Chapter 13 Camilla
His hands on my skin feel like fire and ice at the same time.
I stand naked before him, every nerve ending hypersensitive as his fingers trace patterns across my collarbone, down between my breasts, mapping territory he claims belongs to him. The clinical way he speaks about my body should humiliate me.
Instead, it's making me wet.
Which is either the most fucked up response possible, or exactly what I need to survive this.
"Your skin is flawless," he murmurs, his voice taking on that professional tone that drives me insane. "No scars, no marks. Premium buyers appreciate perfection."
"How nice of you to notice."
His eyes flash with something dangerous. "Sarcasm isn't attractive."
"Neither is pretending this is purely business." I meet his gaze directly, refusing to be cowed. "You're not as unaffected as you want me to believe."
"Professional interest," he says, but his voice is rougher now.
"Professional interest doesn't make a man's pupils blow wide. Doesn't make him swallow hard before speaking." I step closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. "You're barely holding on to that control you prize so much."
"You're in way over your head with these games you're playing."
"I'm not playing. I'm stating facts." My voice drops. "And the fact is, this training is going to destroy us both."
His hand shoots up to catch my wrist, fingers wrapping around it like a manacle. "Stop pushing."
"I'm surviving. If that means pushing a man who won't admit what he wants, then so be it."
"I'm not pretending anything."
"Aren't you? Because the way you're looking at me right now doesn't look very professional." I tilt my head, studying his face. "It looks hungry. Possessive. It looks like ‘want’."
His grip tightens on my wrist. "Careful."
"Why? Because you're starting to see what you'll lose when you auction me off?"
"I want you prepared properly. That's all."
"You're such a terrible fucking liar, Renato. You want to be the one touching me. You want every part of this before you have to give it away."
"Enough."
His command cuts through the air, but I don't stop. "You want this to mean something. You want me to be more than a transaction."
Something primal flashes in his dark eyes. "You’re wrong."
"Then prove it. Go ahead, let’s do it. Show me this clinical assessment you keep talking about."
He releases my wrist and steps back. For a moment I think he's going to walk away. Instead, he moves to the chair by the desk and sits down.
"Turn around," he says, his voice taking on that commanding tone that makes my stomach flutter. "Slowly. I want to see every angle."
I obey, rotating in a slow circle, hyperaware of his gaze tracking every inch of my naked body. When I complete the turn, his expression has shifted to something hungrier.
"Again. Slower this time. And arch your back slightly—buyers like to see good posture."
The second rotation feels different. More intimate. I can feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, and by the time I face him again, my skin is flushed with heat.
"Better," he says, but his breathing has definitely changed. "Now come here."
I walk toward him, letting my hips sway naturally with each step. His hands clench once on the chair arms before he forces them to relax.
I'm standing directly in front of him now, close enough that he could reach out and touch me.
"Al-Rashid will want to inspect his purchase. You need to know how to present yourself submissively."
"How?"
"Hands behind your back. Chest out. Eyes lowered unless instructed otherwise."
I assume the position, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Like this?"
"Yes." His voice is strained now. "He'll want to examine the merchandise. Make sure it meets his specifications."
His hand reaches out to touch my collarbone, fingers tracing along the bone with feather-light pressure. "He'll want to assess your responses."
"And how should I react?"
"Like you enjoy it. Like you want more." His thumb brushes across my lower lip. "Even if you don't. Even if his touch disgusts you."
"Show me." The words slip out before I can stop them, and I see his pupils dilate further.
"Show you what?"
"How to fake enjoying a man's touch. How to make him believe I want what he's doing to me."
For a moment, he doesn't move. Just stares at me with those dark eyes that seem to see straight through every defense I have.
Then his hand slides from my lips to my throat, fingers wrapping around the delicate column with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
"Your responses belong to your owner," he says roughly. "If he wants you aroused, you become aroused. If he wants you desperate, you become desperate."
"Even if I'm not feeling it?"
"Especially then." His thumb traces along my pulse point, and I can't hide the way my breathing hitches. "But the secret is that the body follows the mind. If you let yourself feel what he wants you to feel, the response becomes real."
His other hand settles on my hip, thumb brushing against bare skin. "Tell me. Are you faking this response? Or do you actually want my hands on you?"
"I'm an excellent actress," I say smoothly, even as my pulse hammers against his fingertips. "The real question is whether you can tell the difference."
His eyes narrow. "You're saying this is all performance?"
"I'm saying men are apparently remarkably easy to fool when it comes to female arousal. A few gasps, some well-timed responses, and they believe whatever they want to believe."
"And what about me? Can I tell?"
"What do you think?" I let my breathing hitch slightly, perfectly calculated. "Am I really affected by your touch, or am I just showing you how easy it would be to convince your buyers?"
His grip tightens on my throat. "You're playing me again."
"I'm demonstrating my new skills. I’m a fast learner. Isn't that what this is for?" I lean into his touch slightly, making it look like desire rather than strategy. "Any buyer would believe I want everything he's doing to me."
He stares at me for a long moment, some internal war playing out behind his eyes. Then his hand slides from my throat to cup my breast, and I have to fight to keep my reaction perfectly controlled—just enough response to seem genuine, not enough to reveal how much his touch actually affects me.
His thumb brushes across my nipple, and I bite back a moan.
"The anticipation is often more powerful than the actual touch," he says, his other hand sliding lower.
He proves his point by trailing his fingers along my inner thigh without actually touching where I want him most. The tease sends fire racing through my veins.
"Tell me what you want," he commands.
"I want..." I struggle to form coherent thoughts with his hands on me. "I want you to stop pretending this is just training."
"That’s all it is."
"This is you wanting me so badly you can barely control yourself." I lean forward slightly, bringing my mouth close to his ear. "This is you teaching me how to please a man while trying not to admit that you're the man I want to please."
"You need to understand the stakes here. The auction is happening if the debt isn’t paid. You will be sold to the highest bidder." His hands don't retreat from my body. "The sooner you accept that reality, the better off you’ll be."
The cold certainty in his voice shakes my confidence.
"Then why does this feel like more than just training?"
"Because you want it to be more." His thumb brushes across my nipple again. "You're looking for salvation that doesn't exist."
He leans down and presses his lips to the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. Not a kiss exactly, more like a claim. His breath is warm against my skin as he trails lower.
"Al-Rashid likes to mark his acquisitions," he murmurs against my throat. "He wants to see evidence of submission."
His teeth graze my earlobe, and I can't suppress the shiver that runs through me.
"Yes," he says, satisfaction evident in his voice. "That's the kind of response he'll expect."
"It's just a physical reaction," I manage to say, though my voice isn't as steady as I'd like.
"Is it?" His mouth moves to the other side of my neck, and this time he does bite—gently, but with enough pressure to make me gasp.
His hands settle on my waist, thumbs brushing against my ribs just below my breasts. The touch is maddeningly light, designed to tease rather than satisfy.
"Tell me what you want," he commands softly.
"I want..." The words stick in my throat because what I want and what I should want are two very different things.
"You want what, Camilla?" His lips brush against my ear as he speaks. “More training?”
"Yes," I whisper, and the admission feels more dangerous than any lie.
His mouth finally captures mine, and this kiss is nothing like what I expected. It's hungry and demanding and completely at odds with his clinical words. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Tomorrow," he says roughly. "We'll continue."
"With what?"
"More advanced techniques. Things that require..." His jaw clenches. "More direct instruction."
"And how long does this take?"
"As long as necessary." He steps back suddenly, leaving me naked and aching in the cool air. "Lesson over for today."
"What?" I blink, struggling to process the abrupt shift.
He moves toward the door with that controlled stride that makes me want to throw something at him.
"You're just leaving me here?"
"I have business to attend to. Buyers to contact, arrangements to make." He pauses at the door, looking back at me. "Remember—every response I just drew from you, every way your body reacted to my touch, that's what they'll expect."
"And if I can't reproduce it with them?"
"Then you'd better hope they're patient teachers. Because I won't be there to guide you through it."
The lock clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone and trembling with a mixture of arousal and rage.
Bastard.
He brought me to the edge and then walked away like nothing happened.
But as I sink onto the bed, I notice what he tried to hide. The way he left so abruptly, like staying another moment would break him. The tension in his shoulders as he walked to the door. The fact that he didn't look back a second time, as if he didn't trust himself to.
He's not as controlled as he pretends.
And tomorrow, when he comes back to continue this torture, I'm going to make sure that control shatters completely.
Because if I'm going to be sold to the highest bidder, I want to make damn sure Renato Vitiello knows exactly what he's giving up.