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But, neither of those things happened. And now, I’m lost in a fantasy where it did happen, and my cock hasn’t stopped being rock hard since.
I lost control, something I vow never to let happen again.
I stand in this art gallery, not entranced by the art hanging on the walls, which is where my attention should be. No, here I am more concerned about my bride-to-be talking to some cowboy about sex. Of all the people to talk to Clementine about sex, I never thought it would be some old fuck. My blood boils as I try to remain in control.
Control. That’s something I practice in everything I do. It isn’t enough to be in control, but to be controlling too. To have power over every outcome, good or bad.
Since my grandfather’s death, I’ve been more out of control than I’ve ever been before, and a lot of it has to do with Clementine. She’s been pushing me to lose my control, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
And this cowboy, I don’t like the look of his bushy moustache. He sticks out like a sore thumb as he dominates Clementine’s attention with his cowboy hat in this sea of tuxedos. He has a criminal air about him, and a smarmy smile I want to punch off and bury six-feet under.
I won’t lie, I never wanted this marriage. I didn’t. But the minute that boot wearing, big-buckle fuck said he was talking about sex tomyfiancee, something happened. It’s like a switch flipped. It’s like a fuse ignited and I was useless to stop it. I wanted to plot out all the ways I could watch the asshole die. And I pride myself on being creative.
When Clementine asked me to let it go, it went against everything ingrained in my DNA. Every bone in my body begged me to hurt him for disrespecting what was mine. It was hard to let something like that go. Yet, for some odd reason I did.
I dropped the inquisition for her.
It’s called trust.
I’ve never trusted anyone.
But for some reason, I trusther. For now anyway. And if this feeling is an indication of what trust is going to do to me, I’m smart for avoiding it as long as I have.
For the rest of the evening, I play the part of generous benefactor, shaking hands with the different artists, and introducing my fiancee around, keeping her close and enjoying having her near. It almost becomes like a dance, the two of us, standing too close, mingling. All while the flashes of the media cameras subtly blind us. And without seeing the pictures, I already know they’re stunning.
I work the room, like I was born to do, making sure to perform my duties as Clementine enhances my charm. I’m a Prince, and this is what I’ve always done as long as I can remember. Play the part. Be the philanthropist. Be the best. Be Gabriel Prince.
“You ready to go?” I ask Clementine, when the event winds down.
“Yes,” she answers, her eyes scanning the crowd like she’s looking for someone, and I bristle when I picture her searching for a man. A man that isn’t me.
She’s been switching her attention from the attendees to staring at a painting that looks like an angry burst of bright colors.
“You really like that painting?” I ask her.
She gives me a faint smile. “I do. It’s very moving.”
And now it’s hers. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I nod to Kurt, calling him over. “Buy this one,” I whisper into his ear, pointing at the painting Clementine’s had her eye on all night, “and tell Stefan to get the car pulled around.”
“On it.”
Clementine can call it a wedding gift. I’ll call it unable to resist making her happy.
I lead her out to the car and slide in after her. She scoots all the way to the edge of the seat, leaning against the window, staring out and putting way too much distance between us for my liking.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, as we pull away.
The city lights illuminate the fake smile on her face. “Besides the obvious that we’re being forced to marry? Nothing. Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Just making sure. I didn’t know if you were able to hear me, from so far away.”
The diamond on her finger flashes when she raises her hand to her temple. “I think I just have a champagne headache.” She turns to continue gazing out the window and it’s probably for the best she’s ignoring me.
I wanted a redo of what occurred on the way to the art gallery to happen on the way home. It’s all I’ve thought about all night, even while I was imagining hurting that John Wayne wannabe. The way her lips felt so silky soft against mine. The way her body felt rubbing against me. My dick comes to life just thinking of Clementine’s legs straddling me in the back of this limo.
I didn’t want it to end, and all I want right now is for it to restart. I want to show her what I can do with my tongue, my fingers, my cock, my creative mind. But, looks like I’ll be enjoying my hand later tonight instead.
