Page 49 of Second Quarter Comeback
Camille: I’m not.
Killion: Liar. If I told you to touch yourself right now, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? Slip your fingers under your clothes and rub that pretty little clit while you think about my cock filling you up.
Camille: You’re delusional.
Killion: Delusional enough to know exactly how you moan when I hit that spot inside you. How you gasp my name when I don’t stop, even when you’re shaking.
Camille: This conversation is over.
Killion: Oh, baby, we’re just getting started. You’ll be thinking about this all day, wishing it was my hand instead of yours. Don’t worry—I’ll make it up to you later.
Camille: You’re the worst.
Killion: And yet, you still haven’t blocked me. Think about that while you’re trying not to moan my name tonight.
Camille: I hate you.
Killion: No, you don’t. You hate how badly you want me to tell you exactly how I’d fuck you until you forget your own name.
Camille: I’m done with this.
Killion: You’re done when I say you’re done. Now be a good girl and think about my cock buried inside you while you try to focus on anything else.
Camille: Goodbye, Killion.
Killion: Come on, Cam, don’t leave me hanging. Pick up thatvideo call.
Killion: Cam?
Killion: Next time I’m going to leave you hanging just like you did right now. No coming for hours until I’m satisfied.
Killion: Really, not even that will make you answer?
Killion: Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow. Miss me, babe.
Chapter Thirty
Camille
What to Do When He Tips the Scale
I stare at the screen of my phone, my cheeks burning as I reread the text Killion dared to send me.
You sure you want to stop this? You don’t want me to tell you what to do with your hand and your cunt?
I nearly dropped my phone the firsttime I read it, my pulse spiking so hard it felt like I’d just run a marathon. Now, standing just outside the building where I’m currently living, I grip the phone tighter, willing the heat pooling low in my stomach to dissipate. It doesn’t. The worst part? He’s right.
I bite my lip, the ridiculous heat pooling low in my belly refusing to dissipate. The need bubbling up inside me is absurd, overwhelming, and utterly inescapable. Not now. Not again. Shaking my head, I shove the phone into my bag like that’ll somehow silence the explicit words Killion dared to send me.
My soaked underwear clings to me, a humiliating reminder of just how badly he gets under my skin. The audacity of that man.
“Morning, Dr. Ashby, back already?” Jerry, the doorman, greets me with a friendly smile as I step into the lobby.
“Morning, Jerry,” I reply, forcing a professional tone even as my thoughts run wild. My cheeks burn, and I silently pray he doesn’t notice the way my body feels like it’s vibrating with the need for Killion Crawford’s hands—and probably his cock.
I take the elevator up to the penthouse, the short ride feeling like an eternity. By the time I unlock the door and step inside, the only thing on my mind is stripping out of these clothes and resetting my head before my next session. At least I’m home. A cold shower and a fresh change of clothes will fix me.
I glance at the clock on the wall as I head upstairs.Just enough time to get cleaned up before diving back into work. Meetings and coaching sessions. On a Saturday.
