Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

“I do. I can take it,” I said huskily, “Be your c**k slave…” I moved back over and started to tongue his n****e.

“Claire, I’m good. Go to sleep.”

“Azriel, I can take it. If you don’t release it now it’ll get worse and it could be more than I can handle, I’m here for you, let’s play a game, I—”

He put his hand over my mouth, “I just spent 2 hours beating a punching bag to a pulp so that you don’t have to deal with it instead. I am fine. Go to sleep.”

He took his hand off my mouth.

“Azriel—”

His hand came back over my mouth and stayed there.

After a few minutes he lifted it.

I didn’t say anything. He pulled me against him and I kissed his chest and eventually fell asleep with my nose against his skin.

Azriel’s POV

What has she become? Some armchair psychiatrist who thinks she knows how to keep me from going overboard? I could’ve shown her that she hasn’t a f*****g clue how bad it could get, that it could get even worse than it did in Vegas, but I didn’t wanna hurt her, don’t want her to think she’s in over her head with me — especially after I’d already almost broken her. I had my head together enough that I wasn’t looking to inflict anything on anyone. What I

was

craving was finding out the answers I needed. Even if her offer did make me as hard as a f*****g rock.

Did my uncle kill Claire’s mother, Carlita Dawson? Did he kill Joe Trulia? What about Earl’s son Michael? What else was going on here? And what the f**k should I do about it?

Claire’s POV

I was alone when I woke up. There was a text on the iPhone.

“Gone out for a bit to take care of some things. I’ll meet you at Uncle’s for dinner. Jimmy will pick you up and drive you. Be ready @5. Say nothing about what we discussed last night to anyone. Xo”

Well duh.

I wrote back,

“Okay.

Uncle’s for Sunday dinner? Oh boy. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting us out of it with what was going on.

I stayed busy getting things done around the house. Rosita would be back either tonight or tomorrow and I didn’t want her to have to come back to dusting and vacuuming and laundry so I made sure that everything was done.

Nino was on the grounds with another guy, that Dex. I looked at the big biker-looking Nino and wondered about this cousin of mine, his wife. I wondered if they had kids. I wondered if I had other family. I wondered if they all knew about me or not. I pondered the things my father had said, about how losing my Mom hurt our connection. I knew it did. He was so broken after her. And did he blame me? Maybe he did. He was always so fascinated with the mafia, though. Surely that was odd under the circumstances. And he was still trying to get a job with Azriel. Clearly he wasn’t against the idea of living in that ‘life’. It was perplexing. He sold me out instead of trying to protect me. He was saving his own a*s. And now he was trying to profit from my misery. Well, I guess it wasn’t misery anymore but it had been and he didn’t know if I was happy or if I was in my own personal hell and yet he was trying to get a job with Azriel!

I baked a glazed lemon Bundt cake to bring to the dinner and had it ready when James knocked on the front door. No one had been wandering around inside the house since we’d been back from Vegas. I knew they used the staff quarters but the hall door off the kitchen was left locked. Azriel had said they had keys for emergencies but had been instructed to give us our privacy. Earlier that day I’d gotten James to get me the ingredients at the store per Azriel’s instructions if I needed anything.

He carried the cake to the car and drove me the short drive to Azriels Uncle and Lisa’s. It was a short drive, thankfully, so our awkward efforts at small talk didn’t have to last too long.

I plastered a smile on my face as I went inside because the first person I laid my eyes on was Azriel’s Uncle. He was standing in the doorway ready to greet us,

“What’s this?” He smiled at me but his smile twitched almost nervously as he eyed the cake in my hands.

“Lemon Bundt cake,” I said with a sweet smile.

His expression dropped. This was my mother’s recipe. Clearly by his reaction he’d had it before. It was the only thing she cooked that didn’t make the person eating it look for the nearest dog or potted plant (some dogs had even looked for potted plants!) and she’d made it for every occasion. It was a just a store-bought lemon cake mix with lemon Jell-O pudding added into the box recipe. Then it was glazed with icing sugar mixed with lemon juice.

“You don’t like lemon cake?” I asked innocently, a mask firmly in place.

He was pale for a split second and then seemed to recover, “Can’t wait to try it. Sounds great. Take it to the kitchen, girls are in there.” He kissed my cheek as I passed him.

The girls were in fine form. Luc was the size of a ranch style bungalow and eating cheese as Tessa shredded it on top of garlic bread. Lisa was chopping cucumbers.

“How can I help?” I asked as I stepped in.

They all looked genuinely pleased to see me and bombarded me with,

“How was Vegas?”

“What have you two been hiding out or something?”

“We have to get on with planning this wedding.”