The story I was making up was totally bogus, I know, but being a mom makes me literally crazy. Like, I just don't want to fuck it up for Sophia. She has one childhood, one chance. That's why I need this job to work out. If I get the money, Sophia can have everything.
And when I had my I'm-leaving-my-daughter-for-the-first-time panic attack in the limo, Landon could have decided then and there I belonged in a crazy-bin. But he didn't.
He basically handled it perfectly. Beyond perfectly. He didn't say I was a mess or a disaster of a girl-the way I actually felt about myself.
Instead, he called me a bird. He said I was tender. The truth is, I'm a big fat liar. He only partially knows why I freaked.
But maybe that's okay. Maybe that's enough.
I just need to get to England and everything will get easier.
"Check-in is over here," he directs me, and I'm happy to let him lead. I've never been up close and personal with an airport. We walk through a door, flash our passports, and are swept into the long line of gates.
"Don't we need to get molested by TSA or something?" I ask. "That's what the news always says."
"Oh, we're prescreened. I'd never wait in a line like that."
"Right, because you're upper crust. The elite, the one percent."
"It's not my fault I come from old money," he says, leading me to a bank of restrooms.
"Don't you have new money, from the cards you play?" I ask, standing outside the woman's entrance.
"Some. But, honestly, blackjack isn't a serious card game. Sometimes I win big, but mostly it's for pleasure."
"So you just moved to Vegas to mess around?"
"Isn't that why everyone lives in Vegas?" he scoffs.
"No." My voice is sharp. "Not everyone is in Vegas to fuck around. Look, do you need to pee or something? Because I don't."
"Okay," he says, putting his hands on my shoulders, looking at me squarely. "We're clearly stepping off on the wrong foot. Yes, there is a class divide here-but, Claire, you've got to lose the chip on your shoulder if this is going to work."
"I know," I say briskly. "I just-I don't know if I can do this." I shake my head, feeling totally overwhelmed again by the job I've agreed to. I want the money, so much. But Landon makes me feel ... too many things. Jealousy and resentment and ... desire.
"Shut up, Claire. You are completely capable. Let's just change you into some proper clothing, get you a martini, and everything will be fine." He flashes me that half-dimpled, chiseled-chin, heart-stopping smile. The smile that makes me a little wet, and no longer filled with anything so mild as desire. The feeling that smile gives me is straight-up lust.
"I don't drink martinis. Especially at ten in the morning," I say, smirking.
"My fiancée does, though."
And then he pushes me into the family restroom.
In a hot minute, he's pulled up my tee shirt and my sweater, I've unclasped my bra and he's dropping his pants.
"Did you lock the door?" I ask, panting. "I don't want some toddler walking in on this."
"See, you may be this vulnerable little bird, but you're also responsible. That's what I love about you, Claire," he says, locking the door. "You are marriage material, no question-thinking about childhood innocence instead of my cock."
"Oh, I'm thinking about your cock, don't worry."
And I am.
When we slept together in the hotel room it was hot as hell, but it was also dark. Now the fluorescent lights of the bathroom are glaring down on us, shining on his hard rod. And God, he is such a fine specimen of a man. His cock is ten inches long, hard and thick, and I feel myself get wet as he pulls down my leggings, as his fingers plunge below the waistband of my panties.
"Claire, you need to relax, you need to let me take charge."
"I want you to take charge. To take care of me." The words slip out of my mouth before I realize the truth of them. Landon has a reputation for being this complete bad-boy asshole, but he isn't like that with me. With me, he's a man.
"I'll take care of you alright."
And then he begins to graze my opening with his fingers. My panties sopping wet as he flicks my clit expertly. Each movement causes me to reach my arms around his neck and hold on a little tighter. His hard cock is between us, teasing me, as he presses two fingers deep inside my pussy.
"You're so wet."
"For you." I kiss his neck as he dips in and out, in and out, kneading my sweet spot deliciously.
"Oh, baby," I moan as his strong hand pulls out of me, and swells of desire ignite as he pushes down my panties. He smacks his slick hand on my ass, and it burns so good.
My legs wrap around him, and he presses me against the wall.
Our mouths collide, and his tongue devours me greedily. In this frenzied moment of desire, I want him to take all of me. I want his cock on my tits, coming all over me. I want to get on all fours and have him pound me from behind, grabbing my ass as we come. I want him to lick every inch of me, and I want all of him, too. I want to get on my hands and knees and suck him off, his come on my face, in my hair.
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.