8
Vincent Hawthorne
F ucking hell.
What came over me?
Camilla has always sucked me in ever since we were kids, but I was hoping to have more self-control now that I’m an adult.
I was wrong .
The girl has been doing everything perfectly so far. Several tasks need daily attention, from cleaning and cooking to fixing or gardening and taking care of animals. And yet, every time I ask about one of those dozens of tasks, Camilla has either taken care of it, directed someone to do it, or is already on top of it.
She may not do it all herself but is quick to have someone do it. I expected it from the beginning, but fuck, it still amazes me.
The independence that comes with her takes a huge toll off my shoulders since taking over all my aunt’s properties and business has taken most of my time.
And the food…After living most of my life with a dull monotony of these old and conservative methods, the same tasteless food that my mother so much appreciates, all the different dishes that Camilla chooses feel like a drop of honey after an extremely sour piece of food.
Dinner was perfect. I loved it.
That is why when my mother decided to degrade the hard work she had put into it, I was oddly affected. A raging anger and need to protect Camilla came over me. It had never happened, especially not against my mother.
But after three decades of smothering behaviour from the Duchess of Hawthorne, I’ve had enough.
It irked me so much watching her do someone else’s job, too. Watching her rushed and harsh movements made it visible she was nervous or stressed—a clear consequence of that dinner. It was probably the way she found to deal with her mother’s unpleasantness. A way to unwind.
But when I heard her stomach growl…I went bonkers.
It was supposed to be an innocent act, but of course, through all her innocence, watching her eat a bloody piece of dessert became the most erotic moment of my life.
It was enough to send a load of tension to my body. The kind that won’t leave for anything. The kind that keeps sending these twisted thoughts straight into the forefront of my attention.
The sight of watching her suck her finger…and picturing my finger instead. Or even…
“Fucking hell,” I mutter when I finally take the last clothing piece off of my body and enter the cold shower.
That’ll do it.
How do her lips taste? Will they taste as good as I imagine? Will it be as intoxicating as her scent is?
That woman is sexy without even trying. The ingenuity and kindness she holds in herself makes it all harder for me, in every fucking sense of the word. The urge to fuck the innocence out of her is getting greater and greater by the day.
I have no fucking idea how long I will be able to resist her. This self-control was doomed from the start. I’ll snap, eventually.
Not even the freezing water running down my body is enough to make my hard-on go away. Not when that image of her plump lips pressed tightly around her finger keeps haunting me.
She’d look gorgeous sucking on my dick, too.
“I’m a bloody pervert,” I grumble, letting my forehead slowly hit the cold tile of the shower.
With my hand choking my cock in a tight hold, I let the thoughts of her consume me.
To be thinking about her in this way while stroking myself is the lowest of the low. But I can’t help myself. With her kind eyes that shine bright so easily, often focused on me and that small beauty mark on her defined jaw right under that pink juicy mouth…Gorgeous.
It’d be heaven to have her tongue swirling around the tip and her dishevelled hair tangled around my hand.
“Yes,” I grunt.
That full chest pressed against mine, and her legs wrapped around my waist.
“Argh!” My hand speeds up in accordance with the wild images taking over my mind.
The problem is, after tonight, my desire and thoughts will be running wild.
The need to feel her, to explore her body, to make her moan and come, is excruciating. I want to listen to her moan my name repeatedly while her back arches, pressing those perfect tits onto my sternum as she lets go.
My body shudders at the image, and a tight pressure travels from the base of my spine to my testicles, making me come.
It takes me a couple of minutes to get a hold of myself, control my irregular breathing and relax the tension from my muscles.
“Bloody hell,” I exhale, the adrenaline of the orgasm slowly wearing me out.
It’s going to be fucking torture living with her.
For the first time in my life, there’s a woman out there making me go mad with desire, and it doesn’t sit well with me.
I’ve always liked to be in control of myself and my actions, but she makes me want to throw it all away and get lost in her.
I need to get a grip. I am Vincent Hawthorne, a fucking duke, and there’s no one in this world powerful enough to make me lose my mind.
After two hours of rolling around in the bed, sleep continues to evade me. That’s why, through the wee hours into the morning, I’m still in the office, going through the paperwork of one of the companies my aunt left me.
Dux Vinum.
There’s not much I can do at this hour, but the merging process of the winery to Hawthorne Corporation is already in motion, and rereading the paperwork is always important so as not to let any issue go unscathed.
The wine business was something my grandfather gave my aunt, while the nutmeg shares stayed with my father. With it and by slowly buying more shares anonymously from the Crown, he was able to turn it into a bigger company. Together, we are the main exporters of nutmeg in the world.
Adding the nutmeg to the renewable energy investments as our gross income, Dux Vinum barely reaches 1% of it in our company, but it’s my family’s…and I intend to make it strive just like my father’s businesses have.
With sleep finally intruding, I start to gather the paperwork in its original folder, ready to go to bed.
Except, as I place it under a stack of envelopes, a couple fall to the ground. I’m ready to leave them be until the next morning when the familiar cursive catches my attention.
“What the...”
Crouching down, I pick it up. It’s my aunt’s handwriting, and it’s addressed to me. Henry never told me there were unopened letters, besides the will.
Turning it around, the wax seal confirms it. It’s hers.
Losing no time, I break the seal and open it.
Immediately, I notice a small envelope inside accompanied by a written paper. Taking the second envelope first, I notice, on the other side, Camilla’s name in cursive.
My hand has a mind of its own, placing the letter with Camilla’s name on the desk and going for the paper inside instead. This one has my name right at the top, with the whole letter written by hand.
Sitting back down on the chair behind my desk, I unfold it and start reading.
Dear Vincent,
If this letter has reached you, it means I have passed away, my boy.
I know we haven’t seen each other in a few years. Ever since your father passed away, you’ve distanced yourself from everyone. While it saddens me greatly, I understand your need for isolation. Grief does mess up with our hearts, and everyone feels it and acts on it differently.
As you know, I didn’t have children of my own. This also means you are my official heir. This is nothing new since Henry probably agave you the contents of my last will.
Now, finally, all of the businesses and properties that were divided by my father are together in your name. Despite being my obvious heir by blood, I am also proud to leave everything to you, knowing the kind of man you’ve become, that your father taught you to be.
You—and Camilla—are the closest I had to the children experience. My best and happiest days were watching you running around the orchard and the manor. You were both so carefree. It was heartwarming.
Don’t think you can’t fill your father’s shoes. That’s not what he wanted you to be, my dear. Know you are your own man, and he wanted the best for you, regardless of the weight of the responsibilities and the legacy.
You are meant to do great things. I am sure of that.
Still, be aware. With responsibilities and power, enemies come out of the shadows. And more often than not, from where we least expect. Watch your back. But most of all, find someone you can fully trust, someone you can hold onto when hard times come.
Last but not least, I hope you’re not mad about my unorthodox request to keep Camilla’s job and allow her to live on the property.
She’s the sweetest and most caring soul I’ve met in my life. A pure heart indeed. Unfortunately, she no longer has any family left in this world. I was all she had. Sure, I was her boss, but there was much more than that. She treated me like a mother, and I reciprocated. She was the daughter I never had.
Camilla made sure I never felt alone. She made sure all doctors did whatever was necessary for me to be in the best health possible and comfortable. I know she’ll take care of me until my last breath.
And in those decades, we’ve grown deeply attached. And this manor is all she’s known. Even though it is not hers legally, it is the home she was born and grew up in—her safe place.
I hope you’ll find the house big enough for both of you, and who knows, rekindle that beautiful friendship you had in your childhood.
I remember so well how you’d do her bidding quite often, and it was quite entertaining to watch. But more than that, now that you’re in such a powerful place, I also think she’d be a good ally in this world of greed and facades. Someone genuine to keep in your life.
Take care of her, and I am sure she’ll take care of you.
With love, Elizabeth Hawthorne