Ohmigod, his cock is so hard. The tip presses at my tight opening, and I just want him to drop me against himself, so I can feel the immense pleasure deep and fast. And now.
I never give in like this, to my fantasies. But as Landon’s massive rod slides into my wet opening, it seems like he could bring any fantasy to life. If there ever were a man who could fuck me like I’ve only read about, it would be him.
“You feel so good, Claire,” he says in my ear, one hand holding me up and the other hand running over my breasts. My nipples are hard and tight, and I want him to fuck me harder.
“More, give me more, Landon,” I moan, as he thrusts his cock deeper in me. My head rolls back as the sensation fills me to my core. Every inch of me is on fire, alive with him.
He smells like cloves and money—and, right now, sex. He smacks my ass again and I feel my wetness pour over him. I’m completely undone.
Clawing at his hair, I groan loudly. “Oh, fuckmefuckmefuckme.” My pussy pulses as I come.
He holds my ass steady, pounding into me as he comes too.
“Oh, fuck, Claire.”
“What?” I pant.
“You are ruining me.” He kisses my nose, my cheek, my ear.
I smile, nuzzling against his face, ticklish from the kisses.
“Good,” I tell him. “Then your family will buy this engagement.”
He nods slowly, setting me down, pulling up his pants. “Right. I think they will.” He smiles tightly, then hands me the carry-on bag. “There’s a change of clothes in there. I hope they fit.”
I pull out a pair of slim-legged black pants, a cream cashmere sweater, a fitted pale pink, knee-length wool coat, a chunky pale pink scarf, and four-inch nude stilettos. They’re all the right sizes; his personal shopper did well with the measurements I sent Landon.
In the bag there is also a La Perla bra and panty set—pale pink as well—Chanel sunglasses, and a make-up bag.
“I’ve been instructed, as well,” Landon says, “to make sure you get a manicure before we board the plane.”
“Right.” I smile tightly, holding an outfit that probably cost five thousand dollars. “Great. This is totally normal.”
“Breathe, Claire. You’ve got this. Now.” He raises his eyebrows coyly. “Let me see you in those panties. I told the personal shopper to only buy you thongs.”
Landon
After the bathroom sex and the manicure, Claire and I are sitting in our first class seats, ready for take off. We didn’t have time for a dirty martini before we boarded the plane, but that’s all right. I can get her properly tipsy before long and then she’ll sleep it off before we land in my home country.
“Would you like a cocktail?” the flight attendant asks.
“Gin martini for me. And Claire will have a glass of champagne.”
Claire gives me a soft smile, and I’m glad I ordered her what she likes. Though I do think a woman who drinks gin is hot as hell, when Claire holds a flute of champagne she becomes both demure and alluring.
When we have our drinks in hand, I offer a toast.
“To a lifetime of happiness, for us both.”
That makes her laugh, almost enough to forget about takeoff. But as soon as the captain announces that we are off the ground, her hand finds mine and, without thinking, our fingers lace. Our eyes lock.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, my forehead resting on hers.
“I’m just really far from home.”
“That’s okay, bird. You ever heard the saying ‘Home is where the heart is’?”
“Of course I have,” she whispers, smiling. “Thank you, that makes me feel better.”
“Then all is as it should be.” I steal a kiss from her. Our lips lock, not like the passionate kisses we shared in the bathroom. This is a steady, reassuring kiss. A kiss that says more than please-fuck-me-now ... it’s a kiss that feels intimate in a way sex never does.
And I know it’s all a job to her, and to me—but sometimes, like right now, when my our breath is so close, when my whole body is focused on helping her calm down ... it doesn’t feel like a job. It feels personal.
“Where is your heart, Landon?”
Everything tenses at that question. Because, fuck, I’ve spent forever running. And now I’m going home, no less sure than when I left. Still have no house to call a home, no real job, no real woman. Everything is like Blackjack. Just a house of fucking cards.
I’ve never felt shame before, at not having my shit together ... but when Claire asks, for some reason I want to show her that I am not such a screw up.
“If my father gives me the business, I’ll pour my heart into The King’s Diamond.”