Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Camille: Thank you for the flowers. What are you doing?
Killion: Sending you flowers, of course.
Camille: What’s the end game?
Killion: Just reminding you that I’m thinking of you since I’m not heading back home until tomorrow. Also, I heard you ditched the driver.
Camille: I don’ t need a driver. I can walk.
Killion: No doubt, but wouldn’t it be better if someone is watching after you? You’re famous.
Camille: No. *You* are famous. Do you have a driver?
Killion: Ted is my driver. I’m loaning him to you. My schedule is different from yours. I’m sure we can share him.
Camille: Now we’re sharing? Interesting. I thought you didn’t like to share.
Killion: Don’t do that.
Camille: What am I doing?
Killion: Taking things to a place you know I can’t resist.
Camille: Oh? I was just talking about Ted. Where’s your mind going, Kill?
Killion: You know exactly where it’s going. And if you keep this up, you’re going to find out what happens when you tease me.
Camille: Tease you? I’m just curious about what else we could share.
Killion: Careful, Cam. You’re walking a fine line.
Camille: Am I? Maybe I just want to know how far you’re willing to go.
Killion: Obviously not sharing you, but far enough to have you begging me to stop—and then begging me not to.
Camille: That’s bold of you to assume I’d beg.
Killion: Oh, baby, I don’t assume. I know. You’ll beg. You always do when I’ve got you pinned beneath me, whispering exactly how I’m going to ruin you.
Camille: Ruin me? You sound so confident.
Killion: Because I am. You’re already thinking about it, aren’t you? Thinking about my hands on your hips. My mouth on your neck. My cock filling you so deep you forget how to say anything except my name.
Camille: You’re awfully sure of yourself.
Killion: I don’t need to be sure when I’ve already seen the way you fall apart for me. Just say the word, Cam, and I’ll remind you why you’ll always come back to me.
Camille: Tempting, but I’m not sure you can handle me.
Killion: Handle you? Baby, I don’t just handle you—I own you. Your body remembers me even when your mind wants to fight it. And right now, you’re wishing it was my hand sliding between your thighs, aren’t you?
Camille: You’re ridiculous.
Killion: Maybe. But I’m also right. Go ahead, touch yourself, baby. Pretend it’s me. Or better yet, let me do it for you when I get back.
Camille: You think I’m just sitting here, waiting for you to come back?
Killion: No, I think you’re sitting there, soaking wet and wishing I was there to make you come instead of this conversation.
Camille: You’re wrong.
Killion: I’m right, but I’ll let you pretend you’re not almost panting, wishing I was there.
Camille: I’m okay without you.
Killion: Sure, why don’t you get past the lies and just tell me what you’re wearing? Or better yet, tell me how much longer it’ll be before you’re wearing nothing at all.
Camille: I’m fine, Kill. Really. Fully clothed and entirely unaffected.
Killion: Liar. I can practically hear you squirming.
Camille: Squirming? I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.
Killion: I don’t confuse you with anyone, baby. You’re one of a kind, especially when you’re falling apart under my hands. Or are you forgetting how quickly you came last time I touched you?
Camille: You’re awfully full of yourself.
Killion: No, I’m full of you. Or at least I was. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how good I feel inside you.
Camille: Maybe I have. Why don’t you remind me?
Killion: Touch yourself, baby. Right now. Pretend it’s me. Slide your hand down, under your waistband, and feel how wet you already are for me.
Camille: You’re too cocky for your own good.
Killion: Am I? What are you doing right now, Cam? Tell me. Are you doing as I say?
Camille: Maybe.
Killion: Don’t tease me. Don’t tease yourself. Slide your fingers inside, baby. Pretend it’s me stretching you, filling you. Tell me how it feels.
Camille: It feels . . . good. But not enough.
Killion: Of course it’s not. It’s not me. You need more, don’t you? My cock instead of your fingers. My tongue teasing that sweet little clit until you’re begging for me to stop and begging for more at the same time.
Camille: You sound like you’re very sure of yourself.
Killion: That’s because I am. And if I were there, I’d be on my knees, making you come on my tongue before flipping you over and fucking you so hard you forget every reason you think we shouldn’t do this again.
Camille: You’re all talk.
Killion: Try me. Hell, I’d have you on the floor by now, your legs over my shoulders, my cock so deep in your throat you’d be seeing stars.
Camille: I want you in my mouth. I want to feel you on my tongue.
Killion: Fuck, baby. Keep talking. Tell me how you’d take me, how you’d suck me so good I’d lose my goddamn mind.
Camille: I’d take you deep, let you fuck my throat, let you watch as I make you lose control.
Killion: Jesus, Cam. You’re going to kill me. Keep going.
Camille: Only if you promise to do the same when you’re here.
Killion: Baby, when I get back, I’ll make sure you can’t walk straight for a week. Now, come for me. Be a good girl and let go.
Killion: Did you come, baby?
Camille: Yes.
Killion: Good. Now imagine how much better it’ll feel when it’s my hands, my mouth, my cock making you come. And that’s a promise.
Camille: We . . . we shouldn’t be doing this. It’s like we’re skipping what really matters and the foundation has cracks. Could we even survive if we try again?
Killion: I know, I know I should be showing you how much you mean to me, but this . . . this is something I crave and I’m so fucking hungry. It’s been years without you. Will we survive? I fucking hope so. Does this mean you’ll let me in? You’ll give me a chance?
Camille: I . . . yes. Just don’t make me regret this, Killion.
Killion: You won’t regret it, baby.