by Annie Dyer
“What are you thinking?” she said. “You look like you’re in another world.”
I was saved from answering as we arrived at Padella, the restaurant three quarters full already. We were seated near the window, giving us a view of the road outside and the passers-by, meaning I could keep an eye out on who was nearby.
Claire toyed with the menu, ordering a cappuccino and bottled water. I kept it safe, not knowing if I’d need to drive or handle anything that might be thrown by having something alcoholic.
“So, are you going to tell me what you were thinking?” she said, eyeing me from over the menu.
“It was nothing interesting,” I said. “What are you going to pick?”
“Still after my leftovers?”
It was a dig that whenever we’d snuck out for dinner, I’d ended up clearing her plate. She was a tiny thing and although she ate, she didn’t have that much space to store it. I’d always been fairly built and pretty much constantly hungry, especially back then.
“Always. Any crumb you’ll throw, or does that make me sound too desperate?”
Claire laughed. “I get what you’re trying to say, K and I’m hearing you,” she said. “You know me well enough to get that if I didn’t want to be with you right now, I would’ve had Nick assign one of your security guys to me.”
“You still know your own mind.”
“Completely.”
“And you’re still the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met.”
“If you say so. Although I’m not sure I classify as a girl any more. Think I’m a woman now.”
Brown eyes danced and I studied her face. She was right, the girlishness had gone, but instead there was experience and understanding. “I like the woman you’ve become.”
“So, tell me what you were thinking.”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”
“I would’ve said you were like a dog with a bone,” she said and I felt her foot brush against my leg and up my thigh. I shuddered. “Or maybe boner.” The word was said innocently, her eyes gazing back down to the menu but there was colour to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before.
“Claire Callaghan,” I said quietly. “If your foot carries on, you might be scared at what you find.”
“Oh no,” she said. “If I remember rightly, I’ll be very pleased with what I find.” She left her foot a couple of inches from my cock while the waiter came over, leaving it difficult for me to find the right words to tell him my order.
Our conversation turned away from bones to Jackson and Vanessa and her parents and everything else that was just normal. We avoided talking about the cottage and tomorrow and she started to laugh more, losing the look of trepidation from her eyes.
“You haven’t changed,” she said when the waiter brought the bill. I snapped it up, not giving her any opportunity to pay. “You’re still determined. And bossy. And you make me want things I don’t know I should have.”
“You make me sound like a bar of chocolate,” I said, handing my card over to the waiter.
“That’s almost describes you. Smooth, tasty and more-ish.”
“More-ish. You still want more of me?”
“It depends. Are you like a fine wine that’s matured and improved with age or are you more like a fashion trend that’s really not aged well?”
“You’ll have to find out,” I said, leaning over the table towards her, my hand finding hers and locking our fingers together. “I’m quite happy to let you find out all you want.”
Her small hand was soft, her nails unpolished and fingers ringless. “How did you end up unmarried?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t meet anyone else like you.”
“Can I take you home? As in to my home?”
She laughed, her breath slightly hitched. “You can take me anywhere, Killian O’Hara. But your place might be a good idea, seeing as all my stuff’s there.”
We walked through the streets holding hands, her body close to mine. “I’m not sharing my bed with you tonight,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I need to know I’m doing it because I’ve chosen it not because it’s been a shit day and I need comfort.”
I stopped, turning her to me. “Claire, this is whatever we want it to be. I don’t want to be your comfort blanket. Yeah, I’m dying to fuck you senseless and I swear to all the grass in Galway that you’re giving me nothing but blue balls, but we do this right this time.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong last time.”
“I didn’t fight enough for you.”
We reached my house, the quietness between us hovering like swifts over the ocean with nowhere to land. I wasn’t sure what else to say; I knew she needed to do things in her own way, at her own pace because that was Claire and that was how she worked.
Inside, she took of her shoes and left them at the bottom of the stairs, her height lowering so she was just at my chest. I grasped her waist and held her. “Sleep well,” I said. “Think of me.”
“I’ve never stopped. But if you fucking try to climb in next to me and tempt me I’ll eat your balls for breakfast.”
Her hands around me said otherwise, her touch soft and tender and I took a chance and kissed her, making sure to hold myself back, but even then, the kiss continued to deepen, Claire pushing closer to me, her tits pressed against my chest, her hands trying to map my body. My hands slipped to her ass and I held her in closer to me, the feeling of her nearness after she spent the last lifetime a continent away from me was a relief.
She started to push up my top, her hands everywhere on me and I remembered how demanding she could be, how needy. Soft lips trailed from my mouth to my chest, sucking and biting at my skin. I cupped her tits through her clothes, feeling my cock harden further. As she slid further down I wondered whether I should stop her, whether we needed to leave it longer before it became more complicated, but how the fuck could it get any more complicated?
Her fingers undid the button and the zip of my jeans, soft hands pushing them down over my hips and she went to her knees. Brown eyes looked up at me, wide and teasing. “Thought I’d have dessert,” she said, a hand firmly taking my cock at the base. She licked the head, tipping her tongue at the slit and lapping at the drips of pre-come that lingered there. “Want me to stop?”
I searched for words. “No,” I said. “I don’t have that level of will power.” I pushed my fingers through her hair, and then she took the head of my cock in her mouth and sucked hard then soft, her hand rubbing me up and down, using the wetness from her mouth to lubricate her movements. Before we’d first slept together, blow jobs were how we’d gotten each other off. I hadn’t been the first man she’d gone down on and I never thought about how she’d perfected her technique, preferring to think that it was just how we were together that made us so good. She cupped my balls, tightened her grip around my cock and I clutched the sideboard in the hallway to steady my legs. I was almost there, about to shoot down her throat and just about remembering my manners. “Claire, I’m gonna…”
She responded by sucking harder, taking me deeper in her mouth. I gripped her hair, trying not to pull, the tingling sensation raising up my spine and blinding me telling me I was about to come. I said her name as I did, watching her as she took everything that I gave and my hands went to her face, gentling her, touching her as tenderly as I could. “Claire,” I said, only able to say her name, all other words were out of my reach.
She held my cock as she moved her mouth away and gave me a smile. “You’re the only man I’ve gone on my knees for.”
I dropped to mine, touching her lips with mine and ignoring the taste of me. “My turn,” I said, then ran my hands down to her breasts, over the material, feeling her nipples harden at the friction. I pinched them softly then again, harder. She whimpered. “Take your dress off. And your bra.”
As much as we had always fought and bickered and debated, she loved being told what to do when we were in bed or, in this case, i
n the hallway. She pulled off her top, leaving me with the view of a lacy bra, her dark nipples visible through the material. Her tits were bigger now, rounder and fuller and I couldn’t take my eyes from them.
“Like what you see?” she said, laughter in her voice.
“Fuck yes,” I said, spellbound as she unsnapped her bra. I took a nipple in my mouth, holding her waist and lapped and sucked, bringing her down onto my lap, just her panties separating us. My fingers found between her legs, pushing the material to one side. She was wet, her juices leaking onto my finger and I teased around her entrance, nudging her clit and pushing in the tip of a finger. Her hips jerked and she moaned. “These panties need to come off.” I manoeuvred her legs to bare her completely then lay back, looking up at her naked above me. My fingers pinched her nipples again and I squeezed her tits softly. Her wetness gleamed between her legs and I licked my lips, shifting my hands so I could pull her hips towards my face, pulling her down to my face. The moan that came from her made my dick go hard again, but it could wait.
My tongue flicked her clit and then I sucked, dipping into her centre. I wanted to fuck her, but this, right now, felt right. I held her hips, my hands supporting her ass, fingers on one hand close enough to sneak into her tight pussy when she was near.
Her taste was sweet with a hint of salt; honey to my tongue. I watched her squeezing her nipples as she rode my face, feeling her wetness leaking faster. “I want you in me,” she said, her eyes closed, tits heaving. “I want to feel you fucking me like you used to.”
I pushed two fingers into her, my tongue focusing on her clit. Her legs turned to steel, hard and motionless and she cried out as she came hard, her muscles contracting around my fingers, my face covered with her juices.
Her breathing levelled and she moved away, her face breaking out into a smile and we both started to laugh. “You’re covered with me,” she said. “I’ve wet your beard.”
I licked my lips. “I’ll be tasting you for a week.”
Her laugh was louder. “That’s unsanitary. But you can taste me properly whenever you want.” She glanced back and I knew she was looking at my cock that was now fully hard and hoping he was spending the night in a warm, tight place.
Sitting up, I brought her down to my lap, my erection in between us. It would be so easy to go further right now, especially as she pressed closer, her clit against my cock, tits there for the touching.
“We should go to bed,” I said. “And not together.” I must’ve had the conscience of a monk at that point.
“Why not?” Her eyes were heavy with want and need.
“Time,” I said. “Let’s try to enjoy the wait.” I lifted her off me and kissed her as sweetly as I could.
“Delay the inevitable,” she said quietly. Her arms went round my neck and she pulled herself to me, her naked against flush against mine. “You’re right. It will be all the sweeter. Like it was back then.”
Then she turned and walked her naked ass upstairs, another image for my memory book to show just how much I was owned by this woman. As I always had been.
***
Dear Claire,
Some days I wish I hadn’t left Oxford. I want to be back there, maybe taking my Master’s degree, walking through the city to see you. I miss Max, and even Jackson. I even fucking miss nine am lectures, because that’s a late start compared to what I’m doing now.
The physical shit is gruelling. I take a shower before bed and my muscles scream, but it’s good. It’s good because it stops me thinking about you for a few minutes at least, which sounds pathetic because it is. I’m twenty fucking two and I’m hung up on a girl who dumped me for no reason that I’m aware of.
I know you and I know you haven’t done it to be spiteful or to try to gain some power over me, because let’s be fucking honest, you already had that anyway. Something has happened to make you change your mind about me and I want to know what that is because I’d still like to fix it, to make everything better.
But I’d have still been out here, freezing my ass off because the heating’s broken and we’re out in the middle of fucksville. The guy next to me was finished by his fiancée before he came out here. She couldn’t cope with him being away and wanted to end it before she cheated. His mate told him that she was cheating already. He’s now trying to kill himself with training, doing deadlifts and shoulder presses that he shouldn’t be attempting and then getting wrecked in bars when we have a day off.
I don’t know how we would’ve been. You’re still at college. Would I have wanted you to wait for me and have you resent me when you wanted to move on? Would I have spent nights in my bed wondering what you were doing with who or who you wanted in your bed if I couldn’t be there?
I don’t know, Claire.
I slept with someone else. A woman I met in a bar with blonde hair. She looked nothing like you and I needed to pretend I’d moved on. And it was pretend because afterwards, when she’d left I felt as guilty as fuck. Not that I’d cheated, just that it wasn’t you and I’d made up my mind months before that I was yours - although my brother says I’m too young and too stupid to even think about being with anyone for more than a night.
I’m sorry. I wish I could fix things.
K
Chapter Thirteen
Claire
If there could be a whiter shade of pale on a human than Katie was right now I’d have liked to have seen it. Her make-up, expertly applied as normal, did nothing to cover the sheer anxiety and exhaustion she was feeling and I only hoped that the complete dick who called himself Dean Lacey didn’t take her appearance as a victory.
She’d hid behind large sunglasses and a wide brimmed sunhat, that although they drew attention, hid her identity well enough. She also looked like she’d lost more weight.
“I’d rather not see him,” she said, picking her fingers which I’d noticed had become a nervous habit. “I don’t know what to say to him.”
“You won’t have to say anything,” I said. “The mediator is seeing you both separately.”
So far it was going as I wanted it. The mediator had been happy with both parties having their lawyers present and being in separate rooms. I thought she had figured there was some form of abuse, because looking at the state of Katie, anyone would deduce that she was struggling.
The mediator, Carrie, entered, smiling sympathetically and offering water, which Katie declined. “Ms Worthington,” she said. “I’m going to start with you as you’re the spouse that’s initiated these proceedings. Tell me what you would like the outcome to be; what are you proposing as to how you split your assets.”
We’d already been through it on the phone but Carrie had said she’d talk Katie through it again in case anything had changed.
Katie used the notes we’d prepared to remind her, covering everything from the two houses and apartment, the savings and assets we were aware of, the small business they shared and insisting that she was not interested in causing any kind of social furore if they could agree on terms amicably.
“You signed a pre-nuptial agreement but your lawyer,” she gestured to me, “claims that it’s invalid for a multitude of reasons. Mr Lacey’s lawyers refute that claim but say they’re willing to negotiate. That’s been made clear to me in the phone call I had with Mr Lacey.” She stood up and banged her papers to neaten them.
I liked her so far; she seemed impartial which was necessary but I had a distinct air of no bullshit from her which I also liked.
“Have a coffee or tea and I’ll be back shortly.”
It was another forty-five minutes before she returned, her expression slightly frustrated. “Okay. This is what Mr Lacey is offering. He’s decided that the pre-nup will be classed as null and void if you agree to marriage guidance counselling with him. He is adamant that he does not want a divorce.”
There was silence from Katie.
“Ms Worthington, you don’t have to agree. I can see that this isn’t something you want to do. And it
makes the negotiation on the pre-nup pointless anyway.” She shrugged.
Katie looked at me, her eyes wet and she tried to wipe the tears away.
“Claire, you know why he’s doing this. He’s going to hold me to ransom. If I don’t agree to counselling, he’ll fight me until I’m either too broke to pay any more legal fees or I’m in hospital.”
I felt my back tense and I bit my lips together, knowing that what I was going to suggest wasn’t in our plan. “Carrie, can you tell Mr Lacey that Ms Worthington does not wish to stay married to him. She would like to negotiate on amicable terms the division of assets in a way that is fair to both of them. If he persists with trying to extend their relationship, Ms Worthington will have no choice than to take further legal advice about his conduct while they were married.” It was a threat, a battle cry to let him know that we could play dirty too and weren’t about to be scared away.
Carrie nodded. “I’ll relay that information. Ms Worthington, are you happy with that?”
Katie nodded, meeting my eyes and visibly discarding the fear she’d shown before. “I am. I could add more to that but it wouldn’t be as professional.”
Carrie gave a brief smile and headed out of the room. Just over a minute later there was a loud bang and heavy footsteps before our door opened and Dean Lacey strode in, his hands in his pockets and his face reddened with temper. I prayed he was on his way to a heart attack, knowing that would make Katie’s life a hell of lot simpler.
He moved to the the table at which we were sat and placed his hands down, staring at Katie. “You don’t want to make threats. You don’t want to try to divorce me because you won’t succeed.” His voice was surprisingly calm. “Take your little lawyer back to her firm and come home and be the wife you agreed.”
Katie stood up. “No,” she said quietly. “I’m getting a divorce, Dean, and if you are going to make it difficult for me then I will go to the police. Let’s try this again. One of the houses and my savings and earnings during the time I was with you. And you let me move on.”
