The Bar

40. A Deal

When Clara finally awoke, she found herself laying in bed at home. Her eyes opened then closed, she wanted to sleep some more as she barely got any sleep. Her hand was throbbing, surging pain running through to her wrist. She felt like curling into a ball but she knew if she did that Flint would take her to the hospital.

She tried to relax into the plush bedding, her head burried in the pillows. She let out a hiss of pain as she tried to move her hand. It felt like her hand was being crushed again yet nothing touched it.

She squirmed a little, uncomfortable as all hell. She let out a small whimper, biting her lip as the pain continued. She pleaded with herself to fall back asleep.

Looking around the room, Flint was no where in sight. The curtains were drawn but she could tell the sun hadn't come up. She questioned the time, trying to look at Flint's old school alarm clock on his night stand.

9pm?

She'd slept for four hours.

She groaned, pushing herself to sit up, the blood rushing through her making her head throb. Clara twisted herself carefully then stood up, holding her hand close to her chest.

Moving out of the bedroom to the hallway, she heard a faint voice. She tried to be quiet and careful not to slip on the hardwood. She made her way down the stairs toward the entry way. The faint voice grew louder, she could tell it was Flint and that he was irritated. She questioned leaving him alone but she wanted him to hold her as she bared through the pain.

She entered the second sitting room. The fireplace was burning, there was an open bottle of scotch and Flint sat in one of the chairs, his phone pressed to his ear.

"I've never heard of him either... and he has no ties to her?" He questions.

Clara walks closer to Flint and like a 6th sense Flint knows she is there. He opens his arm out and motions her to come closer.

Clara is quick to go to him, she turns away from him and with a smirk bends over giving him a view of her bare thighs from under the tshirt she wore. After teasing him got a mere two seconds she sits back on his lap.

Flint grabs onto her waist almost bruisingly. He pulls her close, her back against his chest.

As Flint listens to the report from Cavenaugh, Clara wraps her an arm around Flint's neck and holds onto his arm that is around her waist. She nuzzles against his head, her lips pressing against his temple. Feeling the pain surge through her arm again, Clara locks onto Flint's hand and grips it tightly.

Flint turns his attention from the phone to her. He moves the phone away from his mouth then moves closer to her ear.

"Whats wrong?" He whispers. She shakes her head to reassure him but it isn't affective.

"Maybe... I'll talk to her but... yea... just...yea, yea, I know... I owe you," Flint says into his phone. He pulls the phone away affectively hanging up and tossing the phone on the chair beside him.

"Whats wrong, baby?" He asks as he turns his head to her neck.

"My hand hurts," she mumbles.

"Shit!" Flint curses. "I can't believe I got sidetracked. I was supposed to wake you up an hour ago," he groans angry at himself.

"It's okay. I'm very well rested after that extra hour," she says optimistically.

Flint sighs, placing a kiss on her neck then her jaw. His soft kiss made her smile and melt into him.

"I know of another way you could make me feel better," she says temptingly.

Another groan escapes Flint as he leans further into her, burying himself into her neck. His lips devour her skin, nipping and sucking. Clara lets out a moan, moving her uninjured hand to move through his hair.