Claire de Lune

The dinner mellows out with the arrival of dessert. We break into smaller conversations, and I talk with Tiffany about upcoming films we’d like to see, with Jessica about the details of her recent paper, and with Father about the new shift in direction that my artistic career’s taken. Though he is nothing but complementary, there’s a subtle reservation to his words that has me second-guessing myself throughout our conversation. It is clear that, despite his earlier kindness, he is still judging me.

Eventually the final plate is cleared, and people begin to excuse themselves from the table.

Father, however, stays seated.

“You navigated that earlier encounter with Holly very smoothly,” he says, once everyone else has cleared out. “It’s almost as if you had prior knowledge of the situation.” He pauses, and then looks me straight in the eye, dead serious. “Did you?”

Something about his directness, the sincerity of his pose, makes me want to blurt out the truth. I hold my tongue.

“I’ll admit I had an unfair advantage going in,” I say, returning his gaze. “Tiffany might have prepped me for this dinner.”

“She did a good job then,” Father says, sounding faintly amused. He turns to glance at the doorway at the end of the dining room. “I see Claire waiting in the wings for you. She must want to talk about your future stay here. I’ll let you two get to it.”

With that, he rises from the table, gives me a firm handshake, and strides out of the room, only stopping to whisper something in Claire’s ear as he does so. She nods hesitantly, head dipping a fraction, and then he is gone.

“So we’re meant to talk about a contract, are we?” I say, brushing up to her by the doorway.

She’s dressed in a petite black dress that straddles the line between professional and sexual. She touches my chest briefly.

Wordlessly, she spins around and begins walking through this house that I grew up in. We pass by Kara at the snooker table, shooting with Jessica, the two of them falling suspiciously silent as we walk by.

“Where are we headed?” I ask, as we pass into one of the lounges, walking past the corridor that would lead us down into the residence wing where Claire lives.

Claire only looks back over her shoulder and smiles mysteriously, continuing to lead me on. More details about the house begin to return to me as I pace silently behind her, everything from the shade of the wallpaper to the abstract art on display in every other room. Eventually, we turn into a storage closet filled with rolled up carpets.

“I don’t remember these being here before,” I comment, glancing at the collection of Persian rugs.

“Hyerim’s latest obsession,” is all that Claire says. She picks her way between the columns of wool and cotton until she reaches a ladder at the back of the room. Without second thought, she begins to climb its rungs, passing up into the floor above.

I follow her up, and we ascend past several floors of storage closets, all connected by this one ladder. I, ever the gentleman, only look up at her silken black panties when Claire’s not looking down, enjoying its contrast against the pale whiteness of her butt. Do I see a wick of moisture in her panties? It’s hard to tell with the dark fabric.

We soon reach the top of the ladder, and Claire pushes open the trapdoor, allowing a rush of cool night air to blow in. We pop up on the roof a second later, standing in a sheltered alcove. There’s a bundle of blankets laid out here, and Claire promptly seats herself on them, sitting with her legs splayed to the side.

I sit down by her side and wrap an arm around her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine. She seems to relax, slowly resting her head down in my lap, staring up at the night sky. I join her, turning my head skywards, and I take in the field of stars around that bright, round moon.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” she says, finally breaking her silence.

“Sublime,” I agree.

There’s a pause as we both stare at the sky. Her hands search the blankets for something buried within, and she soon finds a small tin, never once taking her gaze off the sky.

“You want one?” she asks, opening up the tin.

“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” I say, taking one of the little pills into my hand.

“It’s Spacey,” Claire says. “I thought, if you and Sean bonded over it, staring at the night sky…”

“That’s sweet of you,” I say, brushing my thumb against the smooth of her face.

She takes a pill and pops it into her mouth, swallowing. I follow her.

“Not so sweet as you,” she says, shifting her head, brushing it against my crotch. “What you did for Tiffany, rescuing her from Bob… that was brave and bold. It’s the kind of thing that can steal a girl’s heart, you know?”

“Good thing I already had Tiffany’s,” I say, grasping her delicate hands in mine.

Her breath hitches, and I shift my hands to her thighs, bare under that little black dress of hers.

“But did it steal yours?” I ask, my hands inching upwards up her thighs, brushing ever closer to her heat.

Claire nods quickly, her head rocking against my crotch, and then she mewls as my index finger slips under her panties, stopping an inch away from her folds.

“Please,” she gasps as I hold my finger there, unwilling to probe further.

The moon seems to smile down on me, whispering “fuck her good and fuck her now,” and I realise I must be high.

“You want this?” I say, wanting to make sure that this isn’t just my fantasy, a figment of my currently over-active imagination.

“So badly, please,” Claire mewls, and she must think I’m teasing her.

So I lean down and kiss her, her mouth finding mine, her **** kisses seemingly designed to lure me into fucking her.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. All I know is that my fingers end up deep inside her, her fingers find her way around my cock, she blows me, looking up at me with wide eyes, the stars laugh and play and twinkle, and then my cock finds its way to the entrance of her sopping pussy.

I hold my cock there at her exposed pussy, her skirt peeled back, rubbing my length against her folds, and Claire grabs my arms, thrusting herself up at me, trying to push me into her. My bulbous head slips in for a fraction of a second and then slips back out, and she moans in frustration.

“How long have you wanted this?” I ask her, pinning her down with my hand, stilling her bucking hips.

“Since I met you a month ago. Since I heard of you. I don’t know. Forever…”

Her last word is interrupted by a gasp as I thrust into her then, my head smoothly pushing into her.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I whisper, feeling her resistance as I try to push in deeper.

“You’re so fucking big,” she replies, gasping again as I shift my body, inching deeper into her.

“She’s so fucking sexy,” the moon murmurs.

“You got that right,” I say, gaining another inch as she splays her legs wider, my hips that much closer to pressing against her.

Finally, she’s taken all of me, and she begins to slowly rock herself against me. I fuck her gently, softly, feeling that anything else would be wrong in this moment.

“Make her yours,” the moon sighs, wanting to see me spill my seed in her.

“Not yet,” I mutter in reply.

“Is she talking to you too?” Claire says, the moon reflected in her dark irises.

“She’s quite a voyeur,” I whisper to Claire, conspiratorially. Claire giggles. “What does she tell you?”

“She tells me things about you,” Claire says. “She tells me that you’re the best I’ve ever had, and I think I believe her.”

I slowly dip in and out of her, savouring her tightness, and I say: “In your own way, you’re the best I’ve had too.”

“Better than even Tiffany?” Claire asks, unbelieving.

“Sex is different with different people,” I say. “Just like she is… you are perfect.”

Claire seems to bask in that. She closes her eyes, a small tremble running through her, and then she leans up and kisses me, arms wrapping me closer to her still.

“And Erin?” Claire asks, eventually.

“She’s up there too,” I smile, kissing her.

We slowly fuck for some seconds more, my cock gloating in her liquid warmth.

“I’ve always found her hot,” Claire confesses. “Erin. And Genevieve, too.”

“Erin’s told me she finds you hot,” I whisper into her ear. “Just think about that.”

“You should fuck them all at the same time,” the moon sings.

“I should,” I whisper, just as Claire says: “I will.”

We stare at each other for a second, and then laugh.

I don’t know how much time we spend on that roof, laying on a bed of blankets under a capricious moon, making soft love, high out of our minds. But eventually, as all things do, it comes to an end, and we cum and cum and cum into one another, holding each other tight and whispering about the things we would do to the women in our beautiful family.

This marks the end of Arc 2 of Markus Najbreit’s story: Travellers and Angels

As usual, let me know what you think and what you’d like to see! Lots of the plot is set in stone, but there’s always room for minor deviations inspired by your devious minds. Interludes coming up next!