My Camillia is full of surprises.
Just when I think I understand her, when I think I can predict how she will react—she turns my world upside down.
Shit.
The naughty word trips off her tongue. What else can I make polite little Camillia say?
If we were in my hotel suite, I would drag this out. Would make it last for hours and hours, only stopping to rub Camillia’s shoulders and bring her glasses of ice water.
But we’re not in my suite. We’re exposed, out in the open, and though that adds a sharp edge to my hunger, it also hurries me along.
I don’t want Camillia to get caught here with me. Nor do I want her to catch a chill. So I scoop her into my arms, backing her against the wall, and wait with gritted teeth as she fumbles with the button of my pants.
“Sorry—I can’t—”
“It’s alrigh
