Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

I’d decided to try to pretend that I was on a date with the warm- hearted and gentle guy I’d first thought he was.

I figured it’d be the only way I could pull off the feat of acting like I was happy or even open-minded about being in his company.

I didn’t think I could pull off acting like I was happy to be sitting here with Azriel Clarke, the guy who had done all those awful things to me.

So I tried, instead, to rewind the clock in my head and pretend that the gorgeous hunk who I’d swooned over when I first saw him in the plane hadn’t morphed into the sadistic criminal who f****d me against my will and had ripped my life to pieces with the snap of his fingers.

I decided that this wasn’t the guy who’d spanked me, getting off on my pain, who’d tricked me into s*x and then forced s*x on me.

This man didn’t tie me to his bed and screw me, making me cry from embarrassment at responding to him.

What if I could be here in this nice restaurant with the gorgeous guy who was just a billionaire with flashy cars, private jets and a warm persona? That’d be nice.

But on the bright side, I could convince myself this was just a normal date.

My future hadn’t been stolen, and I wasn’t being forced to sleep in the bed and the arms of a criminal. I wasn’t being forced into anything.

I decided I had to try to make myself believe that I was here on a date with the drop dead gorgeous man who I thought would be my Prince Charming, even if just for a night, a night of pure love making .

Thinking like this was the only way I figured I could pull it off.

But the thought that my Prince Charming of a night had turned into a dark knight who’d imprisoned me for life managed to creep into the back of mind.

“Mind if I order for you?” he asked me, caressing the back of my hand with his thumb.

There was light in his eyes, not darkness, making it easier for me to pretend.

“Sure,” I said, “Just no shellfish. I’m highly allergic.”

He nodded, then he spoke Italian to the waiter.

What we were doing in an Italian restaurant being in Paris made no sense.

“I found out you’re half Italian. You speak it?” he asked after the order was taken.

“No, my Mom was Italian but she never taught me. She only spoke it in the house when she was yelling at my Dad or using it to keep some secret from me talking on the phone or whatever. We never understood her but knew when she spoke Italian someone was either about to get something good or get in trouble,” I laughed a little, and then I knew my face sobered, thinking about her, about my Dad.

The sore memory of her funeral surfaces in my mind but I push it right back down.

“I ordered us the lasagna. The lasagna here is to die for.” Azriel tried to change the subject.

“The only lasagna better was my mother’s. She never passed the recipe on before she died.”

“I think my Mom was the only Italian woman in the world who couldn’t cook,” I said, smiling, but Dad could cook. Between my Dad and me, I’d learned to cook, too.

Dad had shown me how to make meals seemingly from nothing. When the fridge and pantry had been nearly bare at times he’d come up with gourmet concoctions and I’d watch and had started to make suggestions for spices or additions to the meals based on what I could find in the cupboard or freezer.

We joked that we could make anything taste gourmet with a little of Dad’s secret spice blend.

My face turns sour as I realize I only have a handful of good memories left.

All of them before my mother’s death.

After my dad remarried…. I lost him.

The waiter brought warm bread and an antipasto platter which did a great job uplifting my mood.

It smelled mouth-watering and for the first time in days I was actually hungry. It all tasted as good as it smelled, “Oh, this is so good!” I exclaimed and Azriel looked happy.

He kind of smiled like the good-natured guy I’d first pictured him as, looking insanely attractive.

He wore jeans but with a black button down dress shirt today under a blazer and the top few buttons were down and I could see a little of his chest.

There was a thick silver chain on his neck with a crucifix of about 2 inches long on it. I felt a pang in my gut, reminding me that it was just wishful thinking that this wasn’t what I was pretending it was, that this wasn’t a real date with that guy that I’d daydreamed about.

After it was over he wouldn’t walk me to my door at my new apartment and k**s me goodnight before we’d go our separate ways.

If only.

If only after tonight I could dream about our second date. I’d call my friends and we’d talk about the date for hours. If only…

Azriel’s POV

Watching her eat was a beautiful thing. She seemed carefree and she was eating, which was good, as Rosita had complained that she’d barely eaten anything since arriving.

She was talkative, too, nothing too in-depth but we conversed about the food, the restaurant, and the mood was light.

But staring into her dessert, she started to take on the look of someone with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

My phone rang just before I delved into my dessert. I answered.

“I’m so full.” she said, putting her fork down just as I ended the call which had taken a bit longer than I presumed.

I signaled for the waiter to bring the bill, “Wanna take a walk? Walk off all these carbs?”

“Great idea,” she smiled at me. Her smile seemed genuine. She was a damn fine actress so far. This was good to know.

Five minutes up the road we pulled into the parking lot for the beach. It was close to sunset and the weather was perfect for a stroll. As she got out of the car I grabbed her hand and held it as we walked.

We got to the sand and she stopped, reached for and then held onto my shoulder, and then pulled the strap off an ankle, let that shoe drop off, and then let go of me to get the other shoe off.

She bent and looped the straps around her index finger to carry them and I grabbed her free hand again and kissed each of her knuckles.

She looked up at me and smiled, “Thanks for dinner, Azriel.”

My name again.

Another twinge.

And that smile seemed real. I felt a pang of annoyance that it seemed so real.

I think I must’ve frowned at her because she swallowed hard and chewed her bottom l*p and looked down.

I took a few steadying breaths to push my pissed off attitude away, I lifted my necklace out of my shirt and fingered the crucifix on it as we walked in silence. I caught a look on her face that made me realize I was squeezing her hand too tight.

I loosened it and her expression softened.

A tiny fur ball of a golden retriever puppy bounded right up to her and started licking her calves.

She let go of my hand and dropped to her knees, dropping her shoes and pulling the pup into her lap, “Oh my gooooodness!”

The dog licked at the air, furiously, wanting to lick her face. She held him back at arm’s length but giggled. A kid, probably around 10, ran up to us with a leash in his hand and it still had the collar attached to it. Obviously the pup had squirmed right out of his collar.

“Sorry!” the kid said, “Marley!”

“Oh it’s okay!” Claire exclaimed, “He’s soooo cute; how old is he?”

The kid shrugged but the dog couldn’t be any more than 8-9 weeks old. Claire was scratching him behind both ears and he was licking her arms.

Her red dress was covered in wet and dry sand and she didn’t seem to care in the least.

The kid leaned over and tried to get the collar over the pup’s head but the dog was having none of it. He took off into the water. The kid shouted at the dog and Claire started to laugh.

“He’s a water dog, he can’t help it!” she said, giggling.

The kid’s father came running up. The guy was out of shape and out of breath. The dog had obviously gone on a good run. The guy looked at the dog swimming in the water like it was his worst nightmare come true.

“Hang on,” Claire called to him and then she lifted a thick stick up off the beach and tossed it toward the dog.

It landed in the water beside the pup and he immediately swam to it and caught it between his teeth. Claire started slapping her legs, “Come here, Marley, come here! Fetch!” The dog started swimming toward her with the stick in his mouth.

“You’re a genius!” the kid’s father said.

She just laughed, “I love goldens. They can’t resist two things. Water and retrieving.” she was laughing harder, all carefree.

It was a beautiful sound.

Yeah, and he can’t resist beautiful girls.

I shook my head, taking it all in, a grin on my face.

She flashed a smile at me and it was so gorgeous and seemed so genuine that I felt a pain pierce my chest.

The dog bounded toward Claire again and then shook hard, getting all of us wet. She squealed like she loved it.

The dad went to grab the dog, “Wait!” Claire told him. “We have to let him fetch it at least once more. Can I? He’d think I was a liar if we just let you chain him without a fetch.”

The guy laughed and shrugged. My face hurt from my perma grin. She didn’t want the dog to think she was tricking him. I shook my head at that.

“Marley, drop it!” she demanded, with authority, and pointed at the ground.

The pup held tight to the stick for a second and then dropped the stick in front of her and panted enthusiastically at her. She swiped it and flung it into the water and squealed with glee as the dog took off back into the water. “He’s so smart already.”

As soon as she slapped her legs, “Marley!” he swam back.

The little boy took the stick from the dog and threw it into the water again and I grabbed her hand and whispered in her ear, “Let’s make our getaway.”

“Bye,” she said to the guy and his kid and waved at the dog who was swimming back toward us. She actually waved bye to the dog. I was shaking my head.

She seemed light and carefree.

She was walking along, a spring in her step, holding my hand, smiling. I’d somehow wound up carrying her sandals in my free hand, and the sun was setting.

It was like something out of a chick flick.

I had to k**s her and take full advantage of this moment right f*****g now.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

We were in an area with no one else around. I stopped and took in a big breath. She stopped and looked at me. Then she swallowed hard. She looked a little bit freaked out.

I reached down and brushed some sand off her cheek with my thumb and then leaned down and sucked in her bottom l*p.

She hesitated at first but a second after my lips touched hers, she started to melt into me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her deeply. She was responding.

The sun was setting, leaving the sky orange and pink. Birds were on the horizon and I was filled with emotion. Stupid beach at sunset. I felt like such a cliché. But clichés are clichés for a reason, I guess.

I kissed her again, kissed her in a way that could be called claiming as much as it could be called kissing and she responded with a little m**n into my mouth, and then her hands came up and her fingers wove into my hair and it felt like she was really in the k**s and in the moment with me.

But despite how convincing she was, she had to still be just acting and I was trying my damnedest to not let it piss me off and ruin this moment.

But, it nagged at me. For her, this was just self-preservation. I pulled away and looked at her accusingly.

She really was a damn good actress.

I know I was being a hypocrite for being angry at her for doing her job so well which I myself assigned to her.