Chapter 12
POV: Camille?
I pressed my head against the car’s window and watched as city lights faded in the rearview mirror.
Now, I should be completely free of annoying thoughts, but I couldn’t help myself. I never could. I guess I just liked to torture my mind, after all.
Because here I was, sitting next to Michael, and thinking about words Michael said and if they were actually true. When in reality, I shouldn’t be thinking about the past at all, especially when the truth was that this was just a contract—a 6 month contract.
But I couldn’t help but think—or maybe hope—that there was more to it.
Because between the tension…between us…that was thick and heavy and indescribable, I felt like there actually might be more, more than just a piece of paper, holding us together.
Because in a way, I felt like I saw the person of Michael he wanted to keep hidden from the world. And somehow, someway, and I could very well be delusional for thinking so…but I did.
Michael hadn’t told me where we were going, only that I needed to pack a weekend bag and be ready at 8 am sharp. He’d sent a sleek black car to pick me up, and now we were on the highway sitting next to each other in the expansive, leather backseats.
I should have asked more questions. That was what the contract was supposed to be for—clarity, control and rules. Instead, I let the silence stretch between us as my stomach twisted in a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
Michael was angled toward me, his navy blue suit jacket was off and he had his white shirt sleeves rolled up, as one hand draped lazily across his knee. He looked impossibly composed as if the entire world bent to him.
And I guess in a way it did.
“You’re quiet,” he said, not looking up from his cellphone.
“You didn’t tell me where we’re going.”
“That’s the point,” he replied smoothly, looking up at me now. “Do you trust me?”
My throat tightened. It was such a simple question, yet not simple at all.
Trust.
The very thing I’d promised myself not to give him beyond the terms of our agreement. But sitting here, I realized the line had blurred weeks ago, I realized that I felt differently than I had just mere weeks ago.
“Yes,” I whispered, before I could stop myself.
His mouth turned into a satisfied smile. “Good.”
Hours later, after the border crossing and the long winding, endless roads, we arrived just past midnight at our destination. The car turned off a narrow forest road onto a long gravel drive lined with lanterns and at the end sat a large estate perched outlooking a lake.
As we got out of the car, I stood staring at it. “Michael—this place…”
He cut me off. “Belongs to a friend and for the weekend, it’s ours.”
Inside, the house was just as magnificent as it was outside. Floor to ceiling windows, refinished wooden beams, floors, and marble everything else. There was no staff or city noise, just trees, water, and sky. This wasn’t dinner in Manhattan or a hotel suite after an event.
This was… personal.
Michael walked up behind me, and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me near. “Do you like it?” He asked as he ran his fingers through my hair.
I nodded, afraid that if I spoke, my voice would betray how much it meant.
He spun me around as he turned my face toward him. “Then let me show you what happens when there are no contracts and interruptions—just us, just you and me, Camille.”
Then he kissed me.
His lips teased mine until I leaned into him and until the heat inside me broke through my restraint. He held me when my knees buckled from the kiss and slid his hands down my back, pressing me closer into him.
I didn’t remember moving—only that the world blurred again as we made our way through the home—hallways, stairs, doors until my back hit the wood of a wall.
My hands tugged at his shirt until he stripped it off, revealing the lean, sculpted body I craved.
“You drive me insane,” he whispered into my ear roughly. “Every time I think I have control, you undo me, Camille.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” I teased. “To regain control.”
He nodded, his eyes searching mine. “But I don’t think it’s working.”
My fingers dug into his shoulders hard. “Then don’t control it.”
That was all it took.
He stripped me naked with such precision and quickness that it happened in seconds.
He stood before me, in all his glory, sculpted muscle and throbbing cock and I lost my ability to breathe properly.
“Michael,” I whispered, and he was on me, tugging me into the bed and running his cock along my outer folds.
I gasped, in excitement.
“Do you like that, Camille?” he muttered as he rubbed his cock along my clit again, teasing me—teasing moans out of me.
“Y–yes,” I murmured.
“Good,” he replied finitely.
Then he entered me without warning, then tossed my legs around his shoulders and thrusted harder this time inside me, raw and real.
“Michael,” I groaned out desperately, trying to contain my voice as it shook.
“Camille,” he countered, thrusting deeper, holding his cock at my very core.
The sex was rough.
It was consuming, liike he needed to devour every inch of me before the night ended.
He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand while he used his other to grip my hip so tightly I knew I’d bruise.
Every thrust pushed me against the wall, breathless, and literally gasping his name. He bit at my lip until it swelled and ached, then soothing it with a soft kiss that almost made me collapse.
“Camille…” he groaned into my mouth, as if the word itself could anchor him.
The pain and pleasure blurred until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My body ached with every thrust but I didn’t care. I wanted him to go harder and deeper until I was nothing but sensation.
When I came, I came wild and it felt like something inside me had cracked open in me and then he followed me by spilling inside me too. We collapsed onto the bed both gasping and shuddering.
But it wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Not now.
Because Michael’s lips trailed down my chest as his tongue circled on my nipple until I was begging for him again.
Then his hand slipped between my thighs, making me wet all over again.
I whimpered slightly and he silenced it with another kiss, this time a punishing one as if asking me to surrender again.
He flipped me onto my stomach then pulled me up onto my knees just as quickly. The sound he made when he slid back inside me was guttural and almost like an animal, as if he’d lost every layer of composure he’d ever worn.
“Fuck Michael!” I cried out.
He ran his hand along my lower back side and thrusted at a faster pace. “So ready for me—so tight,” he murmured, as he grabbed hold of my ass on both sides and thrusted into me again.
Every slap of skin against skin a reminder that I belonged to him.
“Say it,” he demanded, without explanation but I already knew what he meant by the words.
I didn’t respond, not immediately.
Then he spoke again, another command. “Say my name.”
“Michael!” I cried out, the word tearing from me as another wave of pleasure crashed over my body.
Only when I was shaking, undone, did he finally let himself come inside me again.
He removed himself from me then sprawled himself out on the sheets, taking me down with him in his arms.
For a long time, we lay in silence but I couldn’t help thinking..
The contract was supposed to keep things controlled but here— in this bed–in this house by the lake—nothing about us felt contractual.
“This feels…” I whispered softly. I shook my head, forcing my feelings deep inside of me and out of my head.
“What?” Michael asked softly.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“Tell me the truth, Camille.”
And so I said it.
I said the truth.
I let out a deep breath, my eyes tracking up to his. “This feels real….”
Michael’s body went rigid beneath me. “It is real.”
“Really?” I asked in a squeak.
He stared at me for a moment, and I drowned in his gaze, wondering what he was thinking beneath his controlled demeanor. And when he opened his mouth to speak, my hands shook.
“Really.”
It was a single word. It shouldn’t have meaned anything but it meant everything. Every fucking thing.
The weekend unfolded in a blur of luxury and intimacy. He touched me everywhere, not just my body but the parts of me I’d hidden from everyone else.
By Sunday morning, I couldn’t tell where “Camille the contracted companion” ended and “Camille the girlfriend” even began.
And when he looked at me across the breakfast table that morning, I realized the truth I’d been trying so hard to ignore.
I was falling for him. A man I shouldn’t fall for but I was. I actually was.
Michael didn’t touch me immediately today.
We’d spent most of the day wandering the property, hand in hand, enjoying each other’s company.
Dinner had been romantic, it was the kind of meal couples shared after years together—candelight, steaks, fine wine.
And that terrified me more than anything.
Because I wanted it.
When we returned to the bedroom that evening there was no sense of urgency or no frantic need to consume each other. Instead, Michael leaned against the doorframe, watching me deliberately, as if he was soaking something in.
“Come here,” he said softly.
I obeyed because every nerve in my body needed to.
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re beautiful, Camille, I don’t tell you enough but you are.”
I blushed. “You’ve seen me a hundred times—”
“Not like this,” he interrupted me. “Not when you’re mine, completely, not when it’s just the two of us, outside of the city, away from it all.”
The word mine should have sounded like possession. Instead, it unraveled me completely.
When his lips met mine, it was nothing like the rough hunger of the night before. It was slower this time.
He stripped me carefully from my clothing and by the time I stood bare before him, my body needed him. Every inch of him. When he finally pressed against me—skin to skin, it felt like the most intimate act of all.
He guided me back onto the bed, laying me down gently, and kissed me, really kissed me and when he entered me this time, there was no rush, just slow caresses that left me gasping with every movement.
He touched me slowly and carefully, as his fingers circled my clit building up excitement inside me.
Michael’s eyes never left mine as he touched me, even when I cried out, even when I begged him, even when I came around his finger and he held my gaze the entire time.
Then he slipped inside me—deep inside, and thrusted gently, pump after pump, groan after groan, cry after cry, and I felt him clenching inside me.
“Camille,” he groaned as he came inside me, I felt his warmth around me.
But instead of rolling away, he pulled me closer to him.
And we laid like that for what felt like forever.
At that moment there were no contracts. Just us.
And I knew the truth.
The line hadn’t just blurred. It had disappeared.
I was his and whether he admitted it or not—he was mine.