CHAPTER NINE
Brooke
Don’t get excited. He’s not going where you think he’s going, I told myself, my hands gripping the steering wheel tighter as I followed the limo, three cars back.
But we were headed away from his apartment, toward the river. The rush hour was long over, and now, I could see the lights of that dying city across the river, sparkling in the distance, making Camden look, dare I say, magical, like a place of refuge. My heart skipped several beats when the driver pulled up the ramp for the Ben Franklin Bridge. I tore off the spectacles, as if they’d been deceiving my eyes.
He is. He’s going to Camden. Sitting straight up in my seat, I ripped the wig off my head, tousling my hair from its bun, gazing at myself in the rearview mirror so intently that I nearly rear-ended the car in front of me.
My hair was a mess, yes, but that was the least of my problems. I was wearing Violet’s fashion-victim attire since I hadn’t planned to make a stop at a club tonight. Not that I was planning to go inside. No. I could simply photograph him outside. That was the half-formed plan swimming in my head, and yet, before I’d finished crossing the bridge, I knew I wouldn’t stop at that.
Which was why, as I drove, I wiggled out of the old kitten cardigan. I was only wearing a black camisole, but I had no other choice. I rolled out of the giant brown corduroy skirt while stopped at a traffic light, and found a bandeau in my gym bag that I’d been using as a headband during my sparring workouts. Stretched out enough, it could pass for a skimpy skirt. Riffling around in the back seat, I found a pair of ballet flats to replace the Easy Spirits. The resulting outfit was all black, skintight, and bared much more skin than I was used to, but it was the best that I could do in a pinch.
I was just painting my lips red when his limo slowed down at the Save-All. As the door opened, I quickly sped around the block, finding a spot on the street, closer to the club. Grabbing my bag and camera, I hurried toward the cement courtyard, stopping in a narrow alley behind a dumpster. Doing my best to ignore the rancid smell of garbage, I lifted the camera to my eye, focusing as I aimed it toward the place Cameron had emerged from last time. Just in time, I saw him sweeping down the narrow alley, and making sure no one was watching, pulling the Guy Fawkes mask from the inside of his jacket. He fixed it on, but I was already busy snapping. I snapped and snapped until he disappeared into the doors beneath The Black Room sign.
I looked down at myself. It was a chilly night, and I had goosebumps all over my bare legs and arms. My nipples were poking out, stiff beneath the thin fabric of my top, making me feel exposed. What I needed to do, of course, was get into my car and go home. I’d gotten what I’d come for, after all.
But deep down inside, something whispered, That wasn’t what you came for, was it?
Of course it was, I told myself angrily. These pictures might not be the end of his career, but at least they’d give the media something to talk about. And they’d give Owen more than enough ammunition to win me a shot at the FBI. I tried to convince myself that the thrill coursing through my bloodstream was just the excitement of victory.
But I’d expected victory would come with satisfaction. Completion. Instead, I’d never felt a deeper need.
I opened my bag and started to slide the camera inside when I saw something half buried by my makeup bag and a pack of spearmint gum.
The mask.
I pulled it out, studying it. Then, shivering with the excitement of having his eyes, warm and desirous, on me again, I slipped it over my head.
I waited for something to pull me back to reason, to bring me away from the edge. But no, the longer I stood there, breathing in the chilly night air, the more right this felt.
I was just crossing the courtyard to the entrance when a wind picked up, blowing my hair, and I instinctively reached up to hold my wig still. Wait, was I still wearing my wig? I cringed, remembering our awkward conversation. I hadn’t wanted to volunteer anything about myself, for fear I’d let something slip, so I’d given deliberately terse answers.
Needlepoint? I don’t like to have fun?
He’d been on to me, of course. Cameron Brice was brilliant. He was too smart to be fooled by me for long. Doubt filled me, along with a momentary desire to flee, to avoid being found out.
No, you want this too much. Checking myself, I took another step toward the club. Masked faces turned to me, and I knew there was desire in them. I saw the men eagerly running their eyes over my bare curves, and instead of feeling exposed, I suddenly felt something I never had before. I felt powerful.
“Hey, kitten,” one of the bouncers said to me, making a purring noise as he let me pass. “You’re fine.”
This time, I smiled at him. This time, when I walked in, I didn’t play my counterpart… the shrinking violet. I moved straight through the center of each room, never averting my eyes, like I belonged there. My eyes lingered on two men sucking on a woman’s tits as she sat at a hi-hat table nursing her soda, and the beginnings of arousal stirred within me. A naked woman brushed up against me and nipped at my earlobe, and I didn’t shy away. My senses finely tuned to it all, I watched the sights with curiosity and growing excitement, and I took in the sounds and smells with a deep appreciation, wanting to absorb it all. While always scanning for Apollo, I found myself navigating straight to the heart of the action, where a crowd had gathered to watch an impromptu show that had broken out on one of the sofas. Not having the aid of my heels, I stood on my tiptoes to watch.
A woman was lying on her back. She was tied to the sofa, the way I had been, her limbs spread apart, her pussy exposed. Another woman, also naked, knelt in between her legs, lapping at her. A man stood behind her. He had her on a leash, a thick chain wrapped around her neck.
“Do you like that?” A voice whispered into my ear, a strong body wrapping around my back like a coat.
I didn’t have to look. My heart banged against my chest wall in utter excitement. Perhaps it was that the blindfold I’d worn before had made me hypersensitive to the sound, the feel of him, but his presence was unmistakable to me now. I felt the smooth plastic of the mask against my jawline, the sweet scent of scotch on his breath as hands planted themselves on my waist, languidly moving up my body and cupping my breasts. Ordinarily, I’d have pushed those hands away, but I’d been dying for the feel of his hands since we parted. Because it was Apollo, I wanted those hands everywhere on me.
I nodded, breathless.
I tried to turn to face his mask, but he held me there, firm, as if he didn’t want me to miss a second of the scene in front of me. He watched it with me, his breathing heavy, his body still. Meanwhile, his hands kneaded my breasts through the thin fabric, the nipples of which were so sensitive now as to be almost painful. “Hello, Prophetess. I thought you wouldn’t be back.”
“I know what I said, but I needed to come,” I answered honestly, unable to find the presence of mind for duplicity.
There was a laugh in his low, honey-smooth voice. “Then you will.”
I let out a breath of eager anticipation. Cameron Brice is going to make me come again. The joy was almost too much to contain. I had no doubt he would, as it was everything I’d dreamed of for the past week. Right now, his touch was doing wild things to me. Blood surged through every one of my veins, making me feel so alive, edging toward an explosion. The air was thick with the heady, pungent aroma of sex. I knew I was flushed, my skin damp with sweat, my thighs trembling. Music was playing, a slow, sexy beat that I felt my hips moving in time to, quite of their own accord. I leaned against him, molding my body to his every curve, wanting to feel everything beneath the crisp, expensive suit. He propped my back up against his firm, strong chest, and the plastic of his mask slid against my bare shoulder, making me desperate for a kiss. For that magical tongue.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
More than ready. I was past ready. I’d already started, the second I’d felt his breath tickling my ear through the mask.
I waited for him to make the next move, to lure me to the staircase. But he didn’t. He moved against me, in time with the music, in time with the woman’s thrusting tongue in front of us, until I could feel the hardness of his cock through his pants, pressing into the small of my back, creating hot friction. Meanwhile, his hands cupped my breasts roughly, drawing them together, pinching each nipple to a diamond point.
Much more of this, and I’ll come right here in front of everyone, I thought with a combination of wonder and embarrassment, pushing away a lock of hair that was now plastered with sweat to my forehead. This was unbelievable, how hot I was, and how it was building by the second. I’d never had a man make me come just by touching my breasts. And we were in public. It felt like I was teetering on a knife’s edge. I needed to control myself before things got out of hand.
But we crossed that line a second later, and full force. I let out a small, frantic moan as he plucked the straps of my camisole from my shoulders, and with no hesitation, stripped the fabric down to my waist.
“What—” I began in alarm. Here I was, my chest bared in public, with a hundred sets of eyes near me. I wasn’t the exhibitionist type who got off on having people watch me.
At least, I didn’t think I was.
I looked around, humiliation threatening to creep in, but it fell away when I saw all the other naked body parts around me. I clearly wasn’t the only one getting carried away. It wasn’t shameful. It was beautiful. People on either side of me were making out with abandon. Hands were scrabbling with buttons and fondling inside clothes. Women had their hands up their skirts, and several men had their cocks out, stroking them. Compared to all of that, my bare breasts were of little consequence.
The momentary flash of alarm I’d felt melted away when his warm hands finally grazed my skin. Heaven. That was the only way to describe the way his skin felt against my bare breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over each peaked nipple, making them harder yet.
That line we’d crossed? I had no interest in ever going back. I wanted to stay here, forever, with these nasty, crazy people, having my breasts fondled by my Apollo.
I leaned back flush against him, hoping to make my body completely available to him so that he could do his will. Accepting my invitation without hesitation, his other hand traveled down, slowly, stopping at my upper thighs, near the hem of my makeshift skirt.
He lifted it up, clear over my hips, to my waist, with no protest from me.
Adeptly, he brought his hand up between my thighs, finding the lacey line of my panties. I was already so wet, the edge of my skirt must have been drenched to his touch. He delved a finger underneath as I spread my legs apart to give him access, leaning against him and tilting my pelvis forward. There was no pretense, no fumbling. He expertly found my clit right away, moving his finger in a slow, tantalizing motion, making me let out gasp after gasp as he easily brought me to new heights.
Now, I was completely bare to everyone in the club, save for his hands. His wonderful hands.
“Cassandra,” he whispered teasingly in my ear, those lips of his moving slowly. Those lips were so close but so very far from where I wanted them to be, which was on me, on my flesh. It was maddening how much I wanted him. I couldn’t say I’d ever felt so deliciously desperate for anything in my life. “Don’t hold back, or you know what will happen.”
I had no intention of holding back on him. He had me in the palm of his hand. Literally. I would’ve done anything for him, and planned to. The pictures hiding on the camera in my bag, which had once signified my victory, meant nothing now. This — his hands on my body — was the ultimate prize, the pinnacle.
“Yes,” I told him, his willing servant. “I’m so close.”
The strobe light spun, painting prisms of different colored light on naked body parts, adding to my arousal. The sounds of sucking and moaning filled my ears as he went faster and faster, in circular motions, hitting chords inside me that I didn’t know existed. I kept my eyes on the women, who’d now switched to sixty-nine, until I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion.
I closed my eyes, making everything disappear, except the feeling of his hand on my clit. I narrowed in on it, so much so that I even forgot the hundreds of people around me, getting off in the same room I was in. My climax didn’t start small — it began and ended as hard as thunder. Tingles of intense pleasure spiraled out from his fingers, skyrocketing down my limbs to the farthest regions of my body until I opened my mouth and let out a cry so loud that some people must have finally broke what they were doing and looked at me. I was beyond caring though. My whole body pulsated with wave after wave of what up to that moment was the most incredible release I’d ever felt.
Before it ended, he removed his hand from my clit and lifted his fingers to my mouth. I wasn’t sure what had gotten into me, but I’d been completely carried away. I eagerly lapped them up, licking his fingers clean, like a sex vixen, like I belonged with these people. He let out a small groan, pulling me closer to him so that I could feel the hardness of his cock against my bare ass.
“Cassandra,” he said again, haltingly, and I thought that I may have driven the great speechmaker, for the very first time in his life, speechless. Because he simply groaned again and said, “Damn. The things you do to me.”
He allowed me to turn around, then lifted the straps of my camisole back into place, helping me to cover myself as my legs recovered from their jellylike consistency. In my ballet flats, I was a good eight inches shorter than him. I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his earlobe for a nibble. “Your turn,” I whispered, caressing his cock through his finely pressed pants.
He let out a tortured breath. “You know that Cassandra refused Apollo’s advances, don’t you?”
“And look what happened to her,” I said with a smile. “She went mad. I’m not refusing anything, am I?”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed, wrapping his damp fingers firmly around my wrist. “But I may drive you mad anyway.”
That was already happening.
He turned immediately and guided me through the crowd, leading the way toward the staircase. All the while, my pulse raced harder, so much so that I was afraid I’d combust. At the first empty room, he pushed the door open. He picked up the pen and wrote once again, SHE IS ALL MINE. I smiled as he removed his jacket, set it down, and turned his masked face to me.
“Do with me what you will, Prophetess,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.
I smiled. “I thought you were the one who liked all the power.”
He nodded, and I could tell a smile played on his lips through the mouth slit and from the way his jaw moved at the edges of the mask. “Well, you know what they say about absolute power corrupting absolutely.”
“Lord Acton,” I acknowledged. “So, we get to corrupt each other equally?”
“Not equally,” he said, his voice gravelly, his eyes raking over my body. “I’ve already been much too corrupted for you to catch up now. But we’ll do our best.”
I looked around the room. The lighting was similar to the one I’d been in before, but there were two comfortable low chairs surrounding a small end table, kind of like a conversation nook you’d find in any living room, set in front of two windows, heavy dark curtains drawn. Also, in addition to the table with the plethora of wrapped sex toys, there was a perfectly circular bed/sofa in the center of the room, covered in a white sheet. I reached out for his hand, guiding him to the sofa.
“Which toy would you like me to use on you, Apollo?” I asked him in my sexiest purr.
“You may choose, Prophetess.”
I nodded, looking over the selection. I chose a long white feather, ripped the package, and slipped it out.
When we’d made it to the sofa, I reached out, grabbed the buckle on his pants, and pulled. I loosened his belt and then unbuttoned his pants, feeling the heavy, expensive weight of the fabric, which must have been fine wool. He stood there silently, his eyes on me the whole time. When I unzipped the fly and started to lower his pants, he said, “Stop.”
I did as I was told, waiting for my next direction.
He looked me over carefully, then motioned his chin in my direction. “Take it all off.”
I nodded, lifting the straps of my camisole and sliding it off my body so that my breasts sprang free. Then I slowly wiggled my skirt to the ground. When I looked up, he was watching me curiously.
“No heels?”
He said it the way he’d made the pearls comment, like it was something to be ashamed of. I shook my head as I kicked off the skirt, leaving myself bare to him, except for the shoes and my thong. “Sorry.”
“Take everything off, then.”
There could be no other answer except to do what he asked. Of course, he liked to have all the power, whether or not it corrupted him absolutely. I stepped out of the shoes, then lifted the strings on either hip bone and let the last barrier between me and complete nakedness fall to the floor. He gazed at me without a word, but before I could wonder if he liked what he saw, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask. He lifted his mask to take a long gulp. Once capped, it took three tries before he was able to successfully slide it into his pocket, his eyes were so intent on me. It was then I felt the power shift into my court.
“May I continue?” I asked.
“Not yet.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long chain. “Go behind me, and put this on.”
I stared at it. “What—”
“I think you will figure it out, Cassandra.”
He puddled the chain in the palm of my hand, and I stepped back to a paneled changing area. I lifted the chain up and looked at it. It split into thirds at the center and had little clamps on each of the three ends.
I swallowed as realization dawned. The power was back in his court.
Taking a breath, I opened the first of the clamps and closed it gently on my nipple. It wasn’t pain, but pressure. My nipples had already peaked, so I was quicker to fasten on the second one. Then I reached between my legs, and finding the nub of my clit, attached the third clamp. I let out a soft whimper, then straightened.
My fucking god, I felt hot. Sexy. So wet.
I stepped around the panel, revealing myself for his appraisal. His eyes scanned me, and he let out a heavy breath. “It doesn’t hurt you, does it?”
“No,” I said, testing out the feeling. The pressure had begun to subside, and now, every time I moved, my clit and nipples felt a shot of stimulation.
“How do you feel?”
“Strange, but in a good way. A little embarrassed,” I answered honestly. “But extremely, well…”
“You look incredibly hot,” he said, which was exactly how I felt. My whole body zinged, on fire.
“May I continue now? I don’t think I can wait much longer.”
He nodded, spreading his arms out as if to say I was all his.
I applied pressure to his shoulders, instructing him to sit. Then I knelt between his thighs, unbuttoning each one of the buttons very slowly on his vest. He watched me do so without a word, without attempting to help speed it along. Maybe he was turned on by the sight of a naked woman undressing him. That was why I did everything in slow motion, being careful when I opened his vest, then his white dress shirt, baring that gorgeous, caramel-colored chest. I reached for the feather and skimmed it over his skin, using it to pull the fabric open. As I did, I planted chaste kisses on each of his nipples — I couldn’t resist — and felt him let out a shuddery breath.
The power was now shifting again.
I concentrated on removing his heavy cuff links, taking special care over the undoubtedly expensive watch that he wore over one exquisitely muscled, masculine forearm. In the depths of this exploration, the need for him was returning. I could feel it uncoiling again, deep in my abdomen, like a hungry snake.
When I was done, I tugged down his pants, reaching into the warm confines and finding the waistband of his boxer briefs. He lifted his hips, allowing me to pull them down, and his cock, already stiffening, sprang free.
I dropped the feather to the floor. At first, I could do nothing but stare. I had never seen such a thing in all my life. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Turned out, the frontrunner for the White House in 2024 was hung.
“You’re huge,” was all I could finally manage, and it came out in a tumble. The power shifted again.
He sat there, legs spread apart, with me between them, hands resting on his thighs, and I could feel the smile creeping up on his face, even if I couldn’t see it. “All the better to fuck you with, my dear.”
I couldn’t fight the smile. The mask had a way of leering at me like the Big Bad Wolf, and I had a good idea he was going to make me his meal. God, I wanted it so much, wanted him in me so much, I positively trembled at the idea.
Spurred on by the thought, I lifted the weight of his cock, feeling it in my hand, and as I leaned forward, the chains on the device I was wearing swung, brushing against my skin in odd ways, pulling slightly, tearing a sigh of pleasure from my throat. I touched my tongue to the very tip of his cock. I licked and tasted his deliciously salty skin. Emboldening my explorations, I trailed my tongue downward, over the mushroom head, leaving not a bit of spongy flesh dry. I licked on, traveling down the length of him until his head fell back, his gaze on the ceiling and his five o’clock shadow visible beneath the mask.
He threaded his fingers through my hair and groaned as I took the whole head into my mouth, flicking my tongue over the surface in quick little motions. He was fully hard now, and bigger than I knew what to do with, but I was up to this challenge. I sucked down as far as I could, until I felt him at the back of my throat. “Just like that,” he murmured, pushing my head back down when I’d come up.
But he didn’t need to put in the effort. I instinctively knew what to do, and was already enjoying this too much. Sucking off the undeniably egotistical asshole, destroyer of toads, who happened to be hung like a buffalo. I sucked him deep into my throat, savoring the way his cock pulsated between my lips, like a real, living thing with a mind of its own. Every time I moved on him, I felt as if I were usurping his power, as if it were passing to me. He’d been trying to control me, but I could feel the tables shifting now, fully and irreversibly, to my side.
As I throated him deep and he started to twitch erratically, he let out a ragged breath — so close.
My next move was easy. I pulled away suddenly, his cock falling to his abdomen, and when I saw the utter desperation in his eyes, I knew it better than I knew anything.
I would soon own him.
I stood up and walked to the table of sex toys, holding back a gasp as the pull of the chains made a yearning stab through my core. Finding a condom, I ripped it open and took my time walking back to him, counting his excited, tortured breaths. When I returned, I climbed on his lap, hovered over him, eye to eye. “If you can tilt your mask back to drink scotch, you can tilt it back to kiss me.”
He nodded, captured.
I lifted his cock, rolling the condom on.
Feeling him pulse against my palm, I held it erect, positioned myself over the tip, and sank down, taking him in, inch by inch.
We growled in unison as he filled me. I’d never before felt the entwining of pain and pleasure so clearly. When I’d buried him to the hilt inside me, and our bodies were flush against one another, I looked down, pushing aside the fabric of his shirt to get a better view. I sighed, thinking I’d never seen anything so perfect in my life. When I faced him, I realized he was gazing at me too. Sweat had begun to trickle down his temple. And I thought Mr. Conservative had been trained to keep cool.
“Cassandra,” he whispered, his eyes meeting mine as he reached between us and tugged on the chain. I groaned in pleasure and pain as I ground myself hard against him.
Then, still looking into my eyes, he slowly tilted the mask back over his nose and kissed me for the first time.
I’d never felt such an erotic kiss, as I sat on his lap, naked, him buried inside me. We didn’t move our lower halves for the longest time. He concentrated on the kiss, bringing his hands to the sides of my head, and really, really kissing me. His tongue worked deeply into my mouth, fucking my mouth so thoroughly, the way he must have sensed I’d been dreaming of since our first meeting. It was personal, more intimate, somehow, and definitely romantic. Our mouths worked together hungrily, until I’d explored every hair of stubble on his chin, until my face had been rubbed raw and red. For the first time, I felt like we weren’t just body parts moving together to find a release like everyone else in this club.
No. We were lovers.
And then I could stand it no more. I needed to move.
Moving up on my knees, I slowly lifted off of him. I felt the emptiness at once.
I sank back down, this time his cock hitting a spot inside that made me shudder in pleasure. I had to do it again, meeting the same spot, lifting up off of him and sinking down, getting into a rhythm. I started to grind on his cock, rubbing my clamped clit against his skin, feeling the rushing smoothness spike pleasure up my body as droplets of sweat coursed down my breasts, melding with his own.
In the back of my head, warning alarms had been going off. Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re fucking Cameron Brice. The Cameron Brice. The man you’re trying to bring down!
But I kept ignoring them. I’d been lost to reason for much too long. I’d gone into this trying to bring him down, and maybe I still would, but not here. Not like this. A new desire had taken over in the confines of this club, one that overshadowed the FBI. I needed his body, now. I needed what he was doing to me.
What we were doing together.
He wrapped his hands around my ass, drawing me down harder, lifting his hips off the couch to meet me as I smashed down onto him. I screamed out, chasing a release, which I found again and again as our bodies continually met in an explosion of heat and desire. I felt his fingers lace behind me, tightening and then he pulled me down in a crash, his whole body pulsating as he came into me. He growled as he did, holding me there, breathing hard.
“God. Fucking. Damn,” he finally said.
I didn’t know what to say. Reason was beginning to dribble in, and the first thing that occurred to me was that Cameron Brice, a man well-known throughout the wide state of Pennsylvania for having a giant stick up his ass, had just given me what was by far the most erotic sexual experience of my life.
I laid my forehead on his shoulder, gripping his bare, sweat-dampened chest, coming down, my breathing slowly returning to normal. When I finally pulled off of him, lying on the sofa beside him, I swallowed. My sexual needs satisfied, other needs began to crowd in. The need for a career, for a life outside of this club.
It was then I felt the total enormity of what I’d done.
And started second-guessing myself.
If I didn’t have the FBI, what did I have? I couldn’t go back to folding sweaters at New York & Company. But that’s exactly where I’d be if I told Owen I couldn’t find any dirt on our golden boy. Owen would be asking me for a full report soon, and would I really be able to turn over those pictures I’d taken?
I looked over at Cameron, who had fixed the mask back over his face again and was quietly meditating in a post-coital stupor. I looked down at the clamps on me, feeling foolish and cheap, and started to take them off.
“Do you…” I started, not sure where I was headed. Something inside was desperately clawing at me, wanting this to be more than sex, wanting a connection with him that didn’t involve our sexual organs. “Have you used all of the sex toys on the table?”
He didn’t speak for a moment, but his masked faced moved to study me. “Are you curious about them… or me?”
I blushed fiercely, afraid to admit the truth: that I could care less if I saw another sex toy in my lifetime, but Cameron? He was still sitting beside me, and already I felt the loss of him deep inside, like a huge dagger through my center.
Why? I berated myself, reminding myself again that this wasn’t a relationship. It was just wild sex. I was sure he didn’t use sex toys with his hoity-toity girlfriend. His relationship with her was probably all romance and champagne, sweetly whispered words of endearment, and promises of forever. Families like his married a certain pedigree, to keep the royal lines strong. He could have no relationship with me, a retail stooge with a worthless criminal justice degree. I would lose him, eventually. That was a certainty. Not that he was ever mine to lose. I should have so easily been able to cut my losses, chalk this up to good, kinky sex, which was all it was. Then I could hand those pictures over and claim my prize.
But it wasn’t that simple.
I didn’t have to say a word. The answer to his question was in my blush. I’d only been with him twice, and already, it was all about him. He had the power again, and my heart in his hands.
At first, he didn’t react. He just reclined on the sofa, quietly watching me. The more he did, the more exposed I felt.
As if sensing my worry, Cameron’s hand left his lap, landing on my thigh. He took my hand and squeezed it in such a sweet way, it made butterflies alight in my chest. It was the smallest, most innocent gesture of acknowledgment.
And yet it meant everything. I instantly felt better.
No. Cameron was an asshole, with a misguided view of the world. He had outdated beliefs and could be totally full of himself. But he had weaknesses, like any man. I couldn’t fault him for coming to a club like this. If I’d been raised with maids and nannies, being told what I had to study in school and who I had to marry, I’d probably want to escape too. There was a soft side hiding beneath the politician’s polished exterior, and I’d been one of few who’d seen it.
A new knowledge hit me. Without a doubt, I would never hand those pictures over, so long as I lived.
I would just have to find another way to bring him down.
“Hey,” he finally said, checking his watch when I made a move to find my clothes on the floor. He sprang up straight and cursed under his breath. “Holy shit, it’s almost five in the morning.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?” I asked as I looked around for my shoes.
“A meeting with—” He stopped. I looked at him. He was standing there, frozen, holding the condom on his dick. Then he carefully pulled it off, threw it in the trash, and slowly started to zip up his pants, tucking in his shirt. “A meeting.”
It was easy to see the slipup. He’d forgotten that he was Apollo and had almost spilled to me a detail about his life as Cameron Brice. I wondered how much longer this charade could go on. If it would go on, which… I had to admit, I desperately wanted. As much as I cursed myself for this feeling, I already wanted him inside me again, not five minutes after our separation. It was too good. Too perfect.
“On a Saturday? Oh, well.” I tried for a blasé tone as I pulled my camisole down and scuffed into my ballet flats. “Have fun.”
I grabbed my bag and started to walk to the door. I took baby-steps, hoping that he would stop me.
He did. He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. I stared back into his Guy Fawkes mask as he grabbed my hand, stretching it flat. He pooled the chain and clamps into it. “Keep these. Wear them when you’re not with me. I want you to think of me.”
“I will.” I closed my fist around it. Honestly, I doubted I’d think of much else.
“And I need to see you again. Here. As soon as you can.”
It was more of a command, but one he didn’t need to make. I knew I couldn’t keep following him here and fucking him. It was pointless, and only getting in the way of my real aim. But as an addict, I couldn’t gather the resolve to say no.
One more time.
Just one more time, and then I’d stop fucking him, and fuck him over instead.
“Next Friday,” I said, the word breathless and raw. “Midnight.”