Claire Booth Novels & Stories

Even though all she had been doing was allowing him to practise his religion via the medium of her mouth and pussy, she realised that Danny might not quite understand the subtleties of why she had had both oral and fully penetrative sex with a man virtually old enough to be her grandfather. The next day, to make sure she didn't keep accidentally exposing her cunt and bum, Claire decided to wear a red dress which came all the way down to the middle of her thigh along with black hold-ups and black stiletto-heeled knee-high boots. She was working with the absent-minded Elsie who was an elderly lady with white permed hair and an equally permanent smile. The day went well with Claire getting a lo

For the first time in weeks, I felt almost normal. Then I heard footsteps behind us. Not Miller. Not one of our security personnel. These were uneven and hurried, the footsteps of someone exhausted and desperate. Carolina's posture changed instantly. "Veronica." "Hold." My voice was quiet, but she understood. I turned. A woman stumbled out from behind the weather-beaten rocks. For a moment, I didn't recognize her. Then she lifted her face. Claire. The polished heiress who had once moved effortlessly through galas in Paris and Geneva was gone. Her camel-colored coat was ripped and filthy, the hem soaked with seawater and sand. Her hair hung in tangled strands around a pale, hollow face.

Leo finally replied. “Agreed,” Arsen answered firmly. "Ahem… so here’s the thing. Actually, Claire is a college student who moved here a year ago from… umm… I heard it was Canada. Or was it Florida? I don’t know. But at first, everything was fine. Until one day, someone tried to harm Claire—you know, rape her. But unfortunately, the man failed—I don’t know who saved her. Then a few days later, the man who tried to rape Claire was found dead. An eyewitness saw that the one who killed him was a girl who looked like Claire, but she appeared more beautiful and cruel, dressed all in black.” Leo paused his story and took a sip of his nearly empty bourbon.

Henry didn't know how he was ever going to cope with someone like her. He also knew that she rarely settled down home for more than six months, Claire unlike her sister had studied History in Yale, then went to get her Master of Fine Arts at Yale school of art. Unlike her sister, she had chosen to gallivant around the world travelling instead of settling down somewhere after school. He came back out with the robe and Claire was already getting out of the water. She saw him and she smiled at him. "You're up early." She noted as she hoisted herself up and sat on the deck, Henry gave her the robe and looked away quickly. she had gone out swimming in a purple bikini.

They hurt her family first. After an hour, Claire had showered and donned an elegant sage green bodycon dress that was just below her knees. She left her hair open and put on a pair of glass heels. Leaving Thalia with the nanny, Marie Johnson and her mother, Claire left for her dinner appointment with the Fords. When she got to the hotel, someone was already waiting for her. “Follow me, Miss Hamilton,” the elderly man said with a smile. He led her to the topmost floor and then went to a private room.

Better boring than trouble. She shook that idea out of her head as she made her way to her shower. She scrubbed away the sweat and grime and used her signature Lavender/Vanilla body wash to relax. Stepping out of the shower and looking towards her bathroom mirror, she compared her body to Steph’s. Claire was maybe 5’2” with her shoes on, fair complexion, freckles on her nose and shoulders, medium length red hair, and since she was still a teenager and human, curves that were appearing but not prominent yet.

And grabbed a rag. She returned to the roast beef. Yes. Claire doesn't talk. But she points, nods, bows, grabs and shakes her limbs - or mine - during emergencies. So we got along pretty well and she has helped me a lot. She is much older than she looks. Still, she could easily pass off as one of those human biker women - black blouse, black jeans, black hair bun, black eyeliner and black lips. The only thing missing is the tattoos. And her eyebrows.

At this moment, Beatrice and Claire were on their way to her grandfather’s place, driving the BMW M8 that was given to Dorothy by Alex. Beatrice’s grandfather was Aidan Bardot. He has two daughters: Claire was the elder while the younger one was named Adrianna Bardot. Adrianna was much snobbish than Claire, she would always try to compare with Claire in every aspect. Ever since Claire’s husband, Henry Assex, went missing after a trip with his secretary, Adrianna insulted and looked down upon her every time they met.

Claire asked, stepping out of the bathroom after a shower. They had an interview scheduled at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Many wanted to meet the famous, kind-hearted family, but not everyone could fit inside, so most waited outside, expecting them to appear as they usually did for their supporters. “Zayne’s teasing her again. You know how they are,” Claire sighed, fixing herself up. She wore a formal red dress with a scarf around her neck, black boots, and a bun with a few loose strands. Then, she placed her crown on her head.

Claire said smoothly, "I don’t take orders from anyone. Not her, not Liam, not Adrian Blackwood." Adrian let out a low chuckle beside her. The media went wild. And just like that, Claire rewrote the narrative. She wasn’t a victim. She wasn’t a pawn. She was the one pulling the strings. And God help anyone who tried to stop her.