Chapter 17 Your Husband
Claire
I blinked, stunned by the absurd thing that had just come out of his mouth. My face must have betrayed every ounce of disbelief, because he straightened up and flashed that infuriating grin.
“Oh, come on, Mrs. Claire,” he said, still smiling like a schoolboy who’d pulled off a prank. “I swear on my dead mother’s grave I won’t lay a single finger on you.”
I stared at him.
“So that means you’re not taking me home,” I concluded, mostly to myself.
Whether I left tonight or tomorrow, the damage was already done. By morning the marks would be darker, the bruises blooming like accusations.
“And who, exactly, caused
the way I look right now?” I snapped.
He nodded, utterly shameless. “Yes, ma’am. One hundred percent my handiwork.”
He said it like he was proud of a masterpiece, and I hated him for it.
“You must be starving, Mrs. Claire,” he continued, as if we were discussing the weather. “This way. We should eat.”
I didn’t reply. I just followed him.
The hallway was silent except for the soft thud of our footsteps.
His cologne filled my nose clean, expensive, dangerous and even though my pussy still ached from the way he’d wrecked me, I felt that tell-tale slickness building between my thighs again.
Stupid, traitorous body of a forty-six-year-old woman.
I’d always thought the rumors were nonsense: “The older a woman gets, the higher her libido.”
Turned out it wasn’t a lie.
Lost in thought, I didn’t see it coming.
His big hand shot out, grabbed my arm, and slammed me against the wall.
My back hit hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
Doesn’t this asshole know I’m not twenty anymore?
Before I could curse him out, his mouth crashed into mine.
Wasn’t this the same bastard who just swore he wouldn’t touch me?
He kissed me deep, filthy, claiming.
Our breaths tangled.
His thigh shoved between mine, spreading my legs.
One hand clamped on my waist, the other cradling the back of my neck like he owned it.
My hands landed on his chest, not to push him away, but to feel.
Neither of us closed our eyes.
And the bastard had the nerve to grin against my lips, wicked and triumphant, before finally pulling back.
He ruffled his own hair, mussing it on purpose, then smoothed it back down with a lazy smirk.
“Not laying a finger on you is going to be hard,” he said, voice rough.
He stepped back, cleared his throat like nothing had happened.
“Let’s go.”
What a bastard.
I shouldn’t be enjoying the food, but God help me, I am.
The first bite of perfectly seared steak, the buttery mashed potatoes, the crisp asparagus, it all hits my tongue like a revelation. I hadn’t realized how starved I was until the aroma filled the dining room. Sex, apparently, burns calories like a marathon.
I’m not the only one ravenous.
Across the table, Liam shovels food into his mouth with the single-minded focus of a man who just spent hours expending every ounce of energy. Even the strongest, most tireless men get drained. He eats like he fucks: no hesitation, no apologies.
Halfway through his plate, he picks up his phone and starts scrolling, thumb flicking lazily.
I should stop staring.
I force my eyes back to my own food and finish in record time.
My phone buzzes from my bag.
Both our heads snap toward the sound.
“That’ll be your husband,” Liam says, drawing out the word like it tastes bad.
There’s a flicker of irritation in his sharp, unmistakable voice.
I file it away but don’t dwell. I wish I had.
I reach into my bag, pull out the phone.
Ian.
Of course.
He hasn’t called in days, but now he remembers I exist.
I swipe to answer.
“Claire, where the hell are you?” he snaps, voice thick with entitlement. “So you’re out gallivanting the second I’m not home, huh?”
Pathetic.
“Cut the bullshit,” I say, cold and flat. “Why are you calling?”
Liam’s eyebrow arches slowly, amused, interested.
Ian doesn’t miss a beat. “I need to withdraw a million dollars from the account.”
My fork clatters onto the plate.
“No,” I say, final, like a door slamming shut.
Cue the meltdown.
He starts blabbering, accusations, threats, the usual pathetic script.
I don’t even put the phone to my ear.
I set it face-up on the table, speaker on, and let him rant into the void.
I meet Liam’s eyes across the table.
This isn’t for Ian. This is for him.
A message, clear as day:
You targeted the wrong person. The one who controls the money?
It’s not my husband. It never was. It’s me.
“Oh, so this is how it goes now?” Ian’s voice crackled through the speaker, hard and dripping with venom. “Telling the bank manager not to release a dime to me until you say so?”
I didn’t reply. There was absolutely no need to dignify his nonsense with a response. I simply reached for the phone, thumb hovering for a split second, and cut the call dead.
“Who would’ve thought?” Liam said, leaning back in his chair with that lazy, self-satisfied smirk. “If I’d known you were the one holding the purse strings in the Anthony family, Mrs. Claire, I’d have come straight to you from the very beginning.” His voice was light, almost playful, but laced with genuine amusement. “Would’ve saved me the hassle of sending my precious Pattie to seduce your husband.”
I narrowed my eyes. “At least she managed to bleed him dry for a good while,” I fired back, voice sharp as a blade. “And he was stupid enough to bankroll her little modeling career while he was at it.”
Liam raised a single brow, intrigued. “I see you’ve done your thorough digging on her.”
I let out a short, humorless scoff. “How the hell do you think I found you in the first place?”
He smiled, slow, dangerous, and far too pleased. “Interesting, Mrs. Claire. You’re one smart woman. Now I’m starting to think I should be very careful how I deal with you from here on out.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, pushing my chair back with a scrape. “Since I’m clearly not going home tonight, send someone to escort me back to the room.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded once, calm and collected.
“Jerry.”
The same tall, silent and direct man I had encountered when I first came here appeared in the doorway almost instantly, like he’d been waiting just out of sight.
“Escort Mrs. Claire to her room,” Liam ordered, his eyes never leaving mine as he spoke, like he was daring me to look away first.
I stood up, gathered my phone and bag from the table, and slung the bag over my shoulder. I’d have to call Riette soon, lie to him, calm him down, tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight.
“Enjoy your stay here, Mrs. Claire,” Liam called after me, his voice smooth as velvet, dripping with mockery.
I didn’t answer. Didn’t even turn around.
I just followed Jerry down the long, dimly lit hallway, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor.
The second I stepped into the guest room, I shut the door behind me hard.
Locked the deadbolt.
Slide the chain.
I checked it twice.
I wasn’t taking any chances.
I stood there for a moment, back pressed against the door, breathing hard, staring at the massive bed in the center of the room. The sheets were crisp, white, untouched. The room smelled faintly of lavender and clean linen, nothing like the red room, nothing like him.
But still.
I was in his house. Staying under his roof, not comfortable at the least.
I dropped my bag on the floor and walked to the edge of the bed, sinking down onto it like my legs had finally given up.
My mind wandered, uninvited, painful, relentless.
I remembered when my life with Ian used to be good, our lovely family and everything and now things had changed.
I would have done anything to go back to where we were but even I knew it was too late, he had ruined our family and I had done so too, not even helping the matter, making out with a man who I knew within me was dangerous as hell.
Liam
The second Mrs. Claire disappeared down the hall with Jerry, I pulled out my phone and dialed Pattie, just immediately she answered as if expecting me to call her.
“Hello, sugar,” she purred the moment the line connected. “Wondering why you haven’t called me in a while.”
I cut straight through the flirtation.
“Abort whatever you have with that psycho,” I barked, louder than I meant to.
“What? Why?” Her voice pitched up, incredulous. “He’s about to hand over the cash I asked for.”
“Damn it, Pattie. Just do what I say. No questions asked.”
Silence. Then a soft, “Okay. I’ll do it. My God, is that why you’re upset?”
Upset? Maybe I was.
My mood had curdled the second I heard Ian’s voice on speaker whining, demanding, pathetic.
Something hot and ugly had flared in my chest, and I didn’t know why.
But I did know one thing: Ian Anthony was the reason for it.
“That’s all,” I said, and hung up before she could protest.
“Wait—”
Too late.
I tossed the phone onto the table.
Pattie loved me, I know she always had. But love? I’d never felt it, not once, not for her.
And definitely not for anyone.
So why the hell couldn’t I get that old Milf out of my head?
Even now, knowing she was under my roof, my cock twitched at the thought.
Her scent still lingered on my skin.
Her taste on my tongue.
The way she’d screamed my name, begged, broken…
I stood up, adjusted myself, and poured another drink.
Get a grip, Liam. She's just a means to an end.
A married woman who alone can satisfy your hunger, one that can make you orgasm, that's all she is to you and all she could ever me.
I nodded my head, trying to talk some sense into me before I completely lost it.