“Undress for me.”
That was all he said. No preamble or false pretense concerning what we were—I was—here for. It was all for pleasure. A fuck. He would never offer me more than that.
The sad part was that I now craved that illusive even more: a relationship with all the benefits that came with being owned by Camden. Too bad for me, it would never come to be, and that was a reality I’d come to accept. Decisions had been made.
With a small nod, I acknowledged his command, then disrobed before him. A shot of melancholy raced through me while the standard-issue spa robe fell to my feet. Today would more than likely be the last time I entered this room and served him my body. No longer would his hands squeeze and mold my pliant flesh.
My heart stuttered at that thought. Was he going to let me leave this room as just another client, the session having come to an end? Or would he stop me?
Camden’s feet came into view, bare and perfect. Just like the rest of him. My gaze traveled upward to the soft white linen pants he wore whenever I was in his space. They were threadbare, almost nonexistent, and indecent. The sweetest of tortures for me. His cock was thick and hard, pressing at the thin fabric and doing nothing to hide his size or the drops of liquid visibly seeping through the engorged head of his shaft. It twitched under the heat of my gaze, and I licked my lips. How could he be so beautiful? Be everything I never knew I wanted, but now desperately needed?
He isn’t yours. Those three words brought things back into perspective. I would be strong. Had to be …
“Look at me.” His voice; fuck him and the things they did to me. “Please, gatita.”
My eyes snapped up and met his, which looked tortured and desperate. “I need you here with me, not miles away. You know the rules.”
The snort that escaped me wasn’t cute. It wasn’t meant to be. “Which rules are you referring to? The ones that protect you from loving me?”
“Amanda, please let’s not ruin our time—”
I ignored his bullshit and continued to push. “Or are you referring to the ones that make me feel like nothing but a dirty little secret? Like I’m your whore?”
Camden’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t you fucking ever—”
“Or what?” I laughed bitterly. There was no going back for us.
“Fuck, little girl.” He growled and reached out to grab my arm, but I was quicker and pulled back.
I moved until my back hit the wall; the space between us gave me just enough breathing room to get my point across. “Don’t,” I begged. My voice was hoarse from having to keep my emotions under control. “Don’t feed me your lies or excuses. It is what it is. I’m the client and you, my masseuse. Just do what you’re being paid to do.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Camden stalked forward, lithe, like a jungle cat trapping his prey. “Is this because of what happened at Rage?”
I didn’t answer and looked away. Seeing him there, with her of all people, had crushed me.
“You know nothing happened, gatita. I would’ve told you if it had.” He caged me in then, hands on the wall to either side of my head. There was no escaping his perfection when he was this close. “You can’t go all jealous on me and throw a tantrum when I don’t belong to you.”
His words stung, yet they were just what I’d come to expect from him. What I needed to hear to cut the emotional ties that held me his captive. “That goes both ways, you know?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The rumble in his chest made my knees feel weak.
“Exactly what it states. I am not yours to hold onto anymore.”
Camden banged his fist once against the wall before pulling away. He was too possessive of what he didn’t want to own.
“Neither can I,” I added in a remorseful whisper, then pulled myself off the wall.
My feet carried me over to the bed in the center of the room, but before I laid down on the cold surface, I walked over to my purse and pulled out a pair of panties. It wasn’t much in the way of coverage, but my point had been made clear. Camden’s normally clear, blue eyes were stormy, flickering from mine to my legs, and the physical representation of the invisible wall I was erecting between us. He stayed silent as he stared at me. It was better this way. Hurt less.
Lying down, I grabbed the plain white sheet he kept for show on the small table next to the bed and pulled it over my lower half. The weight of his stare made my movements jerky. Thick tension surrounded me. His eyes burned me.
“There’s somewhere I need to be within the next hour.” My low tone sounded like a loud wail inside the small sanctuary, a room where opulence and soothing music played in the background. This space was meant to be warm, relaxing, and what others used to forget their worldly troubles. To let go.
For me, though, it was a different kind of release that came with each session. I now yearned for what his fingers could make me do. The way he tore pleasure from my body without asking permission. None was ever needed. Camden conquered and dominated my body.
Only he could give me what I craved, both mentally and physically. The way those masterful hands rubbed and extricated my troubles, attracting my naturally submissive sensuality to come forward and play, was all Camden.
His hand reached out and grabbed the sheet covering me. He fisted the thin material in his hands but didn’t touch me, and I felt the scorching waves of heat which rolled off his body.
“Where do you have to be, Amanda?” His question came out as a low rumble, animalistic and hypnotic. “Its off-season, and you don’t have practice.”
I shrugged and closed my eyes. “None of your business.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he all but snarled and pulled the sheet from my body. “Where the hell are you going?”
“To finally move on.” They were the wrong choice of words; I knew they would be the moment they passed my lips.
One word was all he gave me before his hands flipped me over and his mouth took possession of mine. Camden’s kiss told me everything he couldn’t.
That I was his.
He wasn’t letting me go.
It also said he knew I was aware of his ownership over my person. The same way he acknowledged my submission to his male dominance. There was no other person for either of us, yet he wouldn’t give in to me.
Sadly, between his bullshit excuses and client non-fraternization rules, all I would ever be was Amanda Brooks to him. The daughter of a city council member, a women’s college basketball player, and a client.
It killed me to accept what had been plain to see, when all I wanted was to forever be his sweet little gatita.
Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would. As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.
The House: http://bit.ly/NfMyPY