Chapter 18 Who's Using Who.
Claire
I couldn’t sleep. I had called Luppy to say I wouldn’t be home tonight—Riette’s phone kept ringing out, and she assured me he was asleep, which eased one knot in my chest.
Then she added that Ian had stormed out without a backward glance. His problem.
Those are my children’s savings, and he has no right to touch them whenever he pleases.
I lay awake for a long while, the room thick with quiet, but as the night deepened, my eyelids finally surrendered and sleep pulled me under.
Then I felt hands on my body—slow, deliberate caresses that sent warmth blooming across my skin. It had to be a dream; I had locked the door myself and double-checked it.
But the touch grew hungrier, more insistent, and when I opened my eyes, there he was, his face inches from mine, breath warm and laced with whisky.
“Thought you weren’t gonna wake up,” he murmured.
“How did you—?” I began, but the words melted as his finger found my clit and began rubbing, slow circles that made my hips twitch involuntarily.
“Stop,” I breathed, trying to rise, but he pressed me gently back with a hand at my neck, pinning me to the mattress. Cigarettes and whisky clung to his skin; his face was taut, eyes dark with barely-contained need.
“Liam, stop it,” I said, and just like that he released my neck and slid his hand away. I sat up at once, sheet clutched to my chest, gaze fixed on the door.
“It’s locked,” he said, voice low and unamused.
“So how did you get in here?” I asked.
He smiled, lazy and wicked. “Well, your room is connected to mine. Even if you lock this door, there’s a hidden panel in the wall that leads straight into my room.” The words hung in the air, thrilling and unsettling all at once.
He reached for my face. “Turns out, Mrs. Claire, I can’t get my hands off you if you’re in my house. It turns me on.”
I slapped his hand away, but the sting in my palm only echoed the heat pooling low in my belly.
“Look, Liam, just leave. I need to sleep so I can drive home properly tomorrow.”
He rose from the bed and circled to my side, cupping my face with both hands. “Okay, Mrs. Claire, but you have to do something for me.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Blow me,” he said, voice final, and I swallowed, pulse racing.
I shifted to the edge of the bed, fingers trembling as I unzipped his pants and eased him free from his boxers. He exhaled, a sharp, hungry sound, as I looked up at him.
“Stop wasting time, Claire,” he urged.
I wrapped my hand around him and began to stroke, slow at first, then firmer.
His breathing turned ragged, eyes never leaving mine. “Faster,” he demanded, and I obeyed, feeling him swell harder, veiny and hot beneath my fingers. The scent of him—clean skin, whisky, raw desire—made my mouth water; I wanted to taste him immediately.
I leaned in, tongue flicking the tip. “Ugh,” he groaned, hips jerking. I kept stroking and licking, savoring the salt of him.
“Just put it in your mouth before I lose my mind,” he rasped.
I met his gaze for a heartbeat, then took him in, lips sliding down as I moved.
His hands settled in my hair, guiding me as he rocked his hips in a measured rhythm.
His cock hit the back of my throat again and again, and I was drenched between my legs, every thrust sending sparks through me as he mouth-fucked me.
His hips snapped faster, and I knew he was close. I gagged hard—the vibration rippled through him, and he shuddered, releasing into my mouth. I tried to pull back, but he held me deeper. “Swallow it, there, fuck there,” he growled as his semen flooded my throat. I swallowed every drop, eyes wide and watering.
He let go with a deep, satisfied sigh. I coughed, breath hitching, but I didn’t hate it like before—hell, my pussy was throbbing, aching, and suddenly I wanted him inside me.
“Hmm, I can’t leave you hanging,” he murmured, lifting my chin with his finger so I met his eyes. “Should I suck you or fuck you? Choose, Mrs. Claire.”
I didn’t want to choose. I wanted both, and the silence must have betrayed me because he smiled, slow and wicked.
“I see,” he said, letting go of my face.
He walked to the bed and lay down, arms behind his head.
“You’re just going to sleep?” I asked, confused.
He grinned. “Strip, Mrs. Claire. If I wanted to sleep, I’d put my dick back in and go to my room.”
I swallowed hard, stood, and slowly peeled off my clothes, his eyes devouring every inch of me.
The second my clothes hit the floor he murmured, “I like what I see.” I stayed quiet.
“Come here,” he said, voice low. “Sit on my face.”
My breath caught, eyes widening as I realized what he meant.
I climbed onto the bed, legs trembling. I straddled his chest, then inched up until my thighs framed his head, breathing shaky.
“Hold the headrest,” he ordered. I gripped it tight.
“You can scream all you want, Mrs. Claire. The room’s soundproof.”
His hands clamped on my hips and pulled me down. His mouth crashed into my folds hot, wet, ravenous.
My head fell back.
He licked, sucked, kissed.
I rocked my hips up and down, moans spilling free as he devoured me.
His mouth found my clit. I jerked, but his hands held me steady.
“Hmm, yes, ah, oh, fuck,” I gasped. “Right there, please, yes, don’t stop, right there.”
I was begging, crying, grinding, starving.
He worked me with his tongue like Ian never had. This blackmail was a curse and a gift.
I hit my limit. My body shook, hips bucking.
“Ahhhh, yesss, oh I like it!” I screamed as I came, essence flooding his mouth.
He drank me in, a low growl rumbling against me as my release dripped from the corners of his lips.
He let go of my hips. I lowered my gaze and caught him staring, not smirking, not teasing, just watching. His eyes were dark, searching, like he was trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t quite name.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” he said, voice low, almost jealous.
For a split second I almost laughed.
I slid off him. He sat up, wiping my release from his chin with the back of his hand.
“Tell me, Mrs. Claire,” he said, “am I using you… or are you using me? Or both?”
He really was sharp.
I met his eyes. “Who blackmailed who into having sex?” I shot back.
He didn’t blink. “I blackmailed you, Mrs. Claire. I’m using you for my pleasure. But why do I feel like you’re using me too?”
I looked away.
“Oh, I see,” he murmured. “You’re using me in place of your husband not touching you.”
I snapped my head back. “If I wanted a younger man to fuck, Liam, anyone would do.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His face changed, something cold and lethal flashed in his eyes.
“What did you just say, Claire?” he asked, voice deadly soft. “Another young man to fuck?”
Was he angry because he realized he was just a stand-in, someone I can fuck when horny… or because I’d dared mention someone else who doesn't even exists?
“I said what I said,” I hissed.
He stared at me, long and hard.
“You need to be punished,” he said, voice calm, final.
I blinked. “No, I don’t need any of that.”
I started scrambling off the bed, but his hands caught my waist and yanked me back.
“Ow!” I yelped as I landed across his thigh.
Before I could move, his palm cracked down on my ass. “Behave,” he warned.
I froze.
“Stop hitting me,” I snapped.
Another slap harder than the last.
“Ah, Stop!” I gasped as his cock pressed hot against my stomach.
“Stay still,” he ordered.
I breathed hard.
“It’s still red from the cane,” he murmured, tracing the welts with slow, deliberate fingers.
“If you want to enjoy it, Mrs. Claire,” he said, voice low, “try holding your cries.”
My eyes widened. I turned to look at him.
“The pleasure comes after the pain.”
His hand came down again hotter, sharper.
I bit my lip, hands flying to cover my mouth, eyes squeezing shut as tears pricked.
Again. And again. And again.
Each slap burned deeper, I held it in until I couldn’t.
A muffled cry tore from my throat.
He stopped, rubbed the stinging skin, slow and soothing.
I slid off him, legs shaky. “If you’re done with your punishment, leave,” I said, voice trembling.
He shook his head.
“I want to fuck you like a dog,” he said, eyes locked on the fresh handprints glowing on my ass. “While I watch my marks on you.”
I shook my head fast, “No, I don’t want that anymore.” My voice cracked; the sting on my ass still burned, and I fought the tears pooling in my eyes.
Now that he knows I’m using him too, he wants to break me harder, make sure he’s the one in control.
I’ve seen men like him before, power games, ego, dominance.
He studied me for a long second, then reached out, brushing a thumb across my cheek.
“I know you don’t like it now,” he said softly, wiping away the tear that had escaped, “but soon… you’ll beg me for it.”
His voice dropped. “And I’ll be right here to give it to you.”
This guy is insane and I could feel his madness was seeping into me. Because right now I should shove him away , scream, run.
But I didn’t move.
I just stayed there, trembling, caught between the pain and the pull.
“Now bend low Mrs Claire, while I shove my dick into your sleek wet pussy".