Chapter 13
617 Words
Camille
The morning sun poured in through the sheer curtains of Enrique’s bedroom, casting a warm, golden hue over everything it touched. I stirred beneath the silk sheets, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow beside me. My body ached in all the right ways, not from pain—but from the kind of pleasure that lingered in your bones, long after the night had melted into memory.
Enrique lay beside me, shirtless, arm draped possessively across my waist. His fingers traced lazy, tender circles against my hip, as if memorizing the curve of me. I turned slightly, catching the look in his eyes. That gaze—it was enough to strip me bare all over again.
“You didn’t run,” he murmured, voice low and rough from sleep.
I smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t want to.”
A beat of silence passed between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Then he leaned in, brushing his lips across my shoulder, slow and deliberate. His mouth followed the line of my collarbone, igniting every nerve he touched.
“I should warn you,” he whispered, “I don’t do casual. And last night… that wasn’t casual to me.”
I rolled onto my side to face him fully. “Neither was it to me.”
His hand cupped the side of my face, his thumb tracing the corner of my mouth. “You looked like fire last night, Camille. Wild. Beautiful. Untamed. I couldn’t get enough.”
His lips captured mine again, deeper this time. Hungrier. I melted into him, my body already responding, pulse spiking. He rolled over, positioning himself above me, but this time it wasn’t rushed—it was worship. Every touch deliberate. Every kiss designed to unravel me slowly.
He explored me with reverence, his fingertips grazing the outline of my ribs, my thighs, my inner wrist like he was learning a language he never wanted to forget. And I let him. Every wall I’d built, every layer I’d wrapped around myself—it all crumbled under the weight of his desire and my need.
“Say my name,” he breathed against my neck.
“Enrique,” I gasped, arching beneath him as his mouth found the softest parts of me. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
We lost ourselves again—this time even slower, even deeper. And when it was over, we lay there tangled in the quiet, the kind of silence that only comes when two people have nothing left to hide.
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Hours later, I stood in his kitchen wearing one of his crisp white shirts, the hem grazing my upper thighs. He watched me from across the marble counter, shirtless, sipping espresso with that half-smirk that made my knees weak.
“I think I could get used to seeing you like this,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow. “In your shirt, or in your kitchen?”
“Both.” He crossed the space between us in three long strides, setting his cup down. “But I’d rather see you in my life. Fully.”
That caught me off guard.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up, expecting another threat—but it was from Charlotte.
**Charlotte:**
> You’re going to want to see this. Matt and Vivian were spotted together at the Galleria—arguing. Loudly. A crowd formed.
My pulse quickened.
**Charlotte (cont’d):**
> Word is… someone caught it on video. It’s already spreading in the office group chats.
I looked up at Enrique. “It’s starting.”
His eyes darkened. “Then let’s finish it.”
- Writer
