Unwrapped: Clear Security's Holiday (Clear Security Holiday Book 2)

by Ainsley St Claire

  I come up to catch my breath.

  “I’m so close,” he says. “Are you sure you don’t want me inside you?”

  “Not until you come down my throat.”

  He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’d ask you to marry me, but I already did that tonight.”

  “Baby, we’re just getting started.” I take him back into my mouth and massage his balls.

  They essentially disappear, and I know that they’re sending a load my way. I ease up so I can taste him, and he sprays my mouth as he groans his pleasure.

  I sit back and open my mouth, showing him his seed before I swallow it down.

  “Holy fuck,” he pants. “You are so sexy.”

  I lay across his lap as we catch our breath.

  “You were naughty.”

  “What are you going to do?” I challenge.

  He eats me up until I come all over his tongue, and when he’s done he fucks me hard. I’m going to be sore tomorrow, but I’m going to love it.

  Chapter 28

  Fiona

  It’s been a long time since I’ve been excited to wake up on Christmas morning. But when my eyes open today, I smile. Bash is fast asleep next to me, his face peaceful. He’s so handsome, and he had fun last night. I push a curl out of his eyes, and the light catches the sparkle of my ring. It’s stunning, and it was a complete surprise. We’ve moved fast, but it seems right—if only I didn’t have the generals hanging over my head. But even they seem less scary than they once did.

  Bash and I have a big day. We need to be at the airport before noon for our 3:15 flight, and eleven hours later, we’ll land tomorrow just before lunch. We’re not checking luggage, so we should be able to get through customs quickly. But we’ll have to drive right into town to make our meeting. I’m not thrilled that we’re jumping directly into the fire, but I wanted to spend this morning together here.

  “How long are you going to stare at me?” Bash murmurs.

  “As long as it takes for you to wake up so we can open our Christmas presents.”

  “I need coffee,” he mumbles.

  “Your wish is my command,” I tease.

  He opens his eyes. “Just wait. You’ll be begging me later today.”

  “We’ll have private pods in first class.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  I get up and walk naked to the kitchen to start the coffee. While the carafe fills, I walk into the bathroom. I look like a train wreck. My hair is a mess, and I see where Bash left whisker burns on each of my breasts. I shake my head, but I also find it a little funny.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I call.

  “I’ll join you in a minute.”

  “We’ll never make the airport on time if you do.”

  “Wouldn’t that make the generals nervous?”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is angry.”

  “Don’t give them that much power,” he scoffs. “They don’t oversee your destiny.”

  I look at myself in the mirror. “If only that was true.”

  I make two cups of espresso and head back to the bathroom to clean up. We really don’t have a long morning to lounge around. I set Bash’s caffeine on the night table and keep myself moving.

  I wash my hair and body, and I find myself a little tender in a few spots, but I don’t mind. As I’m slathering lotion over my body, Bash walks in.

  “Would you like some help?” he asks.

  “I want to open gifts.”

  “I figured as much. You don’t like surprises, do you?”

  “Never.”

  I dress in my travel pants and a hoodie and meet Bash at the tree. I can hardly contain my excitement. I put a lot of thought into my gifts for him, and I hope he likes them.

  I hand him the first large box.

  “It’s heavy.” He looks confused.

  “Well, open it,” I sass.

  To drive me crazy, he slowly splits the tape and unwraps the box without tearing any of the paper.

  “I swear, I’m going to open it for you if you don’t hurry up.”

  “No, you won’t, or I’ll continue to do this.”

  “I’m going to go pack for our trip,” I warn.

  He has the paper off now, though, and finally opens the box. He pulls out a leather jacket.

  “I know you have a big winter-type jacket, which is perfect for riding around the City, but this is California, so this is a summer-weight jacket. It’s made specifically for you, and if it isn’t perfect, we can get it adjusted.”

  Bash stands and pulls it on. It fits him well. “This is amazing.”

  I reach over and pull another box toward him.

  “You need to open your next gift,” he says.

  My brow furrows. “I already got my gift.”

  “You got your big gift, but you have a few other things under the tree.”

  My eyes grow large. “I do?”

  He nods and hands me a small box wrapped in green paper. It looks like it could be a pencil box.

  I rip the paper away. “This is how you open a box on Christmas morning.”

  He laughs. “See what’s in there.”

  Inside the box is a beautiful silver comb for my hair with an Irish knot and green stones. “It’s stunning.”

  “You wear your hair up often, and I thought it would look nice.”

  “I’ll wear it tomorrow when we meet them.”

  Bash grins. “See? I have great taste. I picked you, didn’t I?”

  “Maybe I lured you into my web.”

  “You can eat me any time.”

  I consider eating him now, except we’ll be late to the airport. “Open your next gift. Maybe after we’re packed, I can do that to distract myself.”

  “That sounds romantic.”

  “Go on. Open the box.”

  This is the one I’m most nervous about. Fortunately, he opens it much faster. Lifting the lid, he reveals black leather motorcycle boots.

  “These were made for you, too,” I explain. “I thought you could use a good steel-toed boot for riding, and maybe for kicking down doors once in a while.”

  Bash pulls the boots on and stands. “These are perfect.” He walks back and forth across the room. “How did you get these to fit so well?”

  “I borrowed your chukka boots and your Nike running shoes one day.”

  “This leather guy of yours is amazing.”

  I smile. “You still have one more gift.”

  “So do you,” he counters.

  He hands me a decent-sized box with Christmas tree wrapping paper. Inside is a treasure chest with an assortment of sex toys and lingerie. I laugh out loud.

  “We can explore with these when we return from Paris,” he says. “There are two IOUs inside, too. There are many lingerie stores on Rue du Cherche Midi in Paris—Sophie d’Annunzia, Gerbe, ERES. You’re entitled to buy as much sexy lingerie as you want.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about French lingerie stores.”

  “I’ll tell you a little secret,” he says. “Vincent told me where to go. And he made some dinner suggestions for while we’re there, too.”

  I look through the box. “Some of these look very interesting.”

  “We don’t have to use any of them you don’t want to.”

  “Oh, I think it might be fun to play with these. Thank you.”

  I hand him his last gift. “This is just a sample. When we get back, we’ll get you fitted.”

  “Is it a cockring?”

  I laugh. “Do you want a cockring?”

  “I wouldn’t mind trying one.”

  “I’ve made a mental note.”

  Bash opens his last gift of black leather gloves for riding his bike. “There are pads in the places that get the most wear.”

  “I love them,” he says. He leans forward and licks my lips. “I can use them when I spank you next time.”

  “When we go to The Dungeon?” I offer.<
br />
  Bash’s eyes go wide. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be up for that.”

  “As you say, it’s just in fun. You’re not going to hurt me or go too far?”

  “Never.”

  I nod. “We’ll work it out with Erin.”

  After a brief wrapping paper fight, we manage to get packed and out the door just after eleven. We arrive at the Air France counter with three hours before take-off. It probably wouldn’t be a big deal since we aren’t checking luggage, but this isn’t the trip to take chances with.

  The flight over the Arctic into Paris is uneventful. We manage to sleep a little, and we both change for our meeting just prior to landing. Once we hit the ground and deplane, we join the hordes moving through customs. I hold my breath as the line inches along, but without issue, we pass through.

  When we emerge, I spot a driver I didn’t plan on with a placard that has our names on it.

  “Here we go,” I say under my breath.

  The driver confirms that we’re going to the George V, and I nod.

  Bash and I settle in, and I look out the window for the entire ride into Paris. I’ve been here a few times but never for anything like this. I bite my lip as a form of self-protection. I don’t want to cry in front of anyone today. I don’t want to get angry. I want to remain calm and extricate myself from this situation with as few wounds as possible.

  An hour later, we arrive at the George V. We’re late for our lunch, but they know we’re on our way.

  The driver informs us he’ll get our luggage to our room and tells us where we’re to meet our party, in one of the hotel’s conference rooms.

  “Merci beaucoup.” I nod as he disappears.

  I start to walk off, but Bash grabs my hand and squeezes it. “We can do this.”

  We walk into the room together, and everyone stops talking. Seated around the table is a group of eight men, a mix of first-generation and second-generation generals. I recognize all of them, and each stands to embrace me and kiss my cheeks. I introduce Bash to the group as my fiancé so they’ll understand that whatever they decide, we’re a package deal.

  “Have a seat,” Jimmy O’Malley says.

  The waitstaff appear and bring our meals while taking drink orders. Both Bash and I go with sparkling water.

  “Nothing stronger?” one of the generals asks.

  I shake my head. “I need to be on top of my game with you all.”

  They chuckle, which makes me optimistic.

  We eat, and I field questions about my father and his health. They ask how I feel about David and if he’s done a good job relaying information from my father.

  I put my fork down. “I’ve not seen any of the profit-and loss-statements, but I suspect that since the IRA is not in the news and the US arm is contributing to the bottom line, that’s a good thing.”

  “Is it true that after you visited your father, the FBI came to your home and office?” one of the generals asks.

  I nod. “Yes. One of the agents masturbated on my bed. He didn’t realize I had the room on camera.”

  “He’s currently on administrative leave,” Bash adds.

  “But they’re watching you,” he confirms.

  “I had a visit from the SFPD at my office a week later. They used the IRA connection to get a warrant, but they were there to harass me and a client unrelated to the IRA.”

  I watch as looks are exchanged.

  We go back to making polite conversation. I catch up on everyone here, and it’s actually enjoyable. These people are like my extended family. I grew up with them, despite being so removed.

  Once the dishes are cleared, the agenda is posted on a screen from a laptop. I’m at the top. It’s strange to watch them conduct this like the board meeting of any company—with Robert’s Rules and a parliamentarian. But I notice no one takes any notes.

  After voting to approve the agenda, they turn to me.

  “Fiona, as you know, this organization was meant to pass from father to son. When you were born, your father had the rules amended to be from father to child. You have a place at this table. Currently, the US is doing well, but we have to wonder if it wouldn’t do better being run by someone not in prison once your father is gone. But our concern is probably the same concern you have: you’re on the authorities’ radar.”

  I nod and hold my breath a moment. “Prior to the SFPD searching my office, the officer who led the search insinuated that they’d have me behind bars within weeks of my father’s death.”

  “You have a birthright to be here. What do you want to do?”

  I look down at my hands clasped in front of me. “I think leading the organization means being an asset to the cause. I’m not an asset. I’m too well known—not just because my father went to jail to protect this organization, but because the growth of my company has shined a spotlight on my connections to it. Now, every time I visit my father or talk to someone other than David or Sinead, I get the FBI going through my business. Unfortunately, instead of being an asset, my business has become a detriment. I don’t see myself of any value to the organization.”

  “What if you were to move back to Ireland or go somewhere else in the world for the cause?”

  “I have no knowledge of anything in Ireland, and given that I’ve grown up in the States since I was seven, I’d stick out like a sore thumb and again bring a spotlight to places we don’t want it.”

  “You do realize you’d be giving up the seat your family holds on this council.”

  “My father isn’t dead yet, and you all know he’s tough. As a form of respect, I would ask that he remain a general until he passes. At that point, I’ll bring him back to Ireland, where I’m hoping for a general’s funeral in Dublin. Then the torch can be passed to someone who’ll have David as their right hand to show them the ropes—maybe someone comes over to work in the bar and is under the radar.”

  “You’d be okay with that? You’d lose your income.”

  I smile at Father Shannon, a priest who’s more likely to pass IRA information in the confessional than hear anyone’s sins. “I haven’t touched the income since my mother died. I’ll be fine. I earn a good living on my own.”

  “Mr. Pontius, what do you think of this?”

  “I’d follow Fiona anywhere in the world, and I’ll protect her against anyone who thinks they can get to the IRA through her.”

  I’m surprised by his words, but the council seems pleased.

  “Any other questions?” he asks.

  The room is quiet as they all shake their heads.

  “All right,” Michael Farrell says from the head of the table. “I’d like a show of hands that we release Fiona McPhee from her IRA obligations.”

  I hold my breath as everyone’s hands rise.

  “Aye,” they say.

  Michael nods. “Let’s take a small break before we move on.”

  As everyone relaxes, Timmy Watson walks over. “Fiona, I always thought you’d be the most fierce general the IRA ever had. You’ve never backed down from anything. But I agree that you’d probably end up in jail.” He reaches his hands out to me. “You’ll be missed, but I wish you the best.”

  “Thank you, Timmy.”

  Michael brings me into a big hug. “It’s our loss, but I won’t say goodbye. We’ll see you again. I like your idea about integrating someone in to learn at David’s feet.”

  I nod. “I can always help from the sidelines, if needed.”

  “I don’t want to tell you I’ll see you soon, because your father is one of the most courageous men in the cause. If you need anything from us, you let us know.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  He turns to Bash. “You take care of this woman.”

  “I plan to,” Bash says.

  And with that, we walk out. I want to collapse. It hardly seems real.

  We return to the front desk and get our room key. Upstairs we discover the IRA has put us in a two-room suite.

  Once we’re i
nside, Bash sweeps the room for bugs, and we’re in the clear. “Way to go.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t believe they just let me out.”

  “I have a feeling your dad and David laid a lot of the groundwork. How do you feel?”

  “Relieved, sad, happy, and in love with you.”

  He smiles. “Same. And I could sleep until morning.”

  I look at the clock. It’s just after five. “You could sleep for fourteen hours?”

  “Well, I thought we’d take a break in the middle to enjoy some quality time together.”

  I shake my head. “Do you always think about sex?”

  Bash laughs. “Of course, as long as it’s with you.”

  I kiss him. “Thank you for being with me today.”

  “I’ll be with you every day. You’ll never have to manage anything alone again.”

  “I’ll love you forever.” I kiss him. “Take me to bed and show me how to use this.” I hold up a vibrator—U-shaped with one head larger than the other. I just threw it in my bag.

  “Oh, we’re going to like playing with that,” he says.

  “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  A PREVIEW

  Ainsley St Claire

  Clear Security Holiday

  Book 3

  Merry & Bright

  Releasing in November 2021

  Chapter 1

  Vincent

  Waves rock the boat. Usually I don’t feel the movement of the bay, given the size of my boat. But the storm outside is substantial.

  I sit up and walk upstairs. This is where I’ve lived the last five years—not here in San Francisco, but here on the boat. Living here makes it easy to move and have my own place to live.

  I plan on working over Christmas. I’m single, and my mother lives in the south of France with her husband and his family. My father is with his most recent wife and their newborn daughter in Paris. In what normal world does a man have eight children, all with different women?

  I stretch and go in search of a nice cup of espresso. I need the caffeine hit. Last night I was with one of the world’s richest women—and not in the way you’re thinking. Yes, I live on a fifty-million-dollar yacht moored in the San Francisco Bay Marina, but I work in security for one of the world’s leading firms for the uber-wealthy. The boat was a gift from my father as my early inheritance. That’s fine. The way this wife spends money, chances are there will be none left when he’s gone.