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I’m sitting at my desk drafting an email to a client when the intercom buzzes, and Marjorie’s voice comes through. “Excuse me, Mr. Jameson, there’s someone here to see you.”
With a sigh, I check the time on my Rolex. It’s just after noon, and I don’t have anything else scheduled for the day. I doublecheck my calendar and cell phone to ensure I haven’t missed any meetings or texts from Karina. Pressing the green button on the speaker, I ask, “Who is it?”
There’s a beep. “Camille, sir.”
Camille.Fuck.
“Sorry, Marjorie, please letMrs.Valentine know I’m unavailable today.” It's petty to emphasize that she’s married, but I don’t care. I’ve been purposely ignoring her, so I’m not surprised she showed up here.
There’s a moment of silence, then another beep. “Um, sir, she says she’s not leaving until you see her.” With a sigh, I hang my head in defeat.
Of course, she isn’t going to leave. Why would she? She doesn’t know why I’m avoiding her. Last we were together, I was balls deep inside of her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. In her mind, nothing is wrong, and there’s no reason I should be ignoring her. Can’t blame her.
Standing from my desk, I walk toward the door and open it, looking over at Marjorie. “You can head to lunch now. I’ll take it from here.” She nods and walks away from her desk, a desk that’ll remain vacant for the next hour while she’s out on her lunch break.
My eyes painfully drag away from the empty desk and land on the raven-haired beauty standing before me with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her perfect face. She opens her mouth to speak, but I shake my head and lead her inside my office, locking the door behind us.
“What the fuck, Dean? Are you okay?” She throws her arms out. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I straighten my posture and look down at her, looking her over from head to toe. She’s wearing nude fuck-me heels and a black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
Camille Avery Lambert-Valentine is a true fucking beauty.
Even more so when she’s angry.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” Our eyes meet, and just from the shift in her posture, I know she can see the lie coming before I even say anything.
“I’ve been stressed and busy with work. There’s still a lot I need to do with the clients I’ve acquired, so I apologize for not answering your many messages.”
“You can tell your bullshit lies to anyone else, but not to me, never to me.” She walks toward me until we’re standing toe to toe. Her hands reach up and cup my face gently. “What’s going on, Dean? Talk to me.” Her emerald eyes plead with me, begging me to let her in and tell her what’s bothering me, but I can’t because telling her means I will lose her for good, and I’m not ready to accept that just yet.
Instead of answering, I crash my lips against hers, shutting her up by stealing her breath and leaving her speechless. “I need you right now, Cam. I need you so fucking bad.”
She gasps, allowing herself a moment to melt against my body before she pulls away. "Talk to me first. Tell me what's wrong and why you've been avoiding me."
"Stop talking. The only sound I want to hear from you is the sound of you gagging on my cock."
Her mouth connects with mine. “Take me. I’m yours.” She pants against my mouth, her fingers working the buttons on my shirt. I need her like I need to fucking breathe. I pull away from her addictive mouth long enough to unzip her dress and shove it to the ground, and then I’m back on her like a starved man. Our hands move frantically between us, each of us desperately ripping away our clothing while our lips remain fused. She bends to take off her heels, but I stop her by gripping her hands. “Leave them,” I say, wanting her to wear those fuck-me heels as I fuck her.
Only once we’re both naked do we pull away to admire each other’s bodies. Her green eyes are dark with lust, and I know mine are the same.
“Tell me what you need, Camille,” I ask, my voice low and husky.
She doesn’t hesitate with her answer or shy away from telling me what she needs. “I need you to make me come until I can’t come anymore.”
“Be a good girl, and I’ll let you sit on my face later and fuck it until you cum on my tongue. Would you like that?” She squeezes her thighs together, looking up at me through hooded eyes.
“Fuck, yes.” She practically moans her words.
Camille may be in control of everything else in her life, but when it comes to sex, she’s been all too willing to let me take control. I’ve learned she likes to be fucked hard and loves dirty talk. She comes the hardest when the sex is rough and dirty.
“If I were to touch your pretty pussy, would you be wet and ready for me?” I look cockily at her. “Let’s check,” I say before she can respond. Slowly I slip my hand between her legs, finding her warm center. My rock-hard cock twitches between us at the feeling of her wetness on my fingers.
“You're wet and ready for me. Good girl,” I praise, roughly shoving two fingers into her without warning. Her eyes practically roll in the back of her head at the sensation. Before she can enjoy it any further, I rip my hand away and spread her arousal over her lips, smearing her red lipstick across her face. Her lips part and I take the opening as my chance to shove my fingers in her mouth and down her throat. She sucks them, just like I knew she would.
With a devious chuckle, I pull my hand away and walk back to my desk, sitting my naked ass on the leather seat. “Crawl to me.”
She drops to her hands and knees and makes her way toward me.
Cam crawls between my legs, her hips swaying with her movement. She settles herself between my legs, a smirk on her messy red lips, already knowing what she will be told to do next.
