Page 50 of Second Quarter Comeback
This wasn’t what I’d signed up for. Balancing everything is a precarious act, and I’d made it crystal clear from the beginning: my patients came first. People traveled from across the country for consultations and surgeries with me. I couldn’t just drop everything for a side project, no matter how passionate I was about it—or how lucrative it might be.
Still, moving temporarily wasn’t the issue. In theory, it worked. The reality? Thursday was packed with consultations, Friday was a marathon of surgeries, and now Saturday was swallowed up by back-to-back coaching sessions and nonsense meetings. I hope this doesn’t last long. All this needed to prove that I wasn’t just a social media stunt. That I can bring people to me.
I kick off my shoes in the bathroom, the cool tile soothing against my warm skin. Balance, I remind myself. I can do this.
Peeling off my damp yoga pants and underwear, I cringe at the undeniable evidence of how deeply Killion’s words affected me. The wet fabric clings to my skin like a mark of my weakness. He’s my kryptonite.
“Get a grip, Camille,” I mutter, tossing the garments into the laundry basket with more force than necessary.
Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water cascadeover me, closing my eyes as it washes away the tension in my body. Balance. That’s what this is about.
Except all I can think about is Killion.
His texts. His voice. The way his hands felt on my body last night.
The memory of him right here, in this very shower, slams into me like a wave. His fingers touching me everywhere, his mouth trailing water-soaked kisses down my neck, the way he teased me until I was trembling, wanting him to fill me.
My head falls back against the shower wall, and I curse under my breath. I can still feel him—his grip on my thighs, his deep growl in my ear, the way he pushed inside me, slow and relentless, making me gasp, making me his.
My hand moves without thinking, brushing against my stomach, sliding lower, and I stop myself with a sharp inhale. No. This is exactly what he wants. To live in my head, to make me ache for him even when I know better.
But, God, I want to feel him again. To hear that cocky voice whispering filthy promises in my ear as he takes me apart piece by piece. To let him ruin me, just one more time.
I press my palms to the wall, the water soaking my hair, trying to push the memories away, but they’re relentless. His laugh. His smirk. The way he looked at me like I was his last breath.
“Damn it, Killion,” I whisper again, my voicetrembling as the hot water cascades over me, masking the sound of my desperation. Balance. I need balance. I tell myself that, but right now, the only thing I need is him—his touch, his voice, the way he commands every part of me without hesitation.
My hand moves almost instinctively, sliding down my stomach, finding the heat between my thighs. I gasp as my fingers slip inside, the sensation igniting every nerve. My other hand trails up, cupping my breast, kneading it as my thumb brushes over my nipple. A shudder courses through me, my body arching into the fantasy building in my mind.
“Killion,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Please . . . please make me come.”
My fingers curl inside me, searching for the spot he finds so effortlessly. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but the memory of him, the way he touches me, keeps me chasing the feeling. My other hand moves to my clit, circling it the way he does when he wants to make me beg.
“Oh, God,” I moan, my knees weakening as the pressure builds. My mind is filled with him—his cocky smirk, his growling voice in my ear, the way he takes me apart with his hands, his mouth, his cock.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” his voice echoes in my mind, low and commanding, the way it always does when he’s got me at his mercy. “Be a good girl and say it.”
“I need you,” I murmur, my voice barely audibleover the pounding water. My hips rock against my hand, chasing the release I know only he can give me. “I need you to fuck me. Hard. Please, Killion. Don’t stop.”
The fantasy is so vivid. His hands pinning my wrists above my head, his mouth on my neck, his cock driving into me with a rhythm that leaves me breathless.
“Take it, Cam,” I imagine him saying, his voice rough and relentless. “Take every inch. You know you love it.”
My breath hitches, my fingers moving faster, deeper, as my body tightens, the edge just within reach. “Please,” I whimper, my voice breaking. “Please, Killion, make me come. Make me yours.”
And then it hits me, the release crashing over me in waves, leaving me trembling, gasping, gripping the slick tiles for support. My knees nearly give out as I ride the high, the fantasy of him still thick in my mind.
As the aftershocks fade, I lean against the wall, the water cooling against my overheated skin. “Fuck you, Killion Crawford,” I whisper again, my voice softer now, almost resigned. He wasn’t even here, and he still managed to ruin me.
He’s a distraction.
A frustrating, infuriating, insatiable distraction.
As I wrap myself in a towel, my phone buzzes from the counter, pulling me back to reality. For a second, I hesitate. Another text? A part of me wants to ignore it,but the other, more reckless part of me wonders what else he has to say.
And just like that, I’m staring at the screen again, biting my lip as I read his latest message.
Let me know if you’re free tonight. I’ll even behave . . . unless you want me not to.
