Page 25 of Sinister Devotion

"It's something like that, but there are things I want to do to your body I just don't think you're ready for. Let me figure things out. I need some time to sit with this. I'm sorry, Claire, I just need … Fuck." I don't know what I need.

For the first time in a long time, I don't have a straightforward answer to the dilemma in front of me. I push myself out of bed and head to the training room. I need to let out my aggression, the aggression I held back while fucking Claire. She needs someone to make love to her. Not someone like me who wants to invade every space her body and mind has to offer. I feel like I'm corrupting a fucking angel.

I find myself in a rhythm, beating my punching bag until it splits under my bruising knuckles. When I finish and make it back to my bedroom, my bed is empty. Claire's scent lingers and I wish I could make this better, to make this feel right, but it just feels off. I don't want her to be a moment of wild abandon, a body to sate my lust. But sleep doesn't care what I think. It knocks me out like a heavyweight champion.

When morning comes, I avoid the training room, but still walk by. It's good to hear Claire and Bonnie going through their regular routine. There are a million things for me to do at work, and in regard to my uncle's tasks dealing with Carmine Scarpella. Yes, I have plenty to do to distract myself from the catastrophe I've just unleashed between me and Claire.

By the time I get to the office, my mind easily falls into the workday. I barely acknowledge Claire, even though she tries to joke and be her normal self around me. I can't go back to being normal, whatever the fuck that is. It's not like before, where I'd picture what sex would be like between us. Now that I know how great it feels, it's all I think about. It's all I want. I want to do devious things with her, to her and I can't stop thinking about it.

However, the last thing, well, the last person I expect, does just that. His face is a mirror image of mine, but thirty years in the future. Charleston Blackwell darkens my office doorway as he knocks with three hardy pounds that snap me out of my sex-crazed daze.

"You finally got laid, didn't ya, boy?" His voice is loud, boisterous, and lacks any care for what others may think about him.

"I don't have time for whatever it is you're here for, Dad." I tell him.

There's a dynamic between us that he caused years ago. I may call him Dad, but there's nothing fatherly about him. His bulbous gut, meaty hands, and white hair make him the poster boy for a 'Good ole boy'. He judged from the bench with that same Draconian attitude. His dick, the subsequent murder, and divorce got him a nomination, but it also forced him into early retirement.

"That's a pretty little thing you got working for you out there." He grins maniacally as he waltzes into my office, taking the seat in front of my desk.

"Leave her alone. Claire's off limits." I tell him and immediately regret it. Telling Charleston Blackwell he can't have a young woman is like issuing him a personal challenge.

"I don't want her, but I do—wait a minute. That's not my little Claire Bear Eclair, is it?"

"Don't be a disgusting old man. She's not your anything. You know that's Claire, Dad."

He licks his lips and smooths his mustache. "She has grown into quite the young woman, hasn't she? Is she dating yet? Maybe I can take her to this gala thing everyone's talking about."

"What gala?" I ask, wanting to change the subject as soon as possible.

"The one you're throwing on the 15th. Where was my invite?" He asks.

"Nonexistent. Ma's going to be there," I tell him. "There's no way you think I'm going to have the two of you in the same room together alongside San Fran elite."

"We know how to behave, Julian. Don't be obtuse. It's not going to look good if your mother is there and I'm not. It's going to look like?—"

I finish his statement. "We're a dysfunctional family because my father chose murder and pussy over his wife and son."

"You two really need to let that go. I was never charged for that crime and I wish it wouldn't come up in every conversation we have."

"Considering we only speak when you need or want something, I'd say it does. It's a nice reminder of why our conversations are so few and far between. What do you want, Charleston?"

"Well, who pissed in your gas tank? I only wanted the invitation to the party, but once I start in on little Claire Eclair, you get all high and mighty on me."

"Will giving you an invitation get you out of this office so I can get back to work?"

He grins widely. "Sure will."

"Fine, this is my formal invitation for you, Charleston Blackwell, to attend Claire Anderson's 18th birthday party. I expect a gift for her and nothing less than twenty grand from you." I tell him, hoping his price of admission will get him to turn down the invite.

"Ooo, I love it when you play hardball, boy. This is why we need to get you in a senate seat."

"Not this conversation again. I'm not going into politics. There's too much red tape. I don't like my hands being tied."

He laughs with a lurid smile. "That's not what I heard."

"Don't be the dirty old man. Please, I gave you the invitation, now get out."

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