by Jess Bentley
Clarissa opens her mouth as if to object, then closes it again. She purses her lips, reminding me of our kiss again.
“You told Sunny about my family?”
“Okay, I know what you’re thinking,” I interject, trying to head her off. “But Sunny has no involvement in this. She would never judge anyone—in fact the more outrageous the situation, the better. And she loves to help. She loves to have an audience, you know that.”
“Yes, I suppose so…”
“And what else are you going to do, bring Landry to work with you every day?”
Clarissa winces, and I know she is thinking of Landry’s bruises again. It’s almost impossible not to. That poor girl has already been through so much.
To my surprise, Clarissa pivots and shuffles toward another room. Since she didn’t tell me to leave or call the police, I presume I am supposed to follow her. In the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlights that filter through the front window, she finds the sofa in the middle of the room and folds herself into a corner of it.
“It could work,” I hear her murmur.
“Why wouldn’t it work?”
She’s gone quiet, so I sit on the sofa beside her, searching her face in the darkness for any sign of an objection. Whatever she might think, I have an answer for it. I have had plenty of time to work this out tonight.
“Did Sunny agree to this?”
“Of course she did,” I answer.
She purses her lips and tucks her hair behind her ear with one finger. In the dim, silvery light, she looks like a black and white movie star. She’s perfect, serene, beautiful.
“Well, thank you,” she whispers hoarsely.
I have to smile. I can tell she didn’t want to thank me. I know she didn’t want my interference, but it is a very good idea, and I’m glad she can admit it.
“Excuse me?” I have to ask. “I didn’t quite hear that.”
Even in the dim light, I can see her roll her eyes.
“Do you seriously want me to say it again?” she asks sarcastically.
“Would it kill you?” I tease.
She sighs and shifts her weight, leaning her head on the heel of her hand as she turns to face me.
“All right, Maxwell. Thank you. Thank you very much. Happy?”
I lean forward. Am I happy?
“Thanking me is a good start,” I whisper.
She takes a breath and draws her lower lip in between her teeth, wetting it with the tip of her tongue.
“A good start on what?” she asks.
Leaning forward, I cage her hips between my arms. I want to savor this moment, this brief space where she is looking up at me with gratitude in her eyes, her lips glistening with moisture. This is what I was waiting for. This bit of longing between us that I could control and direct, just to draw it to the point where the imminence becomes an exquisite pang.
She lifts her chin, silently acknowledging the communication between us. With deft fingers she unties the knot of the robe at her waist. The soft fabric slides from her shoulders and pools beneath her, revealing a silky negligée that glows in the lamp light.
My palm curls around her thigh, sliding up to her hip as I advance ever closer. I can smell her sweet breath on my lips.
Just before I kiss her, I breathe her in. I feel the electricity that pulses back and forth between our lips as it crosses that tiny distance. I want her to remember this moment.
Again we kiss and it is like an explosion. More than before, the pyrotechnics that go off in my brain are choreographed like a fireworks display. The confusion is gone. Now I only feel a clear, irrepressible urge to be with her, to take her, to make her mine.
As we rise and head for the hallway, we continue to kiss in silent, pulsing passion. She leads me up the stairs to her room and we fall across the bed, legs and arms tangled together.
My thumbs hook in the ties of her panties and drag them down, and she opens her thighs for me, releasing a faint perfume of her desire. Her fingers find my zipper and pull it down, then curl through layers of fabric to finally release my manhood from its prison.
I can’t wait for her anymore. With her mouth against mine I have to have her, have to have all of her. My body is throbbing with repressed need as I enter her swiftly, taking her deep and all at once. She gasps in surprise and pleasure, matching her flexing to mine. I can feel the clenching of her inner walls around me as her body welcomes me to hilt myself within her, to bury my cock deep inside her hot channel.
Thinking of her, I delay my pleasure to make sure she is satisfied. A single nightlight barely illuminates her features as we rock together. Her nipples harden under my fingers as I fuck her hard but slowly, plowing her thoroughly.
As her moans rise, I quicken my pace. I match her, urge for urge. This is for her. I want her coming around my dick, want to know how it feels to bring her to orgasm before I take my last thrusts. She slowly releases the last controls until she is moaning like an animal, thrashing and clenching beneath me.
When she begins to pant, I quicken, pinching her nipples harder and fucking her even deeper. She is drenched and shaking when she comes, crying out in surprise and gratitude. That’s all I need to hear and I bury myself inside her, driving to her center and unloading my seed in an explosion that blinds me. She clenches her thighs around my hips and claws at my back, panting, groaning, damp with sweat.
Spent, I withdraw slowly but can’t let her go. She fits neatly in my arms and I hold her warm, lithe form against me until she begins to purr, then drifts away into sleep. It feels good to hold her, like I have chased her through a long journey. Finally she has relented, and the taste of this victory is all the more exquisite.
The next time I open my eyes, the light through the window is silver and rose and I realize it must be morning. Clarissa sighs sweetly in her sleep then scowls. I study her face as expressions flit across it and wonder what she’s dreaming about.
My cell phone is still in the Tesla, so I don’t know what time it is. I hope it’s still early. I slide out of bed, pulling on my trousers so I can find the bathroom without waking her.
Taking a piss in the near-dark, I look around at all the artifacts of her life. The floral shower curtain. The old-fashioned tile floor. The pedestal sink. There are photographs on the wall of the staircase, dozens of them. So many faces. How many brothers and sisters did she tell me she has? Their faces are dim in the low light, but I can make out the emotions. This is a close family. Very close.
I’m delighted to find that there is a French press and coffee in the kitchen. Certainly I could go out and get us some, but making it here is faster and easier. In the refrigerator I find some berries and Greek yogurt and whip up a parfait with honey and granola before the water has finished boiling.
A startled gasp nearly makes me drop the half and half.
“Maxwell?” Landry exclaims.
I barely have time to answer her before I hear quick footsteps on the stairs like somebody is practically falling down them. Clarissa appears in the kitchen, her hair in a hasty topknot, her expression alarmed.
“Landry! You’re awake!”
Landry steps back and stares at me, then at Clarissa, a sly smirk twisting the unbruised corner of her mouth.
“You never wake up before nine,” Clarissa mutters as she marches across the kitchen, scowling. “Never, in the history of ever.”
It takes a good deal of effort not to smile at all this. They know each other so well, their bickering must feel like a choreographed dance. As an only child, I have to admit I am a little bit jealous.
It is another facet of Clarissa that is slowly being revealed, even as she tries to resist. I have to admit I enjoy watching her struggle to keep her pieces private, yet have them all exposed to me one by one. I get the feeling I am seeing something almost no one else ever has.
But then again, she is terrifically grumpy, and I would rather she were happy with me right now. I know that I am happy with her, after all.
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“That is the old me,” Landry grins. “I guess the new me gets up earlier. Is that yogurt?”
I slide the glass bowl across the counter toward her and she takes it with relish. Clarissa balances her fists on her hips and glares at me.
“You want some too?” I ask her gamely.
“Get your own, this is all mine.” Landry smiles and takes the bowl into the other room.
As soon as she is out of earshot, Clarissa whirls toward me, her eyes flashing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I am making coffee,” I shrug. “Do you want to spill it on me or something?”
“I just might!” she declares.
Depressing the plunger, I look her over. Apparently she really is upset. That’s too bad. I guess morning sex is out of the question.
“You’re mad at me,” I observe, though I know it will antagonize her even more.
“I just don’t want to be parading… this… in front of everybody! Okay? I am a very private person!”
Maybe she needs coffee. Some people are different before they have had coffee. I pour out a cup and carefully push it toward her.
“Okay, I’m not trying to parade anything. Landry is just one person. And she doesn’t seem all that bothered.”
Pouting, Clarissa splashes a bit of half and half into the coffee cup and takes a sip. While she has her eyes down, I can’t resist. I lean forward and kiss the top of her forehead, inhaling the sweet, musky smell left over from last night.
With a start, she pulls back and stares up at me, a confusing array of expressions on her face.
“Why don’t we go visit Sunny?” I suggest gently.
“Today?” she coughs. “Already?”
“Sure, why not?”
Out of all the emotions that I can see in her eyes, I like the tender ones the best. There is some anger there, but I think she’s just being defensive. Protective. I can help with that.
“The idea just came to me, but it does make sense. If we head out early, we can make it back just after lunch.”
“Ohh, lunch,” Landry sighs as she walks into the room again. “Why am I already thinking about lunch?”
Clarissa stares at me meaningfully. I squeeze her shoulder.
“Landry, are you up for an adventure?”
“Is it skydiving?” she asks immediately. “Because I had a dream about skydiving.”
“Are you crazy?” Clarissa blurts out.
“Have you ever heard of Sunny Regales?” I just smile.
She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Yeah. Isn’t she that old movie star? Why do you ask? Did she die or something?”
“Definitely not. But she has invited you to visit. She needs some help packing up some mementos, and Clarissa mentioned that you need a job.”
“Oh, totally!” she answers brightly. “That sounds amazing! When?”
Clarissa sighs through her nose, then glances at me, then back to Landry. She seems to be weighing the proposition in her mind. Finally, I can see she has made a decision.
“How about now?” she suggests. “You’re already packed, right? Zip up your bag and let’s hit the road.”
“Seriously? This is amazing!”
Landry looks at each of us, excited and surprised. Even behind the bruises, it is easy to see the excitable young woman pulsing with life and optimism. Unlike her sister, she is obviously open and trusting.
Too trusting.
Sipping thoughtfully, Clarissa regards me with caution over the rim of her coffee. I realize that I’m being stubborn, just planting myself in her life and refusing to be brushed away. But what else can I do? How else would anyone get to her?
“It does sound like a good idea,” she admits grudgingly.
“I know it is,” I grin.
She rolls her eyes dramatically and to my surprise she doesn’t immediately dash from the room. Instead she crosses the checkered linoleum and leans her hip against the counter next to me, looking up at me. She doesn’t even pull away when I brush the messy tendrils of hair back from her forehead.
Closing her eyes, she stands up on her toes and kisses me, startling me. I catch her in my arms and draw her close, savoring this moment of raw connection.
Landry chats almost nonstop in the back seat as we drive up to Lake Geneva. It’s really an experience. I never had brothers and sisters, but Clarissa acts like it’s totally normal to have a nineteen-year-old do a stream-of-consciousness presentation for two hours straight.
When we pull up to the front of the cottage, Landry finally quiets, whistling low between her teeth.
“This is exactly what I expected,” she near-whispers. “I need to Instagram this.”
“No Instagram!” Clarissa automatically barks. Then she softens her tone and twists around in her seat, reaching out for Landry’s hand.
“Please?” she starts again in a softer tone. “Right now, nobody knows where you are. It’s safe up here, you know? Just for a little while.”
“Oh. Ronnie,” Landry nods, understanding.
“Yeah, sweetie,” Clarissa agrees gently.
Sunny swoops through the entryway, wearing what looks like a wedding dress with a three-foot lace train. Her silver hair is done up on one side, but loose on the other. She waves frantically at me as I pull the parking brake.
“That’s her!” Landry announces.
“Oh, wow,” Clarissa breathes.
“She does love to make an entrance,” I observe.
Sunny is beside herself with delight as soon as she sees Landry. She tugs and pokes her all over, spinning her around in the sunlight to get a good look at her, finally pronouncing her marvelous and exquisite several times. She clucks over the bruises but doesn’t say anything. Landry just grins and takes the whole thing with a great deal of grace.
“Are those her bags?” Sunny inquires pointedly. “Is that it? Is that all?”
“This is what they gave me,” I shrug as I deposit the bag on the terrazzo walkway.
“Well I suppose we get can whatever else we need,” Sunny sniffs. “Besides, you look just like my size in 1957! Or ’58! You are going to love my gowns!”
Clarissa and Landry exchange a look of delight.
“All right! See you soon!” Sunny announces, as though she is done with us.
She tugs on Landry’s elbow and guides her toward the front door. Clarissa barely has time to hug her sister goodbye before Sunny sweeps her off into the cottage and out of sight like a fairy godmother.
Once she is gone, Clarissa seems confused but not concerned.
“Is that it? Just like that?”
“Did you expect it to be any other way?” I ask, shrugging. “Sunny just is what she is.”
“But she didn’t even approve the listing sheet,” Clarissa pouted. “I worked hard on that.”
“She already approved it,” I smile. “I showed it to her right after you finished it. She says you’re a genius.”
“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” she says, mostly to herself.
I smile, watching her piece it all together. “Yeah, you don’t have to do everything, you know,” I remark. “I can help. You can let me.”
Narrowing her eyes, she just stares at me from outside the passenger door for a few moments until a smile breaks across her face. And finally she shrugs and opens the door.
“All right then, let’s go see Cyrus.”
“Cyrus?” I ask as I return to the driver’s seat and depress the start button.
“Yes,” she nods. “We have to go get our client back.”
We make it back to Chicago in record time and Clarissa does a little bit more work on her iPad before we arrive at the offices of Cyrus Finnigan. The receptionist is clearly startled to see us, but Clarissa charms her way into an immediate meeting.
Cyrus is exactly the sort of fellow that you would expect: red-faced, with a ziggurat of ginger hair over each ear. Though he is old—possibly really old—his neck is as thick as a tractor ti
re. He wears suspenders.
Clarissa strides right up to him with her hand extended, the wide legs of her trousers brushing together. She is confident and assertive, and when Cyrus shoots me a glance to find out if I am her driver, her secretary, or what, I just shrug. This is her show.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he grumbles uncertainly as he shakes her hand.
“We heard you have been talking with Greg, Cyrus,” she scolds him gently. “I’m here to show you why that’s mistake. Mind if I use the desk?”
Cyrus shrugs helplessly as Clarissa begins her presentation. By the end of fifteen minutes, she has him eating out of her palm. After twenty minutes, he has signed a contract with us that explicitly states he won’t be doing business with Greg, or anybody else for that matter.
She really is excellent at this. I wonder if Lou fully appreciates her.
Chapter 14
By the end of the day, I’ve managed to claw back the remaining projects from Greg’s stupid clutches. I have no idea how he even managed it. Why would anybody even work with him? Just bros being bros? He certainly didn’t have this work ethic when he was my boss.
But even though the other projects have closed, I get the clients to sign new brokerage agreements with us. Yes, we can technically sue them for breach of contract based on the old paperwork, but our ongoing relationship is more important than starting a legal battle that would ultimately benefit no one.
With the paperwork in my hand I stride back to Lou’s office, a smile plastered on my face. He looks up and automatically glances behind me, as though he is going to see someone else there.
“Oh, Clarissa, you want something?”
Wincing slightly, I just ignore the insult and walk in, laying the paperwork in front of him. “The Jaguar Plaza is still ours,” I let him know, then catch him up on the other details.
He listens patiently, nodding from time to time. I can’t tell if he is impressed, or distracted maybe? He’s definitely not celebrating me the way that I have seen him celebrate other brokers in the firm.
