“Stay there.” He quickly removed his shirt and pants. His cock was hard and throbbing. The sight of her naked backside bent over the bed, wet and ready, was almost too much. He found a condom from his pants pocket and rolled it down his hard length.
He positioned himself at her entrance and gripped her hips, the tip of his cock nudging her lips apart. Claire moaned and lifted her hips, urging him inward.
With a groan, he thrust inside her, and she whimpered. He paused, afraid that he had gone too fast. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, wriggling her hips.
Helmut needed no further encouragement. He thrust into her again and again, and she met each movement with her own.
“More,” she gasped, her hand sliding down to work her own clit.
Helmut leaned forward, pulling her up against the length of his bare torso. One hand played with her nipples, squeezing and tugging. The other displaced her hand to stroke her clit from the front while he slid in and out of her tight, wet sheath.
He felt her climax building. Her head thrashed side to side and she whimpered and moaned. Her entire body was liquid fire in his arms. Helmut buried his face in her hair and clung to her as she came apart in his arms. He then shuddered as he came inside her.
Helmut cradled her against his chest as their breathing slowed. After a moment, he gently slid out of her and lifted her in his arms.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“The same place we’ve been trying to get to. The bed.”
She giggled as he gently tossed her onto the now rumpled covers and climbed in beside her. The sound tickled over him and he grinned down at her, feeling more free than he had in along time.
The sight of her bare breasts distracted him from examining that thought any more deeply. He kissed each one of them thoroughly, gently sucking on the nipples as his fingers played over the delicate bones of her rib cage.
She sighed.
He gasped as her fingers closed around his already hardening shaft.
“What, not ready for more yet?” she asked with a breathy feigned innocence.
“Getting there,” he said and closed his eyes as she cupped his balls. “You’re killing me.”
“Hmm...” she said, and squeezed his cock. “Your blood pressure seems fine.”
Helmut captured her lips for a long, hard kiss as he leisurely explored the curves of her waistline and abdomen.
“I do have one question,” she said when their lips parted again. Her hands trailed up over his chest. His cock was fully erect again, pressing against the curls between her legs.
“What’s that?” he said, and lowered his head to place a kiss on her sternum.
“What does the D stand for?”
Helmut raised his gaze and looked into her eyes. They sparkled with desire and curiosity.
“David.”
She laughed.
“What’s so funny about the name ‘David’?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She giggled. “I guess I was expecting something a bit more...unusual. To go along with Helmut.”
He grinned. “I was named after my grandfathers. My mom’s father was a German draft dodger during World War II. That’s where I got Helmut. My dad’s father was an Iowa farmer. David. Besides, you’re a fine one to talk.”
“Me?” she asked and then gasped as he cupped her sex with his palm. “Why me?”
“Claire
James
.”
“Mmmm...” was all she said as he slid his fingers inside her again.
The purple haze of dawn was just filtering through the heavy hotel drapes when he felt her stir. Helmut squinted at the alarm clock next to the bed. Five a.m.
The hourglass curve of her bare back tempted his fingers. With one soft caress, perhaps he could coax her warm length up against his hips. Her butt snuggled up against the erection that was beginning to swell.
Noiselessly she sat up, careful not to ruffle the sheets, and slipped her legs over the side of the bed. Helmut narrowed his eyes and watched her through his lashes, not moving. Willing his breath to stay even and slow.
Claire quietly gathered up her discarded clothes and padded out the bedroom door to the sitting area beyond. He heard the soft rustling and telltale zip of her cocktail dress, and then the soft click of the door to the hallway as she crept out without a word, or a backwards glance.
Just like I did.
Whoever coined the phrase “turnabout is fair play” should be guillotined.
Helmut buried his head in the pillow, still smelling of her tropical shampoo. The bed sheets beside him were cooling rapidly without Claire’s heat, and his cock pulsed angrily between his legs as the word “turnabout” conjured images of her bent over the foot of the bed last night.
The townhouse her father had rented had a carved stone façade, black wrought iron balconies on every window, and a carved mahogany door that slid open silently, despite its apparent weight.
“Claire, dear, welcome. You look tired.” Claire’s stepmother, Diana, eyed Claire’s slightly rumpled linen skirt suit.
Claire suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, and fixed a polite smile on her face. As greetings went, that was one of the nicer things Diana had ever said to her. “The house is lovely.”
Diana shrugged cashmere-draped shoulders and gently tossed her head, causing two sparkly earrings to bob beneath her perfectly up-swept chocolate brown hair. “It’s passable. I had hoped for the little chalet that we rented a few years back, but the new owners were not entertaining offers. Marie! Come take mademoiselle’s coat.”
Claire handed her trench over to a black-and-white clad maid, and suppressed a second eye roll. If there were an actual castle for rent in the city of Paris, Diana would have snapped it up, and insisted on a coach-and-four instead of a town car.
“When did you go brunette, Diana?” she asked instead, noting how Diana’s eyebrows had been dyed the exact same shade as her hair, and that expertly applied concealer could not totally cover fine lines appearing at the corner of the woman’s eyes. Her father’s wife was only twelve years older than Claire, and until recently had always been a perfectly tanned, perfectly bleached, blonde.
“I did it last week in honor of your father’s retirement.” Diana patted the sides of her up-do with a tiny flourish of her fingers that set her rings sparkling in the morning light. “He is in the salon talking with a certain
someone
, if you catch my drift. Go on in, and tell James that I will join you all soon.”
Did Diana just wink? Claire frowned as she walked toward the archway at the end of the two-story vestibule. She paused on the threshold, heart caught in her throat.
Champagne flute in one hand, Helmut leaned comfortably against the stone mantle at the far end of the room. She hadn’t known he was invited to her father’s brunch this morning. And she had slipped back to her hotel room while he was still asleep.
Foolish of her not to ask.
Helmut had worked for Father for years. Hell, her father probably golfed with the man she’d spent hours shagging last night. The mental picture of Helmut and Father joking about women over a beer and a mulligan made her very uncomfortable.
Helmut glanced up and their eyes met across the wide expanse of chintz-covered furniture and Persian rugs. The white-hot heat in that gaze flew straight to Claire’s core, and warmth spread down toward her knees. She took a steadying breath and stepped lightly into the room.
“Claire, dear, look who’s here.”
Claire pulled up short at the gravelly bass of her father’s voice. James lounged in an incongruously delicate blue slipper chair, opposite Frank. Her slime of an ex-fiancé grinned up at her from a matching chair. “What are you doing here, Frank?”
“Surprise,” Frank said as he got to his feet. “When Diana found out that I was in town, she insisted that I come for brunch today. You look beautiful, Claire.”
Claire stood stiffly as he stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. His temples were slightly flushed and his breath smelled of red wine. She could feel his hot palms through the sleeves of her jacket, and she pulled back away from the embrace. “I need to talk to you, Father.”
James stood with a sigh. “What, no hello for your dad? Don’t tell me you’re still sore about the conference call?”
“It’s important.”
“Frank, if you’ll excuse us. I think I know what this is about.” He shot Frank a knowing look and placed a hand around Claire’s shoulders to lead her to a small side door. “There’s a little study over here that I’ve claimed for myself for the week. We can talk there.”
The small room looked like a medieval king’s solar, with rough-hewn stone walls, red and cream tapestries, and a massive carved wooden desk chair that looked more like a throne than office furniture. Claire waited until the door clicked shut behind them before she pounced. “How could you have invited him?”
James crossed his arms across his chest. Even with a receding hairline and a slight paunch, he was still a good-looking man. “Now, don’t get so upset. We’re all adults here and your stepmother and I enjoy his company.”
“After what he did? You could have at least warned me.” She drew herself up to her full height. In heels, she just looked her father in the eye. And if he felt a little disconcerted by the level playing field, even better. She was no rebellious teenager any more.
He waved one hand. “Water under the bridge. It was just one affair—”
“One affair?” Claire heard the pitch of her voice escalating and made a conscious effort to control her anger. “That affair cost me—”
“What did it cost you, CJ?” James’ voice lowered a notch and his eyes flashed. “Some bad press? A few bucks on the stock price? He’s made his mistakes and he’s paying for it now. Get over yourself, daughter, and let bygones be bygones.”
Claire was taken aback by the venom in her father’s voice. She made to step around him back for the door. “Fine. You and Diana are welcome to entertain whoever you choose. Just keep Frank on the other side of the room from me. You may have forgiven him for his ‘one affair,’ but I haven’t.”
“Wait, what?” One of James’ arms reached out and caught Claire by the elbow. “What is this about Frank?”
Claire stared incredulously at her father. “Didn’t you hear me? You might have forgiven my ex-fiancé for his affairs,” she said, emphasizing the plural. “But I have not. And I don’t care to spend time with him.”
“This is about Frank?” he asked, not releasing her arm. “He said you two were reconciling...”
“Who did you think we were arguing about? And no, we’re not reconciled. Nor will we be.” She gave a small tug on her arm.
James let go of her arm, but turned to block her from reaching the doorknob. His features softened. “I thought you were upset about Helmut. I realized that his affair with that government woman cost the company a lot of embarrassment this week. I saw the look that passed between you two when you walked in the room just now and I thought you were upset to see him.”
Claire crossed her arms across her chest and took a steadying breath as her anger began to dissipate. Yes, seeing Helmut under her father’s roof made her uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to explain exactly why. She changed the subject. “What line did Frank give you, anyway?”
Her father shrugged helplessly. “You’d have to ask Diana. She is the one who actually arranged it. And please don’t be mad at her. You have no idea how had she has tried to make peace with you and your brothers over the years. I wish you would give her a chance.”
Claire raised one eyebrow questioningly at her father. Did he really expect her to just run headlong into his scheming wife’s motherly embrace and start exchanging girl talk?
“I didn’t know.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
Claire allowed herself one huff and turned back toward the door.
“How bad was it, CJ? Do I need to bodily remove him from the salon? I don’t pack my rifle, but there are some vicious-looking swords in a cabinet in the upstairs hall...”
She paused with her hand on the doorknob, and her lips twitched. In high school, her father had threatened one of her dates with a rifle. An unloaded, dusty, Civil War era antique rifle. The kid had been so scared that he wet his pants right there, and never spoke to her again. In return, Claire didn’t speak to her father for two whole months. It was funny. Now.
“I outgrew the need for a knight in shining armor a long time ago, Dad. I fight my own battles, now.”
“So I’ve noticed.”