CHAPTER THREE: Before The Meet

Catherine’s POV

His sand brown hair settled perfectly in a classic side part; soft and sleek, well-groomed, slightly darker brows and trimmed lashes that matched his short stubble beards. Sparse freckles lined his under eyes, nose straight and pointed, thin lips sliced to form a dominant smile,exposing snow white teeth; His broad arms spread in his Oxford suit and tapered pants cuddled his firm calves,

Damn, he looked delicious; I purred, as my eyes paraded the large sized portrait picture of Harry Clifford hanging in the Clifford mansion. A mixture of dominance and sex exuded; just like I pictured in my fantasies; a white fantasy God, perfect for resurrecting my stowed dangerous fantasies and lighting a spark in my pathetically boring life. My teeth dug into my lip, shamelessly tearing at the black cast portrait.

Dominic Kent had insisted I marry, he put his foot down and bullied me to submission. He wasn’t in love with the Cliffords, he was in love with the Cliffords money; the Cliffords were the richest family in Sussex; the biggest car dealership tycoons. I didn't share my father’s sentiments anyhow, I didn't care much for the money, I just wanted a man who was good to look at and offered a life that was far more adventurous than the boring life I had been used to. Thank you Daddy, for once you made the right pick, I wink mentally at the picture of Dominic Kent. Now I just had to wait for my intended to arrive and I’d live happily and die after I’ve exhausted my deepest fantasies.

“Miss Catherine'' A solemn voice invades, I turn; Simon, Harry’s legal aide as he had earlier introduced himself when he welcomed me into the Clifford mansion.

“Mr Simon” I flash a smile, his eyes lowered, avoiding my gaze. No words, just lips pouting upwards, trembling.

My smile starts to waver on my face. “Is there a problem Mr. Simon?” My eyes focused, peeling his throdden gaze.

Slowly, he lets up his head, eyes sunken red, my fingers fist, nails grazing into my palms, an indication of my fear. Something had gone wrong? Had the Clifford Estate been hijacked? Was there an earthquake happening somewhere? Was there a call from home? Has Dominic Kent commanded me back to Wales? Shivers trickling down my spine. Damn it Simon, spill.

“It’s Harry” He hushed. My heart trod its foot hard against my chest wall. What about Harry? Was he not on his way to me? Had he expressed disinterest? Was I to return home to Wales? Damn it! Simon put me out of my misery, wide eyes drilling into his.

“There’s been an accident” Another heavy trod on my chest, then seized. My feet paralyzed to the ground, tearing at his fallen gaze, demanding for more.

“He’s dead” A barring sound rang in my ear, then seized, noiseless.

Dead? Dead? But we are to be wed, how could he die? Are you cursed Catherine? Are you fucking cursed?! He died on his way to you! You must be fucking cursed!

“I’m sorry” Simon mumbled, shrinking away from me.

Speechless, my fist crush itself, drilling my nails into my palms, head spinning, eyes pinching, my chest bouncing with heavy breaths as the walls start to spin around me. I hadn’t known anything of him save for his name and the pictures I binge watch to sleep but I had built castles with bricks of my deepest, wildest, dangerous fantasies and now they crumbled before my eyes, piece by piece.

•••~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•••

Alexander’s POV

Her pelting moans of pleasure pitched like the chorus of an Oprah, soaring like a sonorous melody in my ears as my riveting thrusts slammed into her, grinding my greedy fingers into her full breasts. I grunt with satisfaction as her fingers clutch tightly unto my lower back propelling me to crush her, to ruin her, to bar my sexual prints into her; I respond throwing my full weight into her, her rapid cries explode, teeth marking my shoulder, I curl a hand full of her brunette between my fingers in a firm grasp, the other hand, picking her up so we were in Kama sutra position.

I reveled in her wiped face telling stories of my sexual prowess. I bounce rhythmically on her. Come on Alex, take her to the peak, send her to the clouds, make her see the Gods, I pelt a low growl as I assemble my last chakra. Go Alex.

Fuck! the dandy sound of my ringtone invades, unending.

“Don’t” Oliva heaves, trapping me away from my phone. Her hot breath slapping my ear. I continue pounding her, ignoring the unyielding dandy sound but I am distracted, just too distracted. The phone won’t stop beeping.

I peek my head, eyes reaching for my phone screen, Simon? Simon? What the fuck does Harry’s lawyer want with me? He only called when I needed to pick a suit for Harry’s birthday. And even though I had been plowing his sister, we both never mixed.

“It’s Simon” I huff, half pounding, half contemplating.

“Simon?” She pants, her eyebrows furrow, her eyes hang, she’s shocked too. We are both distracted, half in, half out, my cock barely hitting my destination, an air of separation between us, save for her hands holding me captive.

Curiosity gets the better of me, I stretch and grope my phone, cursing under my breath, I engage.

“Simon…” I rasp. “Why the fuck are you blowing up my phone?”

His solemn voice creeps in.

I freeze, my erection slumps, I feel Olivia’s eyes on me, her body disengaging, her grip yielding. Slowly, I make her impatient eyes, investigating me, she can read the trouble in my eyes.

“What the fuck Alex? What’s happened?” She pitched, her eyes tracking my discoordinated movements.

“It’s Harry an—and Arthur” I stammer, my breath failing, my eyes wander, I disentangle my body from hers, her eyes glued to mine.

“Damn it! Speak Alex”

I take her peeking eyes. “There was an accident….” Her eyes snap, glued to my mouth, demanding for more. My words evade me. I muster only a little courage. “They didn’t make it” I barely whispered,

She recoiled, eyes turning down and then right, utter silence, I could hear the inner conversations in her head. She was fucking her step son while his father was dying.

The image of Arthur Clifford’s ghost, winding in; you irresponsible, invaluable cunt, Arthur’s ghost raged at me. How dare you fuck my wife?! In my fucking Manor, how dare you?!; well your wife cared for me since you never did, so fuck off old fool, I throw back at his ghost.

The thoughts provoke me, heavy breaths continue from my mouth then it slows when I see Harry, my mental image of him splashing before me; the stench of his disappointment fills my mental space. I adore Harry. I adore even the air of his entrance even though I mostly masked it with nonchalant derision and now he is gone, never to be made aware of my masked love and respect. Damn! I exclaim inwardly. Silence abounded, guilt showering over us like rain.