Chapter 7
Claire's POV
I leaned back in my chair at the upscale French restaurant, the soft clink of silverware and murmur of polite conversation wrapping around us like a cocoon. The place was all elegance—white linen napkins, flickering candles, and waiters who moved like ghosts. Daniel sat across from me, his broad shoulders stiff in his dark jacket, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. We didn’t have to wait for a table; the staff knew me by name. The head waiter, a wiry man with a neat mustache, gave me a small nod as he handed us the menus, already aware of my usual order.
“Miss Stanton, your favorite duck confit today?” he asked with a practiced smile.
“Yes, thank you, Pierre,” I replied, my tone warm but clipped. I glanced at Daniel, who was scanning the menu with a slight frown. “What about you?”
He looked up, his blue-gray eyes meeting mine for a brief second before dropping back to the page. “The steak. Medium rare.” His voice was flat, like he was ordering rations instead of a meal.
As Pierre whisked away with our choices, I tilted my head, studying Daniel. The tension from earlier at my apartment hadn’t faded; it hung between us, thick and heavy. “So, do you ever get a real day off?” I asked, folding my hands on the table, my nails catching the candlelight.
He shrugged, his jaw tight. “There’s a rotation. I get breaks when the schedule allows.”
I raised an eyebrow, sipping my water, the cold glass slick against my fingers. “And lately? I’m guessing Victoria’s not keeping you too busy.” My voice dipped, probing.
Daniel’s eyes flicked up, sharp and guarded. “Not much need for me right now,” he said, his tone careful, almost bitter. “She might be back in rehab. I don’t ask for details.”
I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. So, the rumors were true. Victoria, locked away again, probably kicking and screaming. I didn’t push further, though. Not yet. When the bill came, Daniel reached for it before I could, sliding his card to Pierre with a quiet, “I’ve got this.”
I didn’t argue, just watched him with a flicker of surprise. “Thanks,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. It felt... odd, letting someone else take charge, even for something as small as lunch. A part of me liked it, though I’d never admit that out loud.
Back at my apartment in Queen Anne Heights, the city skyline glittered through the massive windows, a silent backdrop to whatever was brewing between us. I slipped out of my blazer and into a silky, loose-fitting shirt dress, the fabric cool against my skin as it slid over my shoulders. My bare feet padded across the hardwood as I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and settled onto the couch, gesturing for Daniel to join me.
“Movie time,” I said, opening the device with a click. “What kind do you like?”
He sat on the far end of the couch, leaving a deliberate gap between us, his posture still rigid. “Doesn’t matter. You pick.” His voice was gruff, like he was already bracing for something.
A wicked grin spread across my face as I scrolled through options, my fingers tapping the keys with purpose. I wasn’t picking some safe rom-com or action flick. No, I went straight for something raw—an adult film, the kind that doesn’t bother with plot. I hit play, the screen lighting up with a woman peeling off her clothes, her body bare and unapologetic as she dropped to her knees, her mouth wrapping around a man’s cock with a hungry moan that echoed through the speakers.
I stole a glance at Daniel. His face was stone, but his hands gripped the edge of the couch, knuckles whitening. The air grew thick, charged with something I couldn’t name but could damn well feel. My pulse quickened, heat creeping up my neck as I watched him fight whatever was stirring inside him.
“What the hell is this, Claire?” he finally snapped, his voice low and rough, eyes cutting to mine. “What do you want?”
Inside, I was buzzing. I wanted to see him crack, to watch someone so upright, so noble, wrestle with the kind of urges we all have but pretend we don’t. I wanted to see the man behind the armor. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I leaned back, crossing my arms with a smirk. “What’s the problem? Look at the screen, not me. I pay you good money to keep me company. Is watching a dirty movie with me really too much?”
He let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head, his lips curling in a bitter smirk. “Guess it’s better than doing worse things in front of you.” His words were sharp, self-mocking, and they hit me harder than I expected.
I shifted, letting my legs part just enough as I moved, the silk of my dress riding up my thighs. My fingers trailed down, slow and deliberate, slipping under the fabric. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and I knew he’d notice. My hand moved with purpose, fingers gliding along my slit, teasing the sensitive bud with light, lazy strokes. I spread myself open, rubbing slow circles, feeling the wet heat build under my touch. My breath hitched, sharp and audible, as my nipples hardened, pressing against the thin shirt, two obvious points straining the silk.
“Look at the screen, Daniel,” I ordered, my voice firm despite the tremor in it. On the laptop, the woman was on all fours now, her body rocking with each thrust from the man behind her, her cries turning into desperate wails. “More—ah, more! Feels so good—your cock’s so big, gonna break me—ahh!” Her voice was shameless, raw, filling the room.
Daniel’s head turned, drawn by my command, but his eyes snapped back to me instead, locking with mine. I saw the moment he registered what I was doing—my hand moving faster now, fingers circling my entrance, dipping just enough to tease before sliding back to my clit. His gaze dropped lower, taking in every detail, and I noticed the bulge straining against his pants, undeniable and hard.
A rush of power surged through me, hot and dizzying. I slowed my movements, dragging out the torment, my fingertips tracing lazy loops around my slick folds. My skin felt electric, every touch amplified by his stare. “Disappointed I stopped?” I asked, my voice a taunt as I pulled my hand away, leaving myself aching and exposed.
His face was a storm—cheeks flushed, jaw locked, eyes burning with something between shame and hunger. He didn’t answer, just sat there, caught in a war I could see playing out behind his gaze. It was pathetic, and it thrilled me.
“Tell me, Daniel,” I pressed, leaning forward, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Do you want to watch me slide my fingers inside, or do you want to shove your cock in there yourself?”
His mouth opened, then closed, no words coming out. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, the fabric of his pants tenting even more now. I could see the struggle, the way he hated himself for even considering it. My chest tightened, a mix of triumph and something darker twisting inside me. I had him on the edge, and I wasn’t about to let up.
“Get over here and pick me up,” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument. I pressed my bare foot against his thigh, the contact sending a jolt through me as I felt the hard muscle beneath.
He hesitated, then stood in one swift motion, his arms scooping me up like I weighed nothing. His grip was firm, his muscles flexing under his sleeves, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. “Where to?” he ground out, his voice strained.
“Bathroom,” I said, pointing with a tilt of my chin. “I need a shower. My pussy’s all sticky, and it’s driving me crazy.”
He froze for a heartbeat, his breath uneven, but then started walking, his steps measured. I nestled against him, my head resting in the crook of his neck, inhaling the faint spice of his cologne mixed with something warmer, uniquely him. My lips brushed his skin as I murmured, “Did you clean up nice for me before coming over? Seems like you knew today might get messy.”
His grip tightened, but he didn’t respond, just kept moving toward the bathroom, the tension between us coiling tighter with every step. My heart pounded, the game shifting into territory I hadn’t fully mapped out. But I wasn’t backing down—not now, not ever.
