Sunday, April 28, 2013

Clear and Bright: Chapter Thirty Three: Grand



"What's wrong, Claire?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you standing out here in the cold staring up at–What is it you're looking at exactly?"

"I'm looking at my magnificent birthday present. And wishing I hadn't have ruined it."

"You filled it with your visions. And parts of your soul. Pieces of you... How on earth could you have ruined it?"

"I just did. And it's too late now to... just nevermind." I shake my head, angry with myself, and open the door to go back inside. "Come on, Emilie, what's done is done. And since it can't be un, we have other things to do."

She gives me a sad nod and follows, but she isn't the only one, of course. "What can't be undone?"


"Please, Jaimin, I don't want to talk about it." Or admit to you that I've already failed, before the doors are even open.

"Emilie?" he asks, surprising me. And her. "What doesn't she want to talk about?"

"Uh... I don't... "

"Jaimin, don't–"

"You don't want to talk about it, Claire, so I won't make you. EMILIE."

"Scare her."

"She's not scared. And is going to answer me."

Wrong! But right, too, apparently... "She just wanted to change something... and was told she couldn't."

"Told she couldn't by whom?"

He's never going to let it go now... since the whom wasn't him.

And Emilie knows that. And, scared or not, is more than willing to tell him now. Something she told me should do, because she thought he might be able to get me what I was denied. Because telling him no... "The sign guy. She wanted to change it. Not the design, but the letters. The name... because she changed her mind about that, and wants to name it something else... which I think she should absolutely be able to do, since it's her gallery...

"Anyway, he told her she couldn't."

"You changed your mind about the name?" he asks me, gripping my chin and tilting my face up.

"Yes, but–"

"But nothing." His hand drops from my face and in the blink of an eye is putting his phone to his ear.

And I want to tell him he's wasting his time. That the guy isn't going to give in. Give him what he wants... which is to give me everything want...

But I don't say another word. Because I do want it... everything, and everything perfect... perfectly my way...

And if anyone can give that to me... "Tell him what you want again, Claire."

It's him.

"Hello. So, like I said before..."



                                                                           ~



"Don't do it, Claire."

His words aren't playful. Nor is the just-awoken tone of his voice.

And come just as I'm about to click the second cuff closed around his wrist.

Which I hesitate to do, for just a moment. So that I can look at him... which I was doing closely until just a few seconds ago. The few seconds ago that were just before he woke up.

Or let me know he had...

"You mean this?" I ask, with that click he told me not to let him hear.

The one that put him at my mercy.

And took away his.

And turns his eyes blacker than I've ever seen them. I'm so going to pay for this...

Seriously... he's not going to show me ANY.

But I knew that before I did what I've done.

I knew it when I climbed from our bed while he slept peacefully and trustingly to get the fur-covered restraints from where I hid them. The them that he thought I'd thrown away.

And knew it when I climbed back into it with them, and my plan, in hand.

I knew...

And did it anyway.

Because he still hasn't let me do something. Have something.

And after the all of me he had before he fell so peacefully and trustingly–and blissfully selflessly, depending on how whose interpretation you consider–asleep, I was mad. Blissful, yes, but mad, too.

Because I'm tired of being told no. And 'not yet', or 'not today', or tonight, or...

I'm tired of it. And I don't like it. Being denied and told I can't have something.

Something I only want to do for him. Because I love him and I want him in every possible way. And, like the way he loves and wants me, in every irrational.

Clearly... since I've done this. Irrational is going to hurt...

Like HELL...

But I did know that already. And we're still here. In our bed that he's cuffed to. And that I'm now free to do as I please in.

Free to do to him, who looks anything but pleased. "CLAIRE."

"Yes?"

"TAKE THEM OFF."

"With pleasure," I tell him with a beaming smile, and move my hands down to the waist of his pajama pants.

Is there something worse than Hell? Because I think there might be... and that I might very soon know its existence...

"I'm not playing with you, Claire."

Well, that was surprisingly... calm. "I know. I'm playing with you. Or, I will be, anyway... as soon as I get these off, like you ordered me to."

I start to inch them over his hips–which are not cooperative in any way–when something hits me. Like, seriously, whacks me upside the head... CALM BEFORE THE STORM, YOU IDIOT!

I know! 

I just don't care.

"Don't damage us, Claire."

What? Damage us? That's a bit much, isn't it? When I just want to...

"Or my belief that you love me enough not to. The belief you once pleaded with me to have."

"I love you more than anything. And I'm just trying to show you that, since none of that pleading has reached your ears."

"It all reached my ears, Claire."

"But I want it to reach something else. So much that I'm willing to endure what I know you'll reach. After it does."

"As you see fit, then."

Yes! Finally!

You're stupid. And I'm not sticking around for this... 

Good, three's a crowd.

Yes, and ONE isn't. And isn't what you want to be anymore. Too bad you've forgotten that.

Oh, please, he'd never...

Leave me.

Maybe not... but WHO will stay? Will it even be anyone you recognize? Or love? Enough to be brave and stupid and selfish, but not enough not to be? 

Or are you not as stupid as I think, since 'he's' still 'restrained'?

I mentally flip her off. But then look at my hands still gripping his waistband, instead of something else. The waistband that's still at his hips and no lower. And still restraining–sort of–what I did this for.

This thing that, even though for me, was for him.

Him, who doesn't want it. This way, at least.

Something that no amount of calm doesn't still scream at me.

And no amount of black. That his eyes still are. But not only...

"I just wanted to make you as happy as you make me," I tell him, my hands releasing their grip on their plan. And mine.

"Then wait for me to ask you to. Or tell you. Like did."

"I have been."

"Until you woke up and lost your mind?"

"That may not be an irrational interpretation..."

"Something shouldn't be."

"I agree. Though I think that more than one something shouldn't be."

"That's because your lost mind came back."

"Yeah, I found it again..."

"Good. Now uncuff me."

"I'd have to lose it again to do that now... and since you think it's good that I found it..."

"UNCUFF ME CLAIRE."

"How much I wanted to do that other thing... is unbelievably actually less than how much I don't want to do that."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that... but unlike that other thing... you're going to."

"You know, I can't marry you if I'm dead. And I believe with all of my heart that you want me to do that more than anything..."

"I DO."

"So, you see my dilemma with doing as you ask now?"

"I DIDN'T ASK YOU ANYTHING."

"Can I ask you something?"

"WHAT, Claire?"

"Can I at least have a last meal?"

"Is it ME?"

"Actually, I was thinking of Brouillade de Truffles, but now that you–"

"Over everything else?"

"Yes. Until you–"

"Stop, Claire. Why?"

How many ways out does he have to give you? Answer him! His MOUTH! And let the other part of him go!

Maybe that's not the worst idea ever... "Because I love them. Yours. And because the mere thought of them makes me smile. Because of you. Because they were the first things you ever spoiled me with, even though you made me fight for them. And your spoiling was cocky and rude instead of sweet and loving. Every Monday morning... which it coincidentally is again today... even though the sun isn't up on it yet... and may not come out at all... or be something I'll ever see again..."

I let my words trail off... and give him my best sad little bird face... hoping to soften him... and calm that storm that may be the last thing I ever see... and feel...

"Uncuff me, Claire."

And I'm not sure that it worked... but I have to let him go eventually, so... "Okay," I whisper softly, and take the key out from under my pillow. And then whisper something else... "I love you," and turn it with trembling fingers and set him free.

And then close my eyes... squeeze them shut... and hold my breath... as much of it as I could fit in my puffed out cheeks... and wait.

For something that doesn't come.

Because he moves... shifts... quickly... but it's to put himself in front of me, instead of behind. And then his hands reach up instead of down... to squeeze my cheeks between his thumb and fingers... forcing me to let go of my air... and my fear... that I open an eye–just one–to see I didn't need to have.

"Open the other one, you crazy, brave little brat."

"Am I being pardoned?" I ask him, with my mouth that he loves... and with both eyes wide.

"Yes," he answers, drowning me with the love in his. "But not rewarded, before you get greedy and ask for more."

"Not rewarded yet? Or today? Or tonight? You just mean that, right?"

"Yes," he laughs, and shakes his head. "I just mean that."

"And I'll live long enough to say I do?"

"Yes, Claire... you will... because I'm not that merciful."

"I didn't want you to be."

He laughs again, and then, in an instant, I find myself flat on my back. And at the mercy of those beautiful black eyes... and... "REMEMBER THAT."

That part of him I wanted him to let me have.

Holy. FUCK.




                                                                           ~



I slowly lick my fingers. Suck each one of them. And then my thumb...

Because I know I have a captive audience.

One who sits beside me in the dark theater. Paying absolutely no attention to the movie he brought me to see.

Because all of his attention is on me.

And the popcorn with extra butter and salt in my lap.

The popcorn I didn't have to share. Well... other than the one piece he took from it. Because he could...

Because he and only he was offered the privilege.

And with a cocky smile, took it. And that piece, even though he has a bucket of his own. Because he wanted me to...

"One of these days your teasing is going to get you into more trouble than you can handle," he whispers into my ear.

Today, if I'm lucky... "What teasing?" I whisper back. "I'm sitting in a movie eating popcorn. Popcorn you bought for me."

"Was the hundred napkins I gave you not enough, sweetheart? I could run out and get you more?"

"They might have been... if they weren't in my purse."

"Why are they in your purse?"

"I'm saving them... for you... and the next time you have a cocky smirk on your beautiful face. And something else. Or, more specifically, me."

"You have a very naughty mouth, Miss Beaulieu."

"So do you, Mr. Guillory. And I like it."

"LIAR."

"Oops. You're right, I am. Because I LOVE it. Which you do, of course, know. And should never punish me for, though feel welcome to always torture me with."

"Like you are me? With yours? And have been doing since the moment we sat down?"

"No... "

"No?"

"No, definitely not. It's far too indirect a way. And not nearly... 'in your face' enough."

"Or yours?"

"DEFINITELY not in mine."

I laugh at the SHHHshing a handful of rows in front of us and take a sip of my Coke, before resting my head on his arm and turning my attention back to the movie.

That, even though I look at, I don't think I'll see any more of...

Because I saw something else before I did.

In those eyes that own me...

I saw surrender.

And I think... just maybe... that when we get home...

He's going to let my mouth torture him. And OWN him...

Like his does me.

When his eyes that do are elsewhere.

Where they're not now.

Finally.



                                                                                      ~



That surrender I saw in the dark theater?

Is still there when we get home.

Here with me.

Against our door that he pushed me against as soon as we were locked securely on the inside of it.

And in his kiss that pins me to it.

Before something else comes along to help it.

Or up, if we're being specific about the details.

And I want it... that something that's up... want him to give it to me...

But unlike the countless other times I did... I won't ask him for it.

He's going to have to give it to me on his own. Ask me or tell me to take it.

Which I think he's going to do.

Because he spins us so that it's now his back against our door. And then wrestles out of his leather jacket and drops it to the floor in front of him. And in front of me. And then does the same with mine... my badass leather bomber jacket... that now lies in a badass heap on the top of his. Between us.

Like something else is, though not lying at all. Something as badass as badass gets.

And that he unbuckles his belt to let out. Unbuttons and unzips his jeans to set free. And pushes his silk boxers down and over...

While I watch him...

Do it all...

Cockily...

In every way that he is. Now. That Mr. Sweet and Sensitive has surrendered. To Mr. NOT.

Who I will surrender to. Gladly.

"Is this what you wanted me to give you so bad that you were willing to risk my pretty little ass to take it without my permission?"

I tear my eyes away from it, hard and commanding in his hand, to look at his face. That's perfection takes the air from my lungs no matter how many times I've seen it...

And nod. Playfully and not.

And even if he knows it was both, he only addresses the first. The playful. "What was that? Did you say something, beautiful? Because I don't think I heard you."

I nod again... and then look down again... and whimper... before looking back up... nodding... vigorously... one more time.

And the corners of his mouth turn up just a little... for just a few seconds... because he can't stop them. But then cocky is back. In charge and in control. "You're going to open that pretty mouth, Claire... and give me what I want. EVERYTHING I want."

I smile, and then purse my lips together. Tightly. Because he made me wait forever for this... and he's going to have to wait at least a few seconds.

"And you're going to do it NOW," he orders, as his hand comes up to wrap around my neck beneath my hair, his thumb at the bottom of my chin, forcing it down, and my mouth slightly open.

It's been a few seconds, right? "If that's what you want."

"You know what I want, Claire."

"I couldn't not, I assure you."

"Then give it to me like a good girl."

"YES. It's what I wanted. So bad that I was willing to–and did–risk your pretty little ass to take it without your permission. Before I didn't."

"Very good, sweetheart."

"No, I think it was very bad."

"I mean now."

"Aah. Well, thank you. I can be sometimes."

"I know," he says, his fingers moving into my hair and his thumb sweeping slowly across my slightly parted lips. "And do you still want it?"

"Very much," I tell him without hesitation, and with very little air in my lungs again.

Not just because I know he's going to finally give it to me...

But also because his fingers in my hair are taking. God, that feels like heaven...

"Then take it," he says, twisting my hair into his fist and pulling. And me downward. "Permission GRANTED."

I consider thanking him again...

But his eyes that are locked on mine as I let him guide me to my knees on the soft leather ground he provided me tell me I don't have to. Or say anything at all. But what mine tell him... as I sweep my tongue over the tip of my granted wish... and get my first taste of his surrender...

That, like the way I like my popcorn, is salty...

And makes me want another.

And him want me to have...

"Jesus, Claire..."

And take...

Not share...

Greedily...

Like the spoiled brat I am...

That I think I surpass now...

Because, even though there's more than I could ever have imagined...

He is...

I can't get enough.

Of him. And his permission.

That I accept...

Take...

ALL of...

With eyes–and mouth–WIDE open...

And full...

Of and with...

His total...

And complete...

SURRENDER.

Good girl, Claire... I tell myself, smiling up at him. Very. Good. Girl.

Because he couldn't.

Couldn't let me hear it.

Because at this moment...

As his hands–both–tremble in my hair...

And his eyes gaze down at me in wonder...

He can't say anything at all.


                                 
                                                                             ~



Things have been a little different since Jaimin's surrender.

He hasn't told me no to a single thing I've asked for. Including him. And for him to again. And again. And...

Yeah, he's no longer the only one enthralled.

Nor the only one spoiled. I figure I have a lot to make up for. Not that I could ever even that score...

Seriously... in a lifetime I couldn't...

But he doesn't deny my wanting to.

Or trying to.

Doesn't even try to.

Because he can't.

Because me and my smart, naughty little mouth took his power away. And a whole lot of something else...

Like what I just took from him.

While he was trying to shave.

Or getting ready to anyway...

Before he stopped.

"Just wash it off," I tell him, trailing my fingertip through the cream still slathered and drying on his face. "I like you scruffy sometimes. And besides, I'm hungry, and don't want to have to wait for you to feed me."

"Be careful, Claire... I might interpret that as an insult."

"Well, my tenderized throat implores you not to. And to get your EPIC, like the rest of you, ass into the–your–kitchen to make me breakfast. The kind I can't make for myself."

"You have a VERY naughty mouth."

"And you love it, so give it what it wants."

"I do," he says, turning on the faucet and splashing the cream off of his face, after splashing me... "And love it more every day."

"So...?"

"So, I'll thank it. And make you anything you want. And anything it does."

"You know what I love?" I ask him, wrapping my arms around him as he's trying to dry his face.

"I think I do," he smirks at me, "But tell me."

"I love our new, WIDE OPEN, lines of communication."

"I'm glad you do, Claire, because I love it, too."

"Don't you mean them?" I ask with a pout.

Which he kisses, as he lifts me up, wrapping me around him, and pushing mine against him as he carries me to the kitchen.

Where he sets me on my spot on the counter with a wink. "The other one isn't new, sweetheart. I opened that one a long time ago." And with a teasing sweep of his fingers between my legs.

That makes me whimper.

And then pout again.

Because that's all I got...

Before he walked away...

And to the refrigerator...

To get what he needs to give me what I asked for.

Damn him.




                                                                              ~




Just like so many times since the first, I feel him before I see him. Or hear him. "You look exquisite."

"Thanks to you, caterer boy," I muse, and brush a touch of rich color I'm not sure he'll find as exquisite over my lips. Which have never been more his...

"And so does your mouth, though it doesn't sound."

Or maybe he does... "Thank you again." Because he truly does love my mouth, couldn't possibly love it more... "And how does it sound? My mouth?"

"SMART."

"Well, I did do well in school..."

"Mm-hmm."

I smile sweetly at his exquisitely amused and not so gaze and then turn my own back to the mirror in front of me one last time.

If ever I was putting myself under a storm cloud it was tonight. The night I put everything out there. Myself, and my dreams, and his for me...

The ones that aren't about him. And the ones that he has no doubts about.

Because he has no doubts about me.

Or what I'm capable of.

Not that I do... or don't feel confident about what I'm putting out there for all the world to see... but...

"What if no one comes?"

"Excuse me?"

"What if my Grand Opening is a GRAND FLOP? And grandly quiet? Silent, even? What if  no one comes?"

"You know how brilliant you are, Claire. Where in the hell is this coming from?"

"I don't know... I just am trying to prepare myself, I guess. That it might not be a success. That–"

"Well, stop. Because you're wasting your time."

"Being one of many is very different than being the only, Jaimin. My decision to present only my own work at tonight's opening was a risky one. And will maybe be seen–if it's seen at all–as a cocky one."

"Your decision?" he asks, because he knows that he's responsible for my making it.

"In the end, yes. With your unrelenting encouragement."

"I didn't twist your arm."

"No, you didn't."

"You let me encourage you."

"Yes I did. But what if that was the wrong decision?"

"Confidence is never wrong, Claire."

"But cocky can be."

"Yes... but isn't you. We wouldn't be having this conversation if it was."

"What if no one comes?" I can't stop asking the question. To him or myself...

And just like I can't, he can't hear it. Or simply won't... "I'm going to spend this night making sure you can breathe. And making sure no one is watching you do it too closely. Or at all, if we're being honest. So, if any part of you is telling you that you should be worried about how this night will go... "

"Don't misinterpret it?"

"Yes. DON'T."

"Do something for me?" I ask him now, misinterpreting nothing about his words. And their stormy warning.

"Anything."

"Know that if it wasn't for you, I couldn't do this at all."

"I don't agree with that."

"I know... but can you try not to forget that it's how I feel? And not do anything that would take you from my side? Or my sight?"

"I would never do anything to ruin this night for you, Claire."

"Not intentionally, no... but if people do come... and look at everything I chose to put out there... because there's nothing else to look at... "

"Then I'll let Loring handle it. And them. With my unrelenting encouragement. And grip... on you."

"That's all I want. For you not to let go. Because I definitely wouldn't be able to breathe if you did. And weren't still encouraging me–unrelentingly or not–when whatever this night is for me is over."

"Well, now you're wasting your time and your precious-to-me breath..." he says, spinning me gently around and wrapping his arms around me... Confidently. And gripping his chocolate silk adorned prize... Cockily...

And takes some of that rich color from my lips with his...

And then my precious-to-him breath from my lungs. "Because this night is all about you. And will stay that way. End...

"And someone... WILL come. Which will never again happen without me in your sight. If you can keep your eyes open. Caterer girl."

Talk about a SMART mouth...



                                                                           ~



My mouth is wide open again. As are my eyes...

Because the crowd assembled in formal and formidable glory in front of my still-closed doors is...

Taking my air. "Jaimin..."

"I'm right here," he says, pulling me back against his chest and kissing the top of my head. "And it's where I'll stay."

Emilie is already inside, has been for hours...

And so is Loring. And Genevieve. And the Bouchards. And Aricin and Caressa and Alaina...

But I was too nervous to wait there and ran back across the street to Jouissance and my pillar of strength.

So that he could keep me breathing, though the sight of him–let's be honest, at all–working to make his part in this night for me perfect took just as much of it away.

And even more when he was finished and changed into his suit... of all black...

TALK ABOUT GRAND...

A grand, grand masterpiece...

That had my mouth and eyes as wide open as they've ever been...

And my lungs as empty...

Before he took even more of my air–and that color from my lips–with another kiss...

And words of unrelenting encouragement as he led me through the restaurant to where we stand now looking out the front doors...

His.

At mine...

That aren't visible behind the EVERYONE that came to see them open...

And me...

Open my very own gallery...

With the name that's exactly what I wanted...

And looks exactly the way...

Vibrant...

Alive...

And beautiful...

Couleurs d'Air...

Even though "I can't–"

"Yes, you can."

"No... Jaimin... I... c-c-c..."

"Hey... " He spins me around and away from everything and everyone, and pulls me into a dark quiet corner, tucking me in, and cradling my face in his hands. "Just look at me, Claire. Tune everything else out and look at me."

"I... c-c–"

"Shhh... sweetheart, it's okay. Breathe for me, please. It's just us... "

I shake my head frantically, because it's not. And because I just can't catch my breath.

"Claire... "

Seeing all of those people outside... waiting in the cold... for me... expecting something of me... too much, maybe...

"Damn it, sweetheart, you have got to breathe... please, Claire... "

Is more than I was ready for. Or could ever have prepared for.

It is too much. And I was too confident. To think I could do this...

"M-m-make... it... g-go... aw-way... J-Jaimin... p-p-please... m-make... th-th-them... g-go... "

"You don't want that, sweetheart. You're just overwhelmed. And that's okay. We'll wait until you're not. And so will they, because they know you're worth it. It's why they're all out there. Because they know."

"It's t-too... m-much... "

"No, Claire... not for you, it's not. For you, nothing is enough."

God, he loves me so much...

And, knowing that... with everything I am... I look at him.

Focus on him.

Tall and strong in front of me...

Shielding me from everything beyond him...

Everything but him...

And my panic starts to calm. And my lungs start to fill again. Slowly...

And the desperate grip I didn't realize I had on him loosens. Just a little...

Just enough... to see the mess I made. That I try to smooth, like my breathing. "I wrinkled your sleeves."

"I don't care."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't ever be sorry for holding on to me, Claire. Or for taking strength from me."

"I'm not sorry for either of those things. I'm just sorry I wrinkled your sleeves."

"Well, I'm not. Just like I've never been sorry for wrinkling anything of yours."

"I don't recall you wrinkling any of my slee–oh... you mean my pants... or skirts... or whatever may have been covering my–"

"Yes. Any of those."

"Yeah, I definitely don't recall you ever apologizing for it. Or thinking you should."

"I knew you didn't. Just like I know now that you can do this. Let people admire and appreciate you... though not wrinkle."

I take a few breaths in and out... in his hands and under his loving and encouraging stare...

And let that love and encouragement, and his faith in me, give me a different kind of strength. "I am sturdy... and brave... "

"Yes you are."

"And you'll be right there if I falter... "

"Yes I will."

"Okay. I can do it."

"That's my girl," he says, and gives me a proud, beautiful smile.

But I need to face it when I do... "But I really want you to take me through the back."

"My LYING girl."

"What? Lying about–Oh! You... back door, Jaimin! Of my building. Evil."

I back further into the corner he put me in, with my back–and something else–against the wall and shake my head at him.

And he laughs... evilly... and then steps closer to me... so close that it should suffocate me...

But he could never. "See? It's always better if I can hear you, Claire."

"Yeah... I see. And that it's always BEST when I can. See you."

"You'll never not, I promise."

"Then let's go, because I've never been a girl that's been late."

"Are you sure that's not a lie, sweetheart?"

I'm about to say yes... that I'm sure it isn't...

But then I remember. As if I could ever forget that day...

When I started to breathe.

"No... I'm sure it is, actually. But, just like that day I was... late... and didn't have the sense... or the sturdy... to be afraid of you... "

"You're not now, either? Even for being caught in a lie?"

"No. Because I didn't mean to lie. I just wasn't thinking clearly... until I heard you."

"I love you, Claire."

Truth is so beautiful... "I love you too."



                                                                            ~



"We're so proud of you."

Mr. Bouchard's beaming smile is one I don't think I'll ever forget. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"Is it okay that that pride makes me feel like a father right now?"

"It's more than okay."

"It really is extraordinary, Claire... " He gestures around us with wide, awe-filled eyes. "Your vision. The way you see things... and bring them to life."

I don't think he's just talking about my paintings. "I had help. Seeing... " And as I say the words, my eyes find Jaimin.

Who hasn't been exactly by my side for every moment of this night, but whose eyes have never left me. Even when I couldn't see him I could feel him. Like now... when I did, and knew exactly where to look for him.

Him... who takes my breath away. And gives it back to me so much stronger...

Mr. Bouchard follows my gaze, and takes in the one trained unwavering on me, and smiles. "There's definitely an air of him in here. No pun intended."

"Of course there is," I tell him, "He's a part of me. A part of everything... a good part. And a strong... too strong to deny."

"I'm glad he's here, Claire."

"Me too... "



                                                                             ~



"How am I doing?"

His warm breath in my hair and at my ear sends a contradictory shiver up my spine. "You're doing extraordinarily well, my love. So much so, in fact, that I think your good behavior should be rewarded."

"A gold star, perhaps?"

"That's not even close to what I was thinking, Mr. Guillory."

"No? Well, it will be, Miss Beaulieu... because after I do what I'm going to do to you when I get you home... I think you'll want to give me a million gold stars. At least."

I have no doubts about that... "I want to give you more than that for just thinking about doing something to me that would earn you them."

"Then you'd have to give me more than that many every day... because there's not a single that goes by that I'm not thinking about it. Doing... that thing... I love to do to you."

"And for you?"

"CLEARLY."

"It always is... clear... because I can always hear you."

"I don't doubt that you can... even over your own–"

"I tune those out. I like the sound of yours better. And the feel of them. Against my... "

"Be careful, sweetheart."

"YOUR... "

"Well, that's much better, but still–"

"Don't say it?"

"It's my request, yes. Until I get you home, anyway. Then you can say whatever you want to me."

"Okay. As you see fit."

"Oh, just you wait... "



                                                                             ~



"Don't leave me."

"I've tried very hard to give you your space tonight, Claire. While staying close like you asked me to."

"I know you have. But I don't want you to anymore."

"You don't?"

"No. I want you right here... where I can wrinkle your sleeves."

"Well, I don't have to try to do that. Or let you."

I smile at that, and at him, and grab one of his said sleeves, pulling it against me as I pull him. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for that, beautiful."

"I think I do... but it wasn't only for that. Thank you for all of this... "

"All of this was you, Claire, not me."

"That's not true... "

"Yes it is. You and your gifted hands did this. Don't give me credit for any of it. It's all yours. And all of the smashing success that came of it in mere minutes... hell, seconds... YOURS."

"It's been hours."

"Only because no one wants to leave. Say goodnight to you, or your brilliance."

"But it was you who gave me a place to put it. And the strength to face it. And–"

"I just put a roof over it, Claire. And over your beautiful head. To protect you from storms... since you like to stand under them. Taunting them... sometimes."

"A beautiful roof that I love," I tell him, looking up, and listening to the rain that falls on it now, "That is keeping me dry... but doesn't need to protect me from what's falling from the sky. On this night, anyway."

"I wondered if you heard it. Or had time to see it, though I didn't see you. And I was watching."

"I know. You didn't take your eyes off of me once."

"I couldn't."

I know, my love... and I'll always be grateful for that... "But yes, I heard it. And knew what it was. A happy rain... and a proud one, that I didn't need to see to know it was."

"If I could rain down on you to show you how proud I am of you, Claire, and how happy, you'd drown."

"I drown every day in that waterless rain. And nearly drown you with mine on many."

"The things that come out of your mouth... "

"Are just as badass as what goes–"

He covers said mouth and shakes his head at me. "And I'm going to be merciful and save your bad little ass from the storm it's trying to play in. Now  you can say thank you."

He gives me a sexy warning glare and pulls his hand away–but not too far–giving me a chance to let him hear me.

And I won't do or say anything to damage that trust, even though it isn't absolute... because I'm me... and my mouth is... well... "Thank you."

"So very PROUD... "



                                                                            ~



"If you catch a cold, I'm going to–"

"Take care of me until I lose it."

"That's not what I was going to say, Claire."

"I know. And we can go in now."

He doesn't say another word as he sweeps me out of the cold rain and into our apartment. Where a warm fire is already blazing. "How did you do that?"

"Michel is a very valued employee. And willing to do anything for you, which..."

"Is sweet. And mostly because he believes I make you a more tolerable boss."

"That better be why." He scowls and then rushes away from me and down the hall.

But before I can even get my wet-from-the-rain coat off, he's back. Carefully draping a towel over my also wet head and helping me with it.

"Thank you," I say again, and let him pull me to stand in front of the fire. Which I only do long enough for him to pull the chair from beside it to in front of it and gesture me into it. After which he crouches down and pulls my gift-from-him, like the dress I wore tonight, shoes from my feet.

Before smirking and slipping them back on. Oh, really, Mr. Guillory?

"Thank you again," I tell him, smiling at his unrelenting adoration. And what else I see...

"You're going to lose your voice saying those words to me before this night is over, sweetheart."

"Worth it," I tell him, and close my eyes as he moves behind me to dry my hair with the towel. Because the way he's doing that... "Mmmm... I should stand in the cold rain more often."

"No, YOU SHOULDN'T," he warns. "I should just never again forget how sensitive your beautiful head is. And how much you relish attention to it."

"As you see fit," I whisper, indeed relishing in the attention it's getting now.

That I know won't last forever.

Because he made it very clear what part of me he wanted to focus his on when he got me back here...

To this place that was all about me before I ever even entered it...

And its warmth...

And his...

That his mouth spreads over the skin of my neck and shoulders as his towel-draped fingers work their way down my hair.

That they, after not much longer, drop completely from. After which he does...

And around the chair and to his knees in front of me...

And pushes my dress up and over mine.

And higher...

As he pulls me lower...

Further to the edge of the chair...

Rips the remaining chocolate–that he also gave me–to tatters and then opens me wide...

My mouth and my eyes and my...

"Ohhhh..."

Grand and limitless gold starred sky.