Chapter 8
IVY
The flight back to Huntington Harbor was miserable and I only had the noise of the jet and the thoughts in my head to distract me. Cameron sat across from me, his attention fixed on his tablet, but I could tell he wasn't really reading. His jaw was tight, and for the next hour, we played this game, his gaze flicking to my mouth, then every time I caught him staring, he would look away like he'd been burned.
I tried to focus on my own work, reviewing the notes from the conference and brainstorming new ideas for future meal kits, but my mind kept drifting back to the hotel room, to the way he'd held me, the way he'd kissed me. The jet's hum did nothing to drown out the memory of his lips on mine. It had been raw, and unlike anything I'd ever experienced. But now, back in the real world, I wasn't sure where we stood.
The worst part of all? I missed him, missed the way he'd whispered my name against my throat in that hotel room like it was a prayer.
When we landed, Cameron insisted on driving me home. We rode in silence, the weight of what happened at the hotel hanging over us. When we pulled up to my apartment building, he finally spoke.
"Ivy," he said, his voice cracking. "About what happened—"
"It's okay," I interrupted, forcing a smile. I couldn't bear it if he called what we had another mistake. "We don't have to talk about it right now. Let's just focus on work, okay?"
He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Alright."
I barely waited for his reply before I fled from the car, not wanting him to see me break. My heart was heavy as I watched him drive away. I didn't know what I wanted him to say, but I knew it wasn't that.
During the next few days back at work, we barely had time to see each other. The success of the conference had generated a lot of interest in the new meal kits, and we were swamped with work. I threw myself into my tasks, determined to prove that I could handle whatever was thrown at me. But every time I caught a glimpse of Cameron, across the office, in a meeting, or in the hallway, the memory of his touch would come rushing back, leaving me breathless and confused.
One evening, after most of the staff had gone home, I found myself in the kitchen, testing a new recipe based on feedback I got at the conference. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound was the soft hum of the ovens and the rhythmic chopping of my knife against the cutting board. I was so engrossed in my work that I didn't hear Cameron come in.
"You're here late," he said, his voice startling me.
I turned to see him standing in the doorway, his suit jacket slung over one arm. His tie was loosened, and there was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Were his nights just as sleepless and tormented as mine were?
"Just testing a few tweaks to the recipe," I said, trying to sound casual. "What about you?"
"Paperwork," he replied, stepping into the kitchen. "Can't seem to escape it."
I nodded, turning back to the stove. "Want to taste this?" I asked, holding out a spoonful of the curry sauce.
He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his hand brushing mine as he took the spoon. Our eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then he tasted the sauce, his expression softening.
"It's good," he said, his voice quiet. "Really good. Just the right amount of spice."
"Thanks," I replied, my heart racing. "I'm glad you like it."
He set the spoon down, his gaze never leaving mine. "Ivy, we need to talk."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "I know."
I'm not good at this. Relationships and emotions, they've never been my strength. But with you, I want to try."
My heart skipped a beat, and I took a tentative step toward him. Reaching up, I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "Me too. We can't keep running in circles around each other. That's all we can ask of each other, to try."
He hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was tender and tentative. It was different from the passion we'd shared during our trip to Paradise Peaks. This was softer, more intimate, as if we were both testing the waters of this new reality.
When he pulled away, I could see the conflict in his eyes, but also a glimmer of hope. "We'll take it slow," he said, his voice firm but gentle.
"Slow," I agreed, my heart still racing from his touch.
That evening, Cameron invited me to his penthouse to discuss my ideas for the future direction of the new meal kits.
It was the first time I'd seen his home, and it was exactly what I'd expected, cold, minimalist, and impeccably clean. The space felt more like a showroom than a home, with its stark white walls, furniture with clean lines, and complete lack of personal touches. It was a testament to his loneliness.
"This is something," I said, trying to suppress a laugh as I looked around.
He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in what might have been amusement. "It's functional."
"Functional," I repeated, shaking my head. "You know, a little mess never hurt anyone. It's called living."
"I prefer order," he said, his tone dry. "It's predictable."
"Predictable is boring," I teased, setting my bag down on the stone kitchen counter. "Let me show you how to have fun."
I yanked open his fridge and looked at him in disbelief. "Who organizes their vegetables by color?"
His jaw clenched. "I like being organized."
Relax, Fitzgerald." I tossed him an onion. "Tonight, I'm teaching you how tolive."
I rummaged through his fridge, pulling out ingredients for a simple pasta dish. Cameron watched me with a mix of fascination and discomfort, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of the chaos I was creating in his pristine kitchen.
"You're just going to start cooking?" he asked, sounding slightly bewildered.
"Why not?" I said, grinning as I chopped an onion. "Cooking is therapeutic. Plus, I'm starving."
He hesitated for a moment before rolling up his sleeves and stepping closer. "Let me help."
When his hands closed over mine to correct my grip on the knife, his chest pressed flush against my back. His growl vibrated through me.
His hands were unfairly steady for a man who didn't work in a kitchen every day.
"Slowly. As you said, it's about living, not rushing through the motions," Cameron murmured, his chest pressed against my back as he guided my hand. His fingers lingered, rough callouses scraping my wrist, before retreating.
I swallowed hard. "You're good at this."
A shadow crossed his face. "Necessity." He picked up a carrot, slicing it with military precision. "When my mother first got sick, I was nine. Someone had to feed us."
The knife stilled in my hand.Nine.
He didn't look up. "She worked doubles at the diner. I'd stand on a stool to stir the soup." A bitter chuckle. "Burned it half the time. And then, when she finally got too sick to work, I took over cooking at home. It was my way of taking care of her."
My throat tightened. No wonder his meal kits prioritized foolproof recipes.
I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "That's where Cam's Comfy Cuisine came from, isn't it? Your mom."
He met my gaze, his eyes filled with emotion. "Yeah. She's the reason I started this company. I wanted to make it easier for people to always have a meal at home with the ones they love."
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and I squeezed his arm gently. "That's beautiful, Cameron."
He looked away, his jaw tightening as if he was trying to hold back his emotions. "It's been so long, but I like to think she'd be proud of what I've built."
"I know she would be," I said, my voice firm. "You've done something incredible."
He nodded, his expression softening as he turned back to me. "Thank you, Ivy."
As we finished cooking and sat down to eat, the atmosphere between us shifted, becoming more intimate. The conversation flowed easily, and for the first time, I felt like I was seeing the real Cameron, not the grumpy billionaire boss who had his underlings scrambling to obey his commands, but the man behind the walls he'd built so carefully. There was a vulnerability in the way he spoke about his mother, a tenderness that made my heart ache for him.
After dinner, we moved to the living room, where the city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cameron poured us each a glass of wine, and we sat together on the couch, the space between us charged with unspoken tension.
"This is nice," I said, breaking the silence. "Just being here with you."
He glanced at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It is," he admitted, his voice low. "But it's also dangerous."
"Why?" I asked, my heart pounding.
He set his glass down on the coffee table and turned to face me. "Because the more time I spend with you, the harder it is to remember why I shouldn't kiss you right now. Why I shouldn't carry you to my room and make love to you."
His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I reached out, placing my hand on his arm. "Maybe you shouldn't fight it."
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression conflicted. Then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. I melted into him, my hands tangling in his hair as I kissed him back with everything I had.
The world around us faded away, leaving only the two of us and the heat of our connection. His hands roamed over my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and I gasped as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down my neck.
"Cameron," I whispered, my voice trembling.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. "I've never been more sure of anything."
That was all the encouragement he needed. He stood, lifting me into his arms as if I weighed nothing, and carried me to his bedroom. The room was as stark and minimalist as the rest of the penthouse, but I barely noticed. All my attention was on him, on the way his hands felt against my skin, the way his lips moved over mine, the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing that mattered.
We fell onto the bed together, our bodies tangled and our breaths mingling. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word deepened the connection between us, until it felt as if we were one person, one heart, one soul.
His hands were heavy and greedy as he explored every inch of my body. I gave just as good as I got, taking in my fill of the hard ridges of his muscles beneath my palms.
It was too much, the ache in my empty core making my walls clench as my heartbeat pounded in my ears. The frantic need for him to fill me was overwhelming.
"Please," I breathed, nipping his bottom lip between my teeth. "Make me yours, Cameron."
His nostrils flared at my words and his eyes darkened with lust, the tenderness in his gaze mixing with something dark and primal.
He took hold of my wrists and pinned them over my head. "You're going to be mine forever." His lips slammed down on mine, plundering my mouth with his tongue. I squirmed, spreading my thighs to cradle his hips. He responded as I presented myself, grinding his hard length against my mound.
The hand around my wrists tightened, squeezing to the point of pain. There were going to be bruises there tomorrow. A surge of heat rushed to my womb. Yes. I wanted to be his. To be owned and used by him. For the whole world to see that I belonged to him.
Cameron pulled back with a snarl. With one quick motion, he ripped my shirt off with one tug. I gasped. Before I could catch my breath, my bra, pants, and underwear suffered the same fate, leaving me exposed with tattered strips of cloth hanging from my body.
As he removed his own clothes, I reached out for him.
"No! Be still," he commanded. A sharp slap landed on my wet puffy lips, just below my mons. I yelped and quickly put my arms over my head again.
"Good girl," he murmured.
A fresh gush of moisture rushed out of my center at his words. In no other area of my life had I ever let a man take control before, but it was different with Cameron. I wanted him to order me around and to use me as he pleased. And when he praised me for being submitting?
Wow.
I glanced down and my pussy spasmed at the sheer size of his cock. No way. It was flared and swollen with blood, with thick ridged veins running around the shaft. My fingers clenched reflexively, wanting to see if I could wrap them around his shaft. I had a feeling they wouldn't fit.
With both hands free, Cameron found my breasts, cupping and stroking them while his mouth latched onto the hardened tips. He stroked with his tongue, and tugged lightly with his teeth, making me gasp and arch my back.
He found my center and began stroking my clit with firm circles of his thumb. His fingers slipped up and down, working down into my slippery folds.
It took every ounce of control to obey his orders and keep my hands off of him. My hips bucked and jerked against his hand as he stroked me faster and harder, spreading my slick juices along my swollen bud and cleft.
I was so close. My walls quaked and my thighs trembled as he brought me closer and closer. Then, when I was almost there, he stopped.
Wrenching my head up, I cried out in protest.
Cameron let out a low chuckle. He dropped to his knees and with two firm hands, cupped my cheeks, tugging me to the edge of the bed. With my thighs around his head, I was completely open and exposed. He examined me for a moment, as if transfixed, and took in a deep breath before letting out a long low groan. Holding me firmly in place, he buried his face in my center. With a growl that vibrated to my sensitive clit, he began to lick me, working more and more of my slick juices from my core.
"Please, don't stop," I begged. My muscles tensed as I flew higher and higher. I bunched the sheets in my fists, searching desperately for purchase so that I could grind myself against his face.
He was relentless, working my swollen bud between his lips, stroking and tapping with his tongue until light exploded behind my eyes.
I screamed as I came, tremors rocking my entire body. My pussy clenched rhythmically, but he kept licking me, even through the last waves of pleasure, leaving me a panting, helpless mess.
Crawling up my body, he kissed me, forcing me to taste my pleasure. As we kissed, I felt something hard and blunt nudge against my entrance. A moment of panic flared in my chest. What if he was too big?
"Easy," Cameron whispered. "Don't fight it. Just submit and take me in."
Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his hips, helping him push into my tight channel.
"Good girl," he growled against my lips.
Those were the magic words. With a snap of his hips, he slipped in with a burning thrust. I cried out, my channel squeezing down on his thick shaft as he drove all the way to the hilt in one push.
He filled me to the brim, each pounding thrust nudging my clit against his hip bone. Helplessly, I rocked my hips, impaling myself over and over again on his shaft.
"More, Cameron. Fuck me," I begged.
"You're doing so well, Ivy. Keeping your hands in place." Thrust. Thrust. "Taking all of my cock." Thrust. Thrust. "I'm going to reward you. You may touch me. Then you will take every drop of my cum and keep it inside you."
My hips surged up at his words as my hands flew to his shoulders. I dug my nails into his back, relishing the hiss of pain that escaped his lips.
He rolled his hips, lifting my bottom and sinking deeper into me. It should have been impossible, but he swelled and grew even bigger inside of me.
I gasped, my eyes flying wide open as he stretched me to my limits. It couldn't be.
"You're mine now, Ivy. This is what it is like to be mated by a wolf." Then I felt his fingers stroking down my soaked cleft, coating them in my juices before he pressed them against my back hole.
My body clenched at the intense painful pleasure of being filled to the brim, with his swollen bulge in my core and his fingers in my ass.
He continued rocking into me, forcing me to take all of him. "We're going to do this again and again, until my seed spills out of every part of you. You will take it and when I am ready, I will let you come." He spoke as if we were having a normal conversation over dinner. His calm compared to my loss of control made my pussy spasm.
Cameron pinned me in place with his arms, pounding into me as he showed me just who was in control. The bulge of his shaft stretched my walls, stroking a spot deep inside of me that made my womb clench. I shuddered as the pleasure built into a pressure that exploded. My eyes clenched shut as my orgasm crashed into me in waves, making my walls ripple around him as I rode out my ecstasy.
There was a roar, and then a sharp pain in my neck as Cameron bit down on my flesh. The pain pushed me over the edge again. "Mine," he whispered in my ear.
Acting on an unknown instinct, I latched my teeth onto his neck, biting down with all of my strength. He let out a roar that shook the walls. His shaft throbbed and jerked inside of me before a hot flood filled my core.
We rocked together as we rode out our climaxes. Spent, Cameron rolled off of me, pulling me on top of him. As he pulled out, a rush of our combined juices flowed out of me, running down along my folds and down my thighs.
I swirled my fingers in the moisture and brought it up to paint a cross over his chest.
"Mine," I repeated.
Afterward, we lay together in the darkness, our bodies still entwined. Cameron's arm was draped over my waist, his breath warm against my skin. I could feel his heart beating in time with mine, a steady rhythm that lulled me into a sense of peace I hadn't known was possible.
"Ivy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Hmm?" I replied, my eyes already drifting closed.
"Thank you," he said simply, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my arm.
I smiled, nuzzling closer to him. "For what?"
"For this," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "For you."
My heart swelled at his words, and I pressed a kiss to his chest. "You don't have to thank me, Cameron. This is where I want to be."
He didn't respond, but I could feel the tension in his body ease, as if my words had given him the permission he needed to let go. We fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten.