Chapter 4 #2
“No, nothing like that.” She sighs and draws back her hand, and it’s irritating how much I miss her touch. “Ours was never a deeply passionate connection.”
“How unfortunate.”
“That’s the thing, though. I thought it was a point in our favor. That if we didn’t plant ourselves on the shifting sands of lust and fallible human emotion, we’d have a stronger base for long-term commitment.”
“Okay.” Is she trying to convince herself or me? “So you got bored?”
Camille shakes her head, sipping her juice pouch some more.
“Not even that. I guess I tried to convince myself that was enough. That I didn’t need a guy who bent me over the kitchen table because I had a partner who set the table and made lovely dinners.
” She frowns. “When he came home for dinner, I mean. Hayden works a lot.” She fiddles with the tiny white straw, her gaze shifting off toward the sea.
“I guess we could have gone on like that for a long time—forever, maybe—except he broached the idea of marriage.”
I’m not sure I’m tracking this story. “So you dated a man who worked hard and provided and even—on occasion—cooked dinner? Then he asked for your hand in marriage?” He doesn’t sound like a terrible person.
Quite frankly, he sounds like me.
“I’m not telling this very well.” Camille bites her lip. “Hayden didn’t get down on one knee and profess his love with a ring in one hand and a can of Pringles in the other as doves perched on his shoulder and Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You played on a boombox beside him.”
“That’s what you wanted?”
“No, let me finish.” She sets down her juice pouch.
“A week ago, he took me out for dinner. It wasn’t much different from a normal Friday night.
He spent most of it on his phone texting other attorneys about this case they’re working on.
He’s a partner at his firm and—” She stops, shaking her head. “That’s an irrelevant detail.”
“The devil’s in the details,” I quip. And I’m still not seeing her ex as the devil here.
“My point is that we barely spoke at all over dinner that night. I started feeling a little neglected and sad, wondering if maybe I’d missed the boat on having a deep connection with my partner.
” The pain in her eyes is the opposite of the emotionally detached relationship she’s described thus far.
“Then Hayden set down his phone, looked me right in the eye, and said, ‘I want to marry you.’ Just like that. Took the breath right out of my lungs. And all of a sudden, I felt—I don’t know how to describe it. ”
“Seen.” My voice sounds raw and gravelly. “Desired. Worthy.”
Camille blinks. “Yes.”
I nod once. “Go on.”
She stares long enough that I’m not sure she will.
When she finally speaks, her own voice sounds strained.
“There was this five-second window where I felt all those things you just said.” She looks down at the table again.
“Then Hayden kept going. Turned out his accountant tipped him off about some change in the tax laws. A reason it behooved us financially to tie the knot before the end of the month.”
“Very sensible.” Not particularly romantic, but I respect sensible.
“It is sensible.” She looks up again, eyes searching mine.
For what, I’m not sure. “And for so long, I’d prided myself on being sensible and practical and smart in my relationship.
On finding a way to avoid all those landmines that bring couples to my office—fizzling passion, fading feelings, a loss of newness and novelty.
I thought if I skipped those things to start with, we’d begin from a more solid place. ”
“I can’t fault your logic."
Her throat rolls as she swallows. “But for those five seconds, I knew what it felt like to be something more. To be chosen . To be claimed by somebody who loved me enough that he wanted to stand up in front of our friends and our family and a few random assholes from his office and say, ‘I commit my life to being the best possible partner to this woman I love more than anyone else in the world.’”
The pinch in my chest returns with a vengeance. I look out at the sea because it hurts more to look at Camille. Too many memories squeeze the breath from my lungs. “A lovely thought.” I try to infuse my voice with as much disdain as I can muster. “Not very practical.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t. And I stuffed all that sentimental crap back down my throat and convinced myself we should forge ahead with a legal partnership. That I had it right the first time.” She looks out at the water again. “Then he forgot to show up for our wedding.”
“Forgot?”
“Yep. Just plain didn’t show up.”
Okay, that’s bad.
I might not have the best track record with committed relationships, but I like to believe I’d never forget my own wedding. “Didn’t he have it in his calendar?”
“You’d think. All his work stuff is in there. His phone pings constantly with reminders.”
I can’t wrap my head around that one. “Did something important come up?”
“No, that’s just it. He went to get lunch. Scallops, apparently.”
Good lord. “Were they at least fresh?”
She laughs and swipes at her eyes. I hadn’t noticed before that she’d started to cry. “The best in Portland. Almost worth it, right?”
“Indeed.” I shouldn’t touch this woman. That’s playing with fire, and we’ve already seen what happens with that.
But I can’t seem to stop myself from placing a hand on her forearm. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Thanks.” She looks down at my fingers brushing the edge of her wrist. “And thanks for listening. I swear I’m normally not such a mess.”
“Quite understandable.” I reach for the handkerchief in my breast pocket, then recall what I did with it. Why I’m wearing a starched white chef’s coat I found in the kitchen. “Come on.” I stand and offer my hand.
“Where are we going?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Just laces her fingers through mine and lets me hoist her to her feet.
“There’s a new section of rooms we just added.
” I guide her past the pool and toward the luxury villa where guests stay.
“While the main section is scheduled for deep cleaning this week, these new suites don’t yet require it.
You can stay there tonight, and tomorrow we’ll arrange for your transport home. ”
“Thank you.” She yawns as I guide her past rows of lush hedges and palm trees. “Would this be the room I intended to book?”
“Indeed.” Here’s where I owe her an apology.
“You were correct that you’d successfully booked a room.
Not a stay at the resort,” I add quickly before she can get too smug.
“That’s required to take part in dining and activities at Crystal Bliss Retreat.
But you discovered a glitch in our system in which one of the rooms not slated for deep cleaning was technically still available for booking. I apologize for that.”
“It’s okay.” One edge of her mouth quirks up. “That pretty much sums up my luck lately.”
“How so?”
She trails her fingers over a dense thatch of hibiscus. “I’m a foodie sex therapist who somehow managed to book a room at a sex resort that currently offers neither food nor sex.”
I chuckle as we round a corner in the path. “If I’m not mistaken, you managed to get both within your first hour on site.”
“I’ve always been an overachiever.”
As we pass a jacaranda tree, there’s a chirp and a flutter from one of the branches. A yellow-billed Amazon parrot squawks out a greeting.
“Fellatio!”
I return the greeting as we stride past. “Good afternoon, McFly.”
Camille skids to a stop. “Wait. Is this the same bird from inside?”
“You met McFly?”
“You named him McFly?”
“I didn’t.” There’s no reason to elaborate on who did . I don’t speak her name, not ever. “He has free run of the resort. He does enjoy loitering outside the women’s locker room.”
Camille leans closer to peer at him. “Hi, pretty bird.”
“Anilingus.” McFly flaps his wings. “ Anilingus! ”
“Aren’t you a smart bird?” She looks at me. “Am I to assume whoever named him also taught him a complete glossary of sexual terms?”
“Not complete.” It also wasn’t Brigitte who coached him on that. “He has a repertoire of about four dozen terms, mostly sexual in nature. One of the consorts taught him.”
“Sybil?”
“How do you know Sybil?”
“I don’t. My friend, Eve, mentioned her.” Her smile suggests Eve got to know my resort’s most popular female consort quite well.
“It wasn’t Sybil,” I tell her. “It was a consort from Canada named Zane.”
“Sounds like someone I’d enjoy getting to know.”
“McFly or Zane?”
“Both. Either.” She laughs. “Probably the bird more than the guy.”
I point to a bright-blue door on the corner. “This is you. Your room for the night, that is.”
“Thank you.”
I hand her a key card. “Make sure you know how to use it.”
Camille rolls her eyes. “I think I understand how a key card works.” She waves it in front of the sensor. Nothing happens.
“You need to slide it in all the way.”
She shoots me a salacious look. “That’s what she said.”
But she does what I’ve told her. Still nothing.
“Slide it in quickly, then pull out.”
That earns me another smirk. “You’re just writing marketing copy for the resort at this point.”
Ignoring Camille—though I’ll be honest, it’s hard—I push the door open as the light flickers on.
“Let me make sure your fridge is stocked. There should be water and several forms of distilled spirits. White wine and our locally made passionfruit kombucha. I can also bring over a fruit basket with?—”
“Whoa, check out the sex swing.”
I turn from my kitchen inventory to watch Camille seat herself in our top-of-the-line apparatus. She slips her feet in the stirrups, wrapping her fingers around the handles. Her perfect, round butt fills the seat nicely, and her pale gray sundress billows as she swings.
I shift behind the counter as my cock gives an unpleasant throb. “All our new suites come equipped with that model. It’s very sturdy.”
“This is fantastic.” She kicks her legs to go higher. “I’ve only ever tried the kind that hooks on a doorframe. Can’t really get swinging in one of those.”
“Indeed.” I watch as her dress flies up past her hips. “Not to criticize, but I don’t believe they’re meant to be used as playground equipment.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Ash Hole.” She kicks her legs, laughing. “Playing is kinda the point.”
I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually tested one. Watching Camille, seeing the flex of her calves and the lushness of her thighs, makes me wonder why not.
She’s a sight to behold, all that glossy red hair and her willowy arms flexing as she tips back her head to soar higher.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” I move toward the door, praying she can’t see the bulge in my pants. “I’ll bring over some fruit later on. There’s granola and yogurt in the?—”
“I always begged Hayden to try this.” She keeps swinging like I’m not even here. “There’s one on the door of my office that I show clients who ask for ideas on spicing things up. It’s more of a prop than anything.”
“But you’ve used it?” I don’t need to know this and it’s none of my business.
“Just once, with Hayden.” She swings her legs in the stirrups, laughing as one of the straps starts to tangle.
“He gave it a shot with your standard supported missionary, but it wasn’t really his thing.
” She kicks her legs higher, hair trailing behind her.
“I read about this one position called the flying sixty-nine and that sounded fantastic. Weightless oral, two ways? Sign me up!” She leans back to study the support system fixed to the beam overhead.
“But you need a ceiling-mounted one for the flying sixty-nine, and Hayden absolutely hates sixty-nining, so?—”
“I beg your pardon?”
Of all the things she’s said, that’s what I choose to remark on?
Camille must wonder the same because she plants her feet on the ground and stares. “Which part wasn’t clear?”
“The part where a straight, red-blooded male found mutual, simultaneous oral genital stimulation appalling.” I was on my way out, but now I can’t leave. “Was something wrong with Hayden?”
“Many things.” Camille winces. “Sorry. I absolutely, positively never sex shame anyone for their likes or dislikes. People are entitled to draw boundaries around their preferences, and no one should ever participate in an act that makes them uncomfortable.”
I catch myself grinding my teeth. Why do I even care about this?
“Be that as it may,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm, “and with all due respect to your fiancé?—”
“Ex fiancé.”
“ Ex fiancé.” And thank God for that. “The man is an idiot.”
She laughs but doesn’t argue. “Is this a sensitive subject for you?”
“I’m just pointing out that the act of pleasuring a woman orally while simultaneously being pleasured in the same fashion should be one of the seven wonders of the world. It’s like a French linen sheets or a Rolls-Royce Phantom or eighty-year-old Macallan scotch.”
“Wow.” She tilts her head to study me. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a guy this passionate about having pussy spread over your face.”
Now she’s just pissing me off. “And what, pray tell, does that guy look like?”
Camille licks her lips with a grin. “I wouldn’t know.”
I should disengage right now. I should get the fuck out of this room and go take a cold shower. No good can come from parting those pale, luscious thighs and proving her wrong.
So why do I take a step toward her? And another. And another.
I’m bearing down on Camille, watching her hazel eyes flash with intrigue and shock.
“In that case,” I say, unhooking the buttons at the collar of the chef’s coat. “Allow me to demonstrate.”