Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
No pictures. Nothing personal.
The thought came to me like a flickering light on its last leg. Why weren’t there any pictures of Cameron? Why did this seem so impersonal, this entire home—house—as if he didn’t really live here? So many questions filtered through my head, yet I knew I’d probably never have the nerve to ask, let alone get them answered.
I pulled one of the books out, the writing on the front in another language. There was a vine and flower detail around the edge of the front cover, an embossed signature, the book’s fingerprint. As I started flipping through the pages, unable to actually read the book, unable to understand the language, I felt myself getting engrossed in it. It was beautiful, the letters placed perfectly together, the detail in each chapter…it was all so detailed. It was like a dream, an imagination that couldn’t be erased.
I closed the book and gently slid it back in place among the others. When I turned, a startled gasp left me. Cameron stood in the doorway, his hands in his front pockets, his gaze locked on me. Neither of us moved, didn’t even speak for long seconds.
“You’ve been exploring.” He didn’t phrase it like a question nor an accusation.
I smoothed my hands over my dress and nodded. My body hummed with awareness, his close proximity, the things he’d done to me…made me do to him ringing through my very cells. “Yes,” I finally said. It was then I saw the dark security camera placed in the center of the room. No doubt there was one in every room, every hallway. “You’ve been watching me?”
He didn’t speak for long seconds, didn’t answer me, didn’t confirm what I asked. “Yes. I watch everything that happens here.” He pushed away from the door frame, holding his hand out for me to take.
For some reason I didn’t hesitate in slipping mine in his much bigger palm.
He led us out of the room, back through the many hallways, down a set of stairs, and finally into what I assumed was his office. I didn’t ask what he was doing, why he’d brought me here. I assumed it had something to do with sex. That’s why I was here, right?
He let go of my hand, went over to his desk, and pushed a button. Like some strange spy movie, some action flick that played out before me, a part of the wall behind his desk opened up to show rows upon rows of screens. Every part of the house was showcased before me, the screen flickering to different areas, inside and outside, bedrooms and the kitchen. I found myself moving closer, looking at the screens, seeing a few staff in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast. I didn’t know how long I stood there, but I watched each screen, staring at each image, and wondering what Cameron thought about when he saw me.
I felt his heat right behind me, his huge body making me feel like I could fall backward and he’d be there, catching me, holding me close. It was insane, demented, but I didn’t want to push that feeling away. I wanted to embrace it.
He put his hands on my shoulders, slid them down my arms, and stopped at my hips. His fingers dug into my flesh, hard enough I felt the pain, the sting of his possession. And when Cameron pulled me back against him, the stiff length of his erection had this flush stealing over me.
“I’ve watched you on these screens, wondering what you thought about, what you imagined would happen here.” He ground himself against me, my body reacting instantly. I warmed, became wet, soft. “I thought about all the things I could do to you, what I wanted you to do to me, how I wanted you to submit to me like no other.”
I closed my eyes, the rotating of his hips, the way he whispered the words against my ears…all of it made me ready for him, had me pushing away the fact I shouldn’t be enjoying it.
“Who are you?” I whispered, not sure why I asked, not sure what this meant or what he’d think. He stopped grinding on me, turned me around gently, and cupped my throat. His hold was loose but there, telling me, showing me that he had the power.
“Who do you think I am?” He didn’t ask it in a condescending manner, wasn’t taunting me, teasing me. I had a feeling he really wanted to know what I thought.
I stared into his dark eyes, remembering all the things he’d told me about himself.
Drug lord.
Criminal.
Killer.
I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to know the type of man he was before he became this way. But asking him that seemed almost like I’d be crossing a line, something I wasn’t prepared to do, not yet, maybe not ever. But the longer he stared at me, looking into my eyes, the more I felt myself wanting to ask, wanting to push him. I might not have gone to school in the official sense, didn’t have a degree, couldn’t read people the way he could, but I could see a man with so much power also harbored his own pain.