Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

How could I sit back and do nothing, enjoy the sun and sand with the girl I was about to marry when my uncle was rotting, one of my sisters was grieving her dead husband, both sisters grieving our Uncle, the business on the cusp of being dismantled, and who knew what else?

My uncle always had so many irons in the fire at all times, and as we’d come to learn in the weeks before his death — no one knew about all the irons.

He played with his hand close to his vest. What was about to start smokin’ that we didn’t yet know about?

Was my love for Claire, which made me feel desperate to get her far away from the bullshit at home, putting us all in danger?

“Just take a minute,” Dare had said. “We get it all cleaned up, look at all the books, and potential options soon. Just take time for you and Claire.

If I were you, that’s what I’d do. Step off the grid and really have time to think. I’ll be here, overseeing getting all our ducks in a row and then we sit down and figure out what’s next.

Keep you posted every step of the way, bro. Keep my eyes open. We have things ready so that the first clue I get it might be goin’ south, we bug out.”

At least I could trust my brother. I had that, at least. I only hoped I wasn’t f*****g up and putting us all at risk right now.

***

Sleep was a luxury I wasn’t getting on

my luxury holiday in Aruba.

Most nights since Uncle first got shot by Jesse Romero’s crew and then even more after he died, I’d lay awake for hours, often tuned into the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

The nights without her while I was in Italy before s**t hit the fan, I barely slept. But having her beside me didn’t make enough of a difference the past few weeks for me to fully rest.

Most nights since I shot Uncle, I played events, possible scenarios, and potential plans over in my head.

Sometimes I’d lay there and seethe about wrongs done to me, to her, wanting to kill people I’d already killed all over again, only slower, more creatively.

Though, the justice I’d dished out in Mexico when they took her was pretty damn creative, if I did say so myself.

And when I did sleep, I often woke up with the feeling we weren’t alone or with dreams of all sorts of s**t. Uncle laughing at me. Uncle pointing a gun at her. Uncle shooting my own father.

Uncle telling me I’d failed his ultimate loyalty test.

Uncle saying, “I would’ve let you keep her, my boy. You only had to trust me. You didn’t, so now here we are.”

Claire’s father stealing her. Earl Johnson and Juan Carlos Castillo dragging her bloody and away from me.

Then there was me but in an accountant’s attire holding her hand and her smiling at that version of me with love, her spinning, twirling with that beautiful halo of long, chestnut, silky hair flowing through the air, then my beautiful baby girl stopping to look at me and doing it with disgust.

“I hate you, Azriel. You stole me. You broke me. I curse that day I first felt your touch, the blindfold, your f****d up fetish, the cherry you put in my mouth after twisting it. I’m the cherry. Twisted in knots; chewed up. Ruined.”

All sorts of s**t haunted me while demons taunted me.

Not least of which was the fact that this girl who I’d claimed, who’d agreed to be mine, was hoping for fun, for adventure, and I was stuck in my head, making this trip a giant fail.

I had to try.

All she’d been through with me so far?

I had to man the f**k up and try. Give her some joy and fun. Help her forget her worries about my state of mind. Make it feel worth it to be tied to me for the rest of her life.

I told her in the beginning it wouldn’t be all sunset walks on the beach and s**t like that. But I couldn’t let her down by making every minute with me miserable.

It was taking all I had, resisting the strong urge to go home and play the part of Azriel Clarke, status quo, making sure everyone knew that I was not to be f****d with any more than Tom Clarke was to be f****d with.

Because I had the feeling that if that’s what I did, I’d become him. She’d hate me. I’d hate me.

Claire’s POV

We’d eaten a gourmet meal (after Azriel interrogated both the waiter and then the manager to ensure my food would have zero exposure to shellfish. It felt so nice to be protected like this), and then the band started.

I was watching couples dance, listening to reggae music, a singer that was almost a dead ringer in style and voice for Shaggy, and I wanted to dance, but got shut down.

“Oh c’mon, Mista lova lova…” I’d tried, thinking calling Azriel the Shaggy pet name was cute.

I don’t think he knew what I was talking about. Or worse, he did, and pretended he didn’t because he was annoyed with me.

I wanted to dance. I wanted to have fun.

This was why I’d picked this restaurant. The outdoor patio. The décor. The band. The reviews about the great vibe. It was a place for more than dinner.

It was a place for an evening out. A date night.

He tried to ask for the bill when the server offered a dessert menu, stating we’d get room service back at our hotel if I wanted something sweet.

I had opened my mouth, about to protest, but froze, open-mouthed with a shrug and a disappointed expression, meaning he rolled his eyes and cut me off before I could speak.

“Forget the bill for now,” he told the waiter.

“Bring her a dessert menu.”

“I think I’d just like a cocktail. Something fruity with an umbrella,” I said to the waiter.

“Surprise me?”

He gave me a beaming smile. “Absolutely. Sir?” he asked Azriel.

“Jameson. Double,” Azriel replied.

The server gave him a professional head tip and went away.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Azriel’s expression cut my air off. His expression warned me to resist the urge to push my luck. He wasn’t making us leave yet, so I slunk in my seat, deciding to give him a minute.

His eyes went to the water off to the left. My eyes went to the band, off to the right.

We hadn’t spoken when the waiter returned with our drinks.

We hadn’t spoken until I was half way into my pineapple-flavored alcohol slushy cocktail. His eyes had moved to watching the band.

I was watching people on the dancefloor. Some of them damn good, with their moves. Some of them not so much, but looking like they were having fun. Dancing like no one was watching. Like I wanted to do…

He reached for my hand and squeezed it.

My eyes met his.

“We’ll go to that park tomorrow, if you want,” he finally said. “Check out a beach?”

It startled me, but I felt my face split into a beaming smile.

The band began to play Bob Marley’s No Woman No Cry and Azriel squeezed my hand and pulled me to standing, then led me to the dance floor.

I smiled through the whole song, taking in paradise around us, his strong arms wound around me. Twinkling stars. Water lapping at the sandy shore. Beautiful music. The alcohol in my b***d making me feel warm and tingly.

When the song was over, he whispered in my ear, “Can we go?”

I nodded.

***

When we got back to our villa, he used the phone to call and talk to his brother. He was on so long, I fell asleep.

I was woken in the dead of night with him thrashing around in his sleep.

I put my hand to his chest, caressing where I knew, despite the dark, was the still semi-fresh tattoo of my name with my palm, and he let out a feral sound, a tortured sound of pain. I flicked the lamp on.

“Azriel?” I cupped his jaw. His eyes flew open. He looked bewildered, like he didn’t know where he was.

He blinked twice at me, and then I guess I and the surroundings came into focus.

He grabbed for me, flipped me, and was then on top of me, hovering over me and tearing at the t-shirt of his that I wore.

He was frantic in his efforts to get me naked. I tried to help get the t-shirt off, but my arms got pinned.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice gruff.

My panties got ripped down and then he was burying himself in me.

My body was totally unprepared, so it hurt like heck.

He kissed me like he was starving for me.

As his hands moved over my body reverently, my body adjusted, the pain transcending to something else, something good.

Something— for him. I had it to give and wanted to give it.

The light was still on, so I watched as he stared determinedly, directly into my eyes, with a look that would’ve frightened me if I hadn’t already spent this past few months with him, learning those expressions, knowing that this was fiercely possessive emotion he was feeling.

Whatever he had dreamt about had made him afraid and this was some sort of affirmation right here that it’d been just a dream.

We were alive and together and he was going to revel in it.

I surrendered to a massive o****m and got a second one as he chased his own.

“I love you,” I whispered and ran my fingers through his hair until he stopped me by grabbing my hand and putting my knuckles to his mouth, planting a tender k**s there.

“Was I too rough?” he asked.

I nodded. “A little. But, it’s okay.”

He kissed me again. “You’re perfect,” he whispered against my mouth, tenderly touching his lips to mine.

I was far from perfect, but really liked that he felt like I was perfect for him.

“What was your dream about?” I asked.

“Don’t.” His body stiffened. He turned out the lamp.

I gulped, and then whisper-sang,

“Everything’s gonna be alright, everything’s gonna be alright.” Mimicking the song we’d danced to. I sang poorly, I had a terrible singing voice, but it still earned me an affectionate cuddle from him.

“Love you so much, baby girl.” He put his lips to my temple. “Be right back.”

I cuddled up to his pillow and closed my eyes. I heard the toilet flush and then the shower was running. It was only running for about a minute, when I was dosing off, slipping into dreamland, but then he came back in, in just a towel, and flicked the lamp back on. I squinted.

He reached into the dresser and pulled out some boxer briefs and got them on. “You get your period, baby?”

“Hm?”

“B***d on me.”

“Oh!” I jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. I wasn’t due but it hurt a little when I peed and there was a bit of b***d on the toilet tissue.

When I came back out I said, “I think it was just, uh… a little rough.” I climbed in bed beside him.

He looked disgusted. “I made you bleed.”

I shrugged. “It was a little rough. I’m okay, though.”

“I hurt you.” He was angry.

“I’m okay. I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

He looked angrier.

I cuddled in. “It’s okay. I was just unprepared. I’m okay, Azriel. Really. It’s not the first time. It’s probably just the first time you noticed.” I turned the lamp off and curled into him.

I fell asleep after a long time of him kissing me, stroking me, apologizing with his affectionate caresses.

It was unnecessary. I was only too happy to be who he reached for in the middle of a bad dream, that I brought him comfort was important to me, even if it was a bit rough sometimes.

*Aruba – Four Days Later*

Azriel’s POV

I was ready to rip this bonehead goof’s head off. He was shamelessly flirting with her and oblivious to my anger about it. Why?

Because I’d been laughing and joking with her when we arrived and that made me seem…what… weak?

I’d had about e-f*****g-nough of people.

We took a tour of an eco-park and then we went snorkeling. Yeah, it was cool and it was nice to see her enjoy herself, but there were too many people around for my liking.

Despite that, I dealt.

Two days of tourist s**t and losing count of how many beaches we went to. She didn’t m**n when I said I wanted a day of R&R at the resort the day before.

She swam, read a book, and worked on her tan while I did some work for Clarke Enterprises on her laptop to lighten some of Dare’s load.

He contacted me via video call to tell me to stop, but I wasn’t accustomed to so much down time.

“This is supposed to be a vacation, bro,” Dare teased on screen.

“We’re here a few more days and then we’re heading to the next spot to meet up with all of you for the wedding. Guessin’ you’re probably slammed gettin’ ready to go, so I’m just lending a hand.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

He shook his head but smiled on the screen. “I get it. You’re not used to it, but I got this. Got loads of help with this consulting firm. Our top-level people, too.

Then, you’ve got your honeymoon and the rest of your life. You don’t need to even think about this s**t right now.

You really wanna think about it, we’ll talk a few weeks after the wedding.”

The rest of my life. What the f**k was I gonna do with the rest of my life?

Uncle had us so busy, doing so many things, both legit and shady, that I was a man used to working daily. Between work, working out, and playtime at the club (before I met Claire) I never sat idle.

Now, I was idle without a dozen irons in various fires and with no idea what to do with myself. And to top it all off, my head was filled with s**t.

Work would’ve let me bury it. Idle time just let it fester and torment me.

I didn’t even have a gym here. Yeah, the resort had one, but I didn’t want to work out around other people.

Leave Claire alone and unguarded in our villa? f**k, no.

No outlets for me but f*****g, and I didn’t wanna hurt her, was pissed at myself for making her bleed the other night.

I was feeling unhinged and didn’t trust myself not to take it too far with her. So, I swam and f****d carefully, and I was ready to use this fuckhead that had his beady little eyes on her t**s as a punching bag.

Today, we were gonna spend the rest of the day at a public beach she’d heard was in the top five on the island.

I was trying to make this trip good for her, and based on what I felt like right now, I was anxious to get out of this vacation mode. It wasn’t for me. Not like this, anyway.

I grabbed Claire’s hand and glared at the guy who was talking to her. His wife was playing in the water with their two kids.

“Baby, let’s go,” I said, cutting the guy off.

Her expression dropped. We’d only been here not even an hour.

“Go?” she parroted.

“Got a surprise for you,” I teased and kissed her knuckles.

Her eyes lit up.

“It was nice to meet you,” Claire said, getting up from the sand.

I grabbed the towel we were sitting on and passed it to her. She shook it out.

“We’re planning to be at the Hilton casino tonight. We’ve got a sitter. Be great to run into you two,” he called over, eyes meeting mine.

“Got somethin’ planned already, man,” I replied and grabbed her hand and tugged.

He blinked in surprise at my obvious brush-off.

No, fucker. I’m not about to suggest an alternative meet-up. Fuckin’ goof.

He and his wife were from Bend.

Just because we were from the same state, did that mean we had to make plans together? A lot of people lived in Oregon. Did I need to be friends with all of them? Don’t f*****g think so.

He’d introduced himself with his whole name. I’d given him just our first names. He didn’t need to know who I was.

Besides, what if this was a game? What if this was someone who knew who I was, trying to get close and trip me up on something?

I had already planned to rent us a house in Costa Rica that my PI Zack Jacobs hooked me up with. Zack had lived there for a few years so knew the area and still knew people there.

I’d decided I’d had my fill of Aruba and we should go there now. Enough of this tourist bullshit, which I clearly wasn’t cut out for.

Costa Rica. The place I rented was in a more remote place with little to do besides be together instead of her trying to drag me all over the goddamn place.