Chapter 32 Which Cheek?
Claire
Soon he turned abruptly and didn't look back as he walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall, I hurried to the mirror. My cheek was already a bruised red. The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over, streaming down my face as I frantically wiped them away.
“Stop crying, you fool,” I muttered under my breath.
He doesn’t deserve my tears. He deserves nothing from me. I kept repeating it to myself, scrubbing at my face to wipe my tears, but inside I felt completely broken.
I sank into the chair, forcing myself to take slow, steady breaths while staring at my reflection. I couldn’t let the children see me like this.
In our twenty-one years of marriage, Ian had never once raised a hand to me—until today. That was what hurt the most. But even more painful was knowing I’d have to go downstairs and pretend everything was fine for the kids when everything was clearly falling apart.
I stood up, went straight to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on my face. When I returned to the bedroom, I applied heavy makeup to conceal the redness on my cheek. When I go downstairs, I’d simply say I had to step out for a while. With this much makeup, they might sense something was wrong if they looked too closely.
I changed into something more suitable for going out, forced a smile onto my face, grabbed my phone and purse, and headed downstairs.
Everyone was chatting happily as I appeared, my fake smile firmly in place. There he was—laughing and talking with the children, showing no trace of remorse for what he had done to me.
“Oh, Mom, are you going out?” Max asked, walking over.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I replied quickly. “Something urgent came up. I promise I’ll be back soon.” I said pretending to be in a hurry.
“But Mom, you said we’d have you all to ourselves today,” Isabella complained.
I laughed softly. “I know, love. I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached for my keys. “Bye, Riette,” I called and he waved back. I didn't even want to look at Ian for a bit and so I hurried out.
Max followed me out to the garage.
“I didn’t know you liked that much makeup,” he said with a small smile.
I turned to him. “Yeah… I hope it’s not too much,” I answered, trying to sound lighthearted.
He shook his head, but his expression suggested otherwise. I knew it looked excessive, but I had no choice—I needed to hide the redness on my cheek.
“I’ll go now,” I said, opening the car door before my composure broke completely.
He closed the door gently once I was inside. We waved to each other as I started the engine and pulled away.
I drove out of the compound and the estate without a real destination in mind. I just needed to escape before the house suffocated me.
After driving for what felt like twenty minutes, I found a quiet, safe spot and parked. I leaned back in the seat, breathing heavily, one hand pressed to my forehead, eyes closed as I leaned my head back against the headrest.
Only now could I finally breathe. Only now could I let the frustration and pain pour out.
I hated Ian.
I hated that I had spent my youth trying to please him.
I hated that I had given my entire life to a man who no longer valued me—especially now, when we should have needed each other more than ever.
I hated everything.
I hated my life…
Just then, a sharp knock sounded on the car window.
My eyes flew open.
When I looked over, I froze.
I couldn’t see his face—he was standing too close, too tall; all I could make out was his chest.
But I knew instantly who it was.
I didn’t want to face this stalker right now, but damn it—I needed him more than I was willing to admit to myself.
So I unlocked the car.
He opened the door immediately.
“Shift, Mrs. Claire,” he said.
I climbed out and moved to the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel.
“Didn’t know you’d run from your family just to end up here. I thought you missed your kids,” he said as he closed the door.
“Did it get so boring?” he asked, turning to look at me.
I shook my head. “Why would you think that?” I replied, frowning when he didn’t reply.
“What?” I asked, confused by his blank stare.
Then he suddenly looked away and slid the driver’s seat back to give himself more room.
“Your husband sent a private investigator after you, and I gave him exactly what he wanted. Care to explain?” he asked, not looking at me as he unbuckled his belt.
What the hell does he think he’s doing on the side of the road? We are not doing this again.
“Well, he knows about you and I now, but not everything,” I said, looking away.
“So tell me—what does he know about you and me?” he pressed. I heard the zipper of his pants and swallowed hard.
“That you’re someone I'm having carnal knowledge with,” I said, trying to ease the tightness in my chest.
“No, Mrs. Claire. I’m someone you fuck,” he stated flatly.
I licked my lips.
“You want release, don’t you, Mrs. Claire? I’m right here for you. And besides, no cars are passing on this road. You can do whatever the fuck you want,” he said.
I turned to look at him.
But he was staring straight ahead, not at me, his teeth clenched tightly.
I looked down and saw his hardened cock waiting patiently and I swallowed.
I reached for my skirt and pulled it off, then did the same with my panties. Heat was already pooling low in my stomach, so taking him in wouldn’t be difficult.
I climbed on top of him as he pushed the seat back further to give us more space.
“Good, Mrs. Claire. Now lower yourself down,” he ordered.
With my hands on his shoulders, I lowered myself onto him.
I did as he said, sinking down until I took his cock fully inside me. He gripped my waist and thrust upward. I gasped softly, remembering and enjoying the feel of him as he began to move.
But something was different about his thrusts today. They weren’t the usual Liam rhythm—was he angry because Ian had found out about him?
He suddenly drove in so deep that my eyes widened.
“Stop thinking and just fuck, Claire,” he growled.
He thrust his hips up again, and I moved with him, taking him deeper, holding onto him for support.
“Ah—” I cried out a little as I felt him reach the very end of me.
But suddenly he stopped.
“I wasn’t going to do this here, Mrs. Claire, but I’m upset,” he said.
I looked at his face—he clearly was, because there was a frown on his face and he was chewing on his teeth as if to contain his anger. His eyes studied mine intently.
“Which cheek, Mrs. Claire?” he asked.
My eyes widened. So that was why he was angry. Of course he’d noticed—the heavy makeup had given it away.
But why did he care? If I was just someone he fucked, it shouldn’t matter to him.
“It’s none of your business,” I blurted.
The moment the words left my mouth, his hand shot to my face, fingers gripping my jaw between his thumb and index finger.
“That’s for me to decide,” he said, his eyes wider than usual, his expression visibly furious.
“The left,” I answered suddenly, as if under a spell.
He released my face abruptly, then gripped my hips tightly and began thrusting again—hard, relentless, and completely silent.