Nipping her earlobe until she writhes against my fingers, I nuzzle her jaw. “I don’t care. I don’t think you do either.”
She doesn’t respond. I can’t abide by her silence—I crave her voice, even if it’s just her crying out. Yanking on her hair like the reins of a filly that needs to be broken, I begin to move my hips, feeling the tight wetness inside until the first cry of pleasure bursts from her lips.
Perfect.
Pleasure rages inside me like a hurricane. But somewhere under the potent cloud of lust is the jagged dagger’s edge of reality. Camila doesn’t trust me. She thinks I’m using her … that we’re enemies.
Perhaps she’s right.
Maybe we always were.
“M-mo—” she mewls.
“What was that?” I growl into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. I keep my thrusts nice and slow. My hand reaches
