Out of the Past Pt. 02bymadam_noe©
"Here," was all Sebastian said to her in the morning.
After crying herself to sleep Claire had awoken to find her clothes cleaned and folded, waiting for her. She'd dressed and come down to breakfast, which to her shock Sebastian had cooked. For health food it was good, spiced egg white omelettes with vegetables, multi-grain toast with only a little butter.
He hadn't spoken but that one word as he set down a credit card and straightened his tie before leaving. Once more he was dressed in a suit, his hair brutally clubbed, his eyes refusing to meet hers and she couldn't say why.
Before she could ask what he wanted her to use the card for, he was gone. She busied herself with dishes and then set up in his office with her laptop, researching Morelli.
He was old man now, but in his youth sixty years ago he'd been a runner who worked his way up on the streets of Providence. When the Italians had moved into Boston he'd followed, made a name for himself. When too many murders and too much coke was connected to him, a rash of killings had taken down any and all who could testify as witnesses to the charges. His lawyer had gotten him sprung and he'd moved up to Toronto, assuming like most Americans that a low crime rate meant low rime, and therefore opportunity.
History was repeating itself. Once more he'd been arrested, indicted, and a trial was set, but witnesses were dropping like flies. Turned out Gigolo John was actually a gigolo, and had been scheduled to testify about Morelli's drug operation. The woman with him had just been a client.
All she could glean on the killer was that experts believed the one in Boston was different than the one in Toronto. The one in Toronto used a gun of a different caliber, and had no compunction about collateral damage. Great.
Maybe she wasn't so safe there. However, she had dropped her suitcase. If the hit man got it he had all her brochures, not a one leading to Chicago. Her fake identity would lead him nowhere. She could spend eleven more days there and leave with the money to start over somewhere safe. If she could handle Sebastian.
Last night had been so confusing, and the hot memories pulled her attention from her computer. The way he kissed and touched her...it was passionate, raw, full of need. But in the end he had taken nothing for himself. She had expected to be used and then he went and took nothing from her. What was his game?
One thing life had taught her was life was a chess game. People either played as pawns, thought themselves bishops, or were the chess masters. Sebastian was a chess master if ever she saw one. He had an end goal, but what was it? If it was revenge for leaving him, last night made no sense. Instead it had been...it had been what she fantasized in many ways, but in her fantasies on the plane ride back she had daydreamed about the feel of him inside her, filling her, their bodies pressed close together, his lips on her skin, her hands all over him as he surged and filled her until she was breathless and clinging to him.
Well, she had eleven days. Morelli's hitman would never find her, she was safe. At the end of that time she would have her money and the opportunity to go anywhere and start fresh again. Until then, two could play that game.
She grabbed his credit card and her purse, and found the number for his car service. She wasn't stupid, and wasn't about to go wandering alone, but for what she needed she had to go outside. When two chess masters met they could either agonize and strategize, or they could play something else.
She was going to change the game.
He couldn't concentrate at work. The implications of his feelings were too staggering. He was a man molded into a machine, Sebastian was thinking not feeling, cold and calculating. It was how he alone had tripled Kellner's profits in four years despite the economy stagnating. It was how he'd never been trapped into marriage with some gold digger.
And here he was, brought low by something out of the past. Someone.
Damn it, how could he feel this way? He didn't know her. The scared sixteen year old girl who had spent many nights talking to him about her desire to escape, then rashly acted on it, he knew that girl. Or, he'd thought he did. The strangely confident, poised young woman in his home now was beautiful and unreadable. She'd agreed so readily to his obscene terms, and why? Dare he hope she had any feelings for him?
More than that, what had she done in those three years? College and graduate school he knew, but after she'd walked off the planet. She was scared of something, running from something, and for a moment he pictured an angry husband.
Clenching his fist around the steering wheel Sebastian concentrated on the road, heading into the Kenwood neighborhood. He'd left the office an hour early unable to concentrate on the numbers, the endless meetings, and the car drove itself.
He was almost surprised to find him outside his uncle's house, and he parked but kept the engine running as he stared. Michael Kellner, his mother's brother, the closest thing he'd had to a father which was to say he had nothing of a father.
Michael had never forgiven Johanna for running off with some strange man and returning nine months later with Sebastian. Even as grandfather Ferdinand groomed Sebastian to grow up and head the company, Michael and Ferdinand had ridden Johanna hard. All his life she was mad. The psychiatrists put any fancy terms they wanted, but in that nine months that had netted his life her sanity had shredded. Any hope they had for her to run the company with Michael when Ferdinand died had been ruined, and so Sebastian had been forced to stay, to take her place.
Michael had always called him a bastard, had unwisely tried to force Sebastian out. The board had seen his side of the matter and it was Michael who was now sidelined. With his new wife he was banished from the company but today Sebastian wasn't here for the business, he was here for family.
There was no gated security and he walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. Dora, Michael's new wife, answered,, all bleached blonde hair and big colored-contact lens blue eyes. "Sebastian!"
"I need to see my uncle."
"He's not home."
"Bullshit! It's about Claire."
Something passed through her eyes like fear and she stepped back, half-closing the door as she schooled her expression. "She is dead to us. My husband has no care for a woman who was once briefly his step-daughter."
"What about her money, her trust fund?"
Dora would never win a hand at poker, her face gave everything away. Sebastian had been more guessing than lying when he told Claire her money was gone, and he knew he was right. He cursed viciously and the door slammed in his face.
This was his family, the same family that had tried to claim Claire. He knew why she had run, now the only mystery was why she had left him only to come back. He walked back to his car and mulled it over, but even as he got in and turned the engine Sebastian didn't know if this time he would keep her.
Claire was exhausted. Normally she hated shopping, but it hadn't been so bad knowing she didn't have to foot the bill. Ashe purchased a new suitcase and some basics for travel, new bath supplies, everything she'd need for the next week including clothes. There she had deviated some.
For the days beyond, when she left for a destination unknown, she bought jeans, t-shirts, cotton basics. For the time under Sebastian's roof she bought all the weapons she could use to upset the chessboard.
This time there would be no hard choices. On that long ago day when she walked out the door leaving him behind, she didn't have to go. He could have come with her, but he'd been scared. His mother was too far gone to help, and she knew this would happen if he stayed. The family would convert him, like some cult acolyte, and he would become a cold, calculating, moneymaking machine.
At some point she'd reasoned out the game. He was trying to make her feel something for him, and then break her heart, that explained the night before. Well, two could play that game. Once she had loved him, indeed with all her heart, and in those long ago nights they had held each other they had dreamed together and spoken of breaking free. But when it came time to come through on that promise of "us versus the world" Sebastian had been the one to turn tail.
So she was going to play his little game, but she was going to win. Maybe it would bring the closure she hadn't realized she'd needed until she looked into the face of the man and saw no trace of the boy, nothing of the hope she'd desired.
There was no going back, and going forward was going to be on her terms.
Sebastian walked in the door exhausted. After visiting Michael, or trying, he'd driven around. He preferred his car service but that day he'd left it for Claire. She'd had almost nothing when she came, Luisa said that one outfit, so he hoped she had bought what she needed. Given how fast that outfit last night had shredded his control he hoped she was wearing a ratty robe, curlers, and bunny slippers.
Instead she greeted him in the hall wearing a dress that clung to her curves, the same rich blue as her eyes. It was cut low enough to expose the sweet curve of her high, full breasts and floated along those impossibly long legs. She looked so damn good his dick was already hardening.
She crossed on heels so thin they made a sharp clack on the marble and then grabbed him, pulling him down. Sebastian growled and dropped his briefcase, taking her in his arms. She instigated the kiss but he took control, refusing to let her hold it.
She tasted like wine and woman, sweet and delicate against him. Her body was soft enough to sink into and god, how he wanted to. She rubbed against him, nearly purring, rubbing his erection. He deepened the kiss and she merely sucked on his tongue. He was hard and aching and she pushed him further and further.
Sebastian wanted nothing more than to force her to wall, lift her, shred whatever panties she wore and slide into her, but he held back. Control, he needed control. On that thought he pushed away and she opened her eyes, blinking, looking dazed. At that moment he could have her, any way he desired, and he was shaking with need, but she would not have him this way. He would retain control.
"Nice dress," he said fliply and stepped back to retrieve his briefcase.
Claire pouted but followed him as he walked to the dining room. As usually the housekeeper had left dinner and he held out her chair. Awkwardly she sat, and he was happy she was disappointed. God help him this was a nice fantasy. Coming home from work to a hot meal and a beautiful, eager woman.
But it was just a dream. Claire had left once, would leave again, and this time he would make sure she regretted it. Now if only he knew how to make sure he didn't.
After dinner she waited to see what he proposed for the night anxiously. Already she felt off-kilter. He liked order, she could see that, and her hope had been to waylay dinner with some fun, but despite his intense arousal and hers Sebastian had neatly sidestepped.
God, how did she think she really could win at this? The second he took control her body betrayed her. Even as a teenager he had been that way, always in control, but then gentle and hesitant, almost shy. Now he was cool, confident, and so damn good she melted. It was all too easy to tell in the years since she had last seen him his experience was wide and hers passable.
They had spoken somewhat pleasantly over dinner until she had dared to ask how things were going for the family company. When his voice turned suspicious and his answers clipped she had to wonder if he insanely thought she was there to try and take the place she'd been groomed for, running it by his side.
Then only the weather and politics had been safe harbor until silence fell. Now dinner was finished and he was watching her finish her wine.
"Tell me your greatest fantasy," he asked at last, shocking her. His tone was so casual it was as if he'd asked her what her favorite color was.
"I- I can't." His gaze was direct, unnerving. He didn't move, didn't waver, just let the weight of his eyes press her back in her chair.
"Yes you can. It stays between us. It never leaves this room. It's just a thought, an idea."
"Only if you tell me yours," she said before she could stop herself.
He raised an imperious auburn brow. "You did agree to do whatever I wanted."
"I agreed to be yours, but nothing so specific. Besides, it's only fair."
"Very well, tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine."
Oh, god, she couldn't tell him what she truly fantasized about in the night, never that, but she could tell him the thing that had gotten her through the past three years. "I- I like to watch."
"To watch what?" His tone was even and his expression did not change.
Fingering her now empty wineglass Claire lowered hr eyes. "Men. I- like to watch them alone, or when they are with a woman."
She felt her face flame. Damn it, he was going to make her say it all, just sitting there, handsome face impassive. He showed no signs of it, but she felt that he would judge her, hear these secret thoughts she had never shared and find fault with them.
"I like to watch them fuck a woman, do what th-they do, naturally. And when they're alone I...I like to see how they p-pleasure themselves."
"And you've done this?"
Heart hammering she met his gaze and nodded. Something passed through his eyes, hot and heavy and fast like a beast past a window and she shivered. "And you?"
He stood then and reached out his hand, and all Claire could do was watch him with guarded eyes. "Come on, I won't tell you, I will show you."
Shakily she clasped his hand and rose with him. This close he was so strong, so large, and she felt fragile and lost. Damn it, she was always in control of her life, of herself, but with Sebastian it was becoming easier and easier to forget.
Like some dark god accepting a pagan offering he brought her up the stairs and into his bedroom. It was grand and exceedingly masculine. The furniture was darkest mahogany, the carpet soft grey, the walls navy and black. The bed was huge, four posters flung far by a king-size mattress. Aside from the bed the only other furniture in the bedroom were the nightstands, a dresser with a huge mirror, and a long backless couch.
The one "wall" was actually thick curtains covering an open balcony overlooking the downstairs. Claire turned and took it al in, remembering how once this space had been Ferdinand's, cold and so different. Despite how stark the color scheme was, it was strangely warm, like Sebastian himself.
He stood leaning against on of the bedposts, arms folded, watching her like sly cat cornering a slow canary. Damn it, Claire cursed herself, she was a woman of the world, she knew what she was about, she was no longer a simpering teenage girl in thrall to puppy love.
"Then what is it to be?"
He looked her up and down and did nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal. She blushed but forced herself to stand erect, hiding nothing. Slowly he stood as well and then peeled off his jacket. She watched his muscles flex beneath the shirt and licked her lips, remembering how the night before he'd remained clothed, an enigma.
Now he pulled his tie loose and let it fly to land on the bed, then began to undo his cuffs. There was nothing musical to his movements but they were no less erotic, simply steady. Claire sank onto the couch afraid her knees would give out.
Slowly his shirt opened with the pop of each button, and then his tanned flesh was exposed. He shrugged out of it revealing sculpted muscle that made her mouth water. Was this his fantasy? Did he like to be watched as much as she liked to watch? The thought sent dark arousal pumping through her veins, and between her legs moisture pooled as she shifted.
He tossed the shirt than walked to her. With one hand under her chin he made her rise and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead he gave a knowing smile and turned her around, gathering her loose hair and putting it over one shoulder. His hands settled on her shoulders before skimming to the zipper and pulling it down.
The cool air kissed her fevered skin as the dress pooled around her feet. Breathless and still she closed her eyes when the searing heat of his lips found her shoulder. Claire could not help but tremble at the briefest touch of teeth with the firm caress of his hot mouth.
When his hands moved up over her hips she didn't fight him, didn't play coy, could only tremble with need. His hands skimmed over her fluttering belly to cup her heavy breasts, massaging through the lace.
"Blue...like your eyes," Sebastian nearly whispered, moving his hands to her shoulders and turning her, ignoring her cry.
Once she faced him he looked her up and down, taking in the lacy pale blue bra, the slim panties and garter belt that matched, and her stockings. "I approve of your shopping choices." Without breaking eye contact he reached behind her and undid the clasp of the bra.
Claire couldn't stop herself from clasping at the cups to stop it from slipping, and Sebastian stepped back with a devil's smile. "Leave the rest on, sit back down." The words were softly spoken but the tone commanding, and Claire sank back to the couch.
Seconds licked by as they waited in a silent duel, and then with a sigh she let the bra fall. The appreciative glow in his eyes was nearly worth it, but then he winked. That made her start, and what followed next made her mouth water.
Slowly he removed his belt, kicked off his shoes. His movements were efficient, carrying their own kind of grace, but without the sway and grind of music. His eyes remained on hers like some primal claiming and she fought the blush and struggled not to gape at the flesh revealed.
When he slid his pants down slowly she thought she might faint from sheer, voluptuous pleasure. Of all the wonderful parts to a man's body she loved men's legs the best, and Sebastian had certainly paid as much attention there as his upper body.
When she saw he was hard, his thick cock pulsing with arousal, her blood heated and slowed.
"Watch me Claire, for the moment, watch me."
He stroked his large hands up his thighs as she licked her lips. Leaning forward Sebastian's long hair still clubbed back fell onto his chest and she wished she could see it loose and free. Then he gripped his cock and she couldn't help but moan.
It was beautiful, he was beautiful. This was so surreal. For all the watching she had ever done it had been in the dark, in secret, without consent. Now, this close it felt raw, intimate. He moved his hand slowly, the fist clenched tight, and for a moment with his hair shading his face he resembled some beautiful, ancient statue.
She had never felt so powerfully aroused in her life. Tonight, tonight she would have him, feel his body filling hers. All of that delicious strength would be hers, she just had to be patient. And he knew, she realized when she met his gaze, he understood what watching did for her, did to her.
Through it all he slowly stroked. Her breasts ached, her pussy was tight and wet, her entire body ached and all she could do was watch as he stroked the long length of his cock slowly with one hand. Then his other joined from stroking the hard ridges of his abdomen to cup his balls. She moaned, licked her lips, and considered begging.
Never before had she wanted to interrupt the watching, to touch, but oh god, she wanted to touch. She wanted to sink to her knees and use her hands and mouth on that cock until he begged her, sank down and filled her just as she wanted.