detect.
“Now?” My voice is breathless.
“Now.”
I walk like a newly fawned calf, wobbling my way through the sea of people, ignoring the Promise Sisters’ inquisitive stares. James remains right behind me, his grip tight on my arm, cutting off circulation.
“What do you want to see first?”
“This will do.”
He pulls me to the bathroom. It’s a multi-stall room with tiled floors, sea-shell-pale doors, and a long, marbled sink.
James checks the stalls, and once he’s satisfied we’re alone, he flips the lock on the door.
Those dark eyes burn from behind his glasses.
“Are you angry?” I ask.
“Fuming.”
I cock my head. I have to tilt so far back to look up at him. “What did I do?”
He cups my face in the shell of his palm. He smears my bottom lip with his thumb. “Don’t play dumb. You’re far too smart to play dumb.”
A grin teases my mouth. “I suppose I am.”
“Hands on the sink.”
I hold his gaze only a second longer before turning toward the mirrors. I drop my palms to the sink and bend over, presenting myself to him.
I lift my eyes to the mirror. I watch James take his place behind me. His large hands grasp my thighs and slip upward, bunching the ruffles of my ridiculous dress. He pushes it to my hips, and I watch him drop to a crouch. He rolls the thin, soaked fabric of my underwear down my legs. The point of his nose touches my rear. The heat of his breath warms my sex. Is he…inhaling me?
He stands, leaving me tingling with want. I remain still as he pulls on the sleeves of my dress, yanking them down my arms. He handles the fabric roughly, and I hear it rip as he yanks it down my chest so my breasts fall free .
He’s staging me. Exactly how he wants me.
He wants to see my tits when he fucks me.
My throat is dry. I wet my lips. “Are you punishing me?”
Those dark eyes meet my gaze in the mirror.
“Get on the tips of your toes. Don’t come down until I tell you to.”
I lift my heels from the floor, rising to the balls of my feet.
I watch him unbuckle. I swallow when his zipper hisses. My back arches, and I push up even taller on my toes. Beseeching.
I want him so badly my core aches.
He pushes his cock inside of me. His hands bunch at my hair. I can feel him so deep. My toes want to curl, but they can’t. They’re too busy trying to hold me up.
He thrusts into me once. Twice. Three times.
That’s all it takes. I’m so worked up I explode.
The woman in the mirror loses it. She disassembles, slumping forward—a boneless heap as he clutches her hips and gives a final thrust before pouring himself inside of her.
I cry out. I close my eyes. Sweet, sweet heat.
My body craves it. Tightens for it. Milks his hardworking cock, pleading for more.
He gives more. More thrusts. More spilling. More . All of it. Everything that is his is mine now, living inside of me. When he pulls out, I’m not empty long. He pushes those long fingers deep inside, and I choke on a gasp when I realize he’s pushing it inside me.
“Don’t clean up,” he tells me. “Keep it inside. I might not want children, but I can still make you my breeding pet.”
Holy fuck . My cunt, which thought it was done coming, suddenly gives a tight throb that makes me whine.
He uses his grip on my hair to lift me and pull me against his strong body. He opens my mouth with his tongue. His kiss is strong. Possessive. It sucks the air out of my lungs. I curl my fingers on his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more. Needing everything.
He makes me so fucking needy.
My thighs part. If he asked, I’d let him fill me again.
If he asked, I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me.
But he reaches between us, pulls the teeth of his zipper together, and buttons his pants. Our kiss sent his glasses askew, so he fixes those as well. He lost control for a minute there. He’s pulling himself back together. One button at a time.
“We should go back out,” he says. “Your friends are waiting.”
“You tore my dress.”
He attempts to fix it until he sees that I’m right, and the damaged sleeve falls limply down my arm. He takes off his blazer and hangs it over my shoulders.
“That should hold until we get you home.”
“Where you can rip it off me properly.”
A smile threatens the edge of his mouth. “You’re insatiable.”
“I’m drippy.” I’m in that giddy, postorgasm euphoria. I pluck one of his earbuds from his ear and hold it close so I can hear the music. “What did we fuck to?”
“The Eurythmics.”
I press the front of my body to his, like a cat. I tilt my forehead at his chest and reach upward to tuck the earbud back into the shell of his ear. “Will you think about breeding me every time you hear them now?”
I drop my hand down his middle and cup his groin. What was dormant starts to swell for me again .
His fingers grip my wrist, chastising. “Don’t ruin the Eurythmics for me.”
“You have a funny way of using the word ruin. ”
He weaves his fingers through mine, extracting me from his dick and taking my hand in his own. Holding my hand, he unlocks the bathroom and escorts me out.
There’s a rush of AC-chilled air when we re-enter the Equestrian Club, and for a second, I’m dizzy. I find my eyes bouncing around the room, zeroing in on the women. A lot of maternity dresses. A lot of virgin mocktails.
Is it just me, or does there seem to be an abnormal religion around pregnancy here?
Is this what I would’ve been if I’d stayed?
Mimosas and mothers’ brunches.
Then that terrible whisper of a thought?—
If I’d had a litter with Ransom, maybe I wouldn’t have minded.
Acid rises in my chest. The bitter taste of could’ve-beens.
I clutch James’s hand tighter. “I’m ready to leave.”
He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t ask questions. He lifts our hands, presses his lips to my knuckles, and then guides me out.