Alex: There is one. The designer. But she's too young.
The typing bubbles appear immediately.
Julian: Since when is "too young" in your vocabulary? If she's legal, she's fair game.
Tristan: Is it the designer from the interview? The one with the dildos?
I feel my jaw tighten. Of course I told them about that disaster of an interview. We'd laughed about it over whiskey at Julian's penthouse. But now the memory of her mortification doesn't seem funny. It seems cruel.
I decide not to respond. Tristan and Julian continue to rib me, but I simply put my phone on DND and refocus on work.
Eventually I give up on work and head for the shower in my suite, turning the water as cold as it will go. The spray hits my skin like needles, but it does nothing to wash away thoughts of her. How she'd felt pressed against me in the darkness. How easily she'd melted into my kiss. How her inexperienced hands had clutched at my shirt, eager but uncertain.
I close my eyes against the stream, and she's there in my mind—blue eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed with desire. My cock hardens despite the cold water, the ache becoming impossible to ignore.
"Fuck," I mutter, turning the water warmer as my hand slides down to grip myself.
I shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be thinking about her while I stroke myself. But I can't stop the images from flooding my mind—her naked beneath me, her voice crying out my name, her body trembling as I push her toward maybe her first orgasm with a man.
My strokes quicken, grip tightening. In my mind, I'm claiming her, teaching her exactly how to please me, watching her learn what her body is capable of. I imagine her tight pussyaround me, how I'd have to go slow at first, how I'd watch her face as she takes me fully for the first time.
My release hits me hard. I come with a strangled groan, my release circling down the drain as my chest heaves with exertion.
As the pleasure fades, something else creeps in. Something that feels uncomfortably like a lack of control.
I've built a real estate empire but yet here I am, jerking off in the shower like a teenager because I can't control my desire for a woman I have no business wanting.
I finally shut off the water and grab a towel to dry myself off. This has to stop. I need to remember who I am—what I am. Alexander Kingsley doesn't lose control. Not over business. Not over pleasure. Not over anything.
Especially not over someone like Camille Montclair.
I'm on my second bourbon when the knock comes. Soft, hesitant, but somehow I know exactly who's on the other side of the door.
I consider not answering. Consider pretending I'm not here. But we both know that's a lie—the lights in my suite visible from the beach, the low murmur of a financial news channel providing background noise to my thoughts. My thoughts that, despite my best efforts, keep circling back to her.
I set the glass down, take a breath, and open the door.
Camille stands there in that damn white dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes clear and determined. No tablet. No fabric samples. No professional pretense.
"May I come in?" she asks.
I should say no. I should make some excuse about an early meeting. I should be the fucking adult here.
Instead, I step aside.
She walks past me, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. I close the door and turn to find her standing in the middleof the room, hands clasped in front of her. Not nervous, exactly. Resolute.
"I know what you're going to say," she begins, her voice steadier than I expected. "That I'm too young. That I don't know what I want. That you don't do commitment." She takes a step toward me. "But I'm tired of being told what I should want. Who I should be. How I should behave."
"It's not that simple, Camille."
"Itisthat simple." Another step closer. "I know this is reckless, and I know you probably think I'm naive, but I'm not. I want this. I want you."
My hands ball into fists at my sides. "You have no idea what you're asking for."
"Then show me." She's close enough now that I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat. "I might be a virgin, but I know what I like. And I liked how you kissed me."
The last thread of my restraint snaps. I move forward, backing her against the wall in two long strides. My hand slides into her hair, gripping firmly at the base of her neck.
