Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Killion: Morning, I didn’t want to interrupt your yoga session. Maybe you can give me access to your place so I can drop off your morning coffee tomorrow?
Camille: Nice try, Crawford. You’re not entering to my place freely.
Killion: But I gave you my code last night after dinner.
Camille: My birthday is not necessarily a code. I’ve known it for a long time. And why would you use my birthday as a code?
Killion: I know it well.
Camille: We never celebrated.
Killion: No, by September I had already done the most stupid thing in the world.
Camille: It wasn’t very smart, but I get it. You knew how Dad handled the people who pissed him off. You were looking after your fathers.
Killion: Have you talked to them? Your parents?
Camille: Yep. They called me last night. We had a long discussion. I’m upset at them. Sure, they were looking after me and my future, but that didn’t give them the right to threaten you.
Killion: It’s in the past and we’re moving forward.
Camille: You say it as if it’s so simple.
Killion: Nope, I know you’re still upset and I have to make you fall in love with me if I want the girl.
Camille: By the way, Scottie texted me. She’d like to discuss my business. I already have an investor.
Killion: Have you signed yet?
Camille: Not yet, but I can’t just drop them like that.
Killion: Check with your lawyer. If you haven’t signed it’s their problem.
Camille: I would be an asshole if I don’t sign.
Killion: They’re using you, and what happens if they decide not to invest? You uprooted yourself for nothing.
Camille: You know what’s funny?
Killion: What’s funny?
Camille: You sound like my father. You two don’t trust anyone.
Killion: I trust plenty, but so far there’s nothing that makes me believe these people are serious about your business.
Camille: They moved me to New York.
Killion: So they’re paying for everything—even the penthouse?
Camille: Well, no, it was all paid by me, but . . . they’re going to invest millions and only get twenty percent of my earnings. That’s a great deal.
Killion: What if I invest millions, only get five percent, and you stopped worrying about these people?
Camille: They have great connections with social media influencers.
Killion: If you need that, I can have my publicist connect you with the people you need.
Camille: Let me talk to my lawyer.
Killion: What are today’s plans?
Camille: I have a few consultations.
Killion: You still haven’t told me how you got to be the Hooha coach or why you’re still working as a doctor.
Camille: I love medicine, but the business is fun and helps women who don’t need reconstruction. Many don’t really need it, they just need the exercises. Plus . . . there’s a lot more involved.
Killion: How did you become a reconstruction surgeon?
Camille: Karla. After her first baby she was having issues. The doctor recommended surgery to fix it. She came to me and I began to look into that. It didn’t make sense that at her age she’d need reconstruction. I began researching. Many new moms go through two or three surgeries because there’s no one helping them with exercises and tips. Would they need the surgery at some point? A good doctor will tell them if they really do.
Killion: You are passionate about this.
Camille: I am.
Killion: So, you’re tight with all those exercises, huh?
Camille: Don’t start, Crawford.
Killion: I’m just asking if you only teach or if you do . . . how does that saying goes?
Camille: I don’t think it applies to this.
Killion: Sure, tight cunts are applicable, always.
Camille: You’re unbelievable.
Killion: Oh, come on, Cam. It’s a valid question. You’re so passionate about helping these women, teaching them how to strengthen everything . . . you’re telling me you don’t put all that knowledge to good use yourself?
Camille: My patients’ health and recovery isn’t a joke, Killion.
Killion: I’m not joking. I’m just appreciating the potential . . . side effects of all that expertise.
Camille: You’re impossible.
Killion: Maybe. But I’m also imagining how all that “tightening” knowledge might apply to you. Makes me wonder, Cam—are you as tight as I think you are?
Camille: You’re skating on thin ice.
Killion: Thin ice? Baby, I’m ready to dive headfirst. I mean, the thought of you, with all that precision and control . . . it’s enough to drive me insane.
Camille: I’m not entertaining this.
Killion: Oh, but you are. Tell me, Cam—do you ever practice what you preach? Ever think about me while you’re focusing on all that control?
Camille: Killion.
Killion: Do you? Because I can’t stop thinking about how incredible it’d feel to have you clenching around me. Tight. Perfect. Exactly the way I know you’d be.
Camille: I should turn off my phone and block you.
Killion: But you won’t. You’re already picturing it, aren’t you? How good it’d feel to have me buried deep inside you, stretching you, making you lose every ounce of that control you’re so proud of.
Camille: You’re ridiculous.
Killion: And yet, you’re still here, listening. Because you know I’m right. You know how good we’d feel together.
Camille: You’ve got a dirty mouth.
Killion: And I’d use every filthy word to make you come, Cam. Imagine it. Me, on my knees, tasting every inch of you, whispering exactly how I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.
Camille: Killion?—
Killion: Say the word, baby. Just one word, and I’ll show you exactly how tight, how perfect, how completely mine you are.
Camille: We’re supposed to be on a get to know each (again) other basis, not . . . this.
Killion: I agree, but what if there are some benefits? Maybe you can reward me with, you know . . . sex?
Camille: I have to go to work, Killion. Keep your dirty thoughts (and texts) to yourself.
Killion: Miss me. I know I’ll miss you, a lot.