by K. Webster
Chapter Five
Camden
I trail into the Le Méridien behind Mateo and Poppy. This evening, she’s exquisite in a figure-hugging white dress. Demure upon first inspection, it’s cut high in the front, revealing nothing of her chest, but the back is low-cut, showing off every creamy inch. Her heels are a nude color and make her closer to my height. Long, blonde hair is curled, but she has it pulled off to one side and hanging over her right shoulder. Everything about her outfit screams sex. Too bad her personality screams dud.
Plastic smile.
Fake laughs.
Rigid back.
She plays the part so well. Politician in the making. I know because I am her. We do what has to be done to get where we want to be. She wants to be lieutenant governor. I want to be more.
She and Mateo stop to talk to the birthday boy, and I hang back, clasping my hands together behind my back and watching passing people with smiles and nods. Eventually, they all turn to regard me, and I stride over to them.
“Mike,” Poppy purrs, “meet my intern, Camden Pearson. You better watch him, he’ll take your job one day.”
They all laugh, and I stretch my lips into a smile. “Governor. Pleased to meet you.”
We shake hands and discuss some local policies he ran on. Poppy pipes up on some of the policies she’d like to help with if she gains the lieutenant governor position. They sound rehearsed, but everyone listens with rapt attention. Five bucks says all three of us are more focused on her pouty red lips than what’s coming out of them. She’s in her element, though, and not giving off any vibes that she’s uncomfortable. Her chin is lifted and she smiles frequently. Her blue eyes shine with focus and intensity, catching the eyes of everyone in this place. Passion looks good on her.
I watch every detail about her while not bringing attention to myself, picking up on her ticks and cues—cues I will use to my advantage—cues that will help me further my agenda when it comes to her. When she feels nervous about a topic, she starts to twist her hair, looking every bit as young as when she sat on my kitchen island attempting to figure out math problems. Beautiful. Sexy, but unsure. It’s distracting as fuck. I try not to focus on her sex appeal, and instead, turn my attention to her nervous ticks. When she’s feeling uneducated about a certain topic, she pretends. Always the motherfucking fake. She casts her eyes down during those moments, flutters her lashes in an innocent way, and changes the subject. They’re all immune to her abilities as she steers them back into familiar territory. But I see. I see all. And, as the night wears on, I catch her rubbing at her temples at points.
All that pretending gave poor little Poppy a headache.
When she excuses herself and slips away to the ladies’ room, I also take my leave, bored with Mateo and Mike discussing properties Uncle Trevor has for sale. I stride after Poppy and step into the women’s restroom. Casting my gaze around, I ensure we’re alone before pushing the lock into place and walking over to where she fumbles around in her clutch purse.
I reach into my pocket and hold out my palm. “Looking for these?”
She jerks her head my way, blinking in confusion. “What are you doing in here?”
“Saving your ass. Looks like I’ll need to get used to doing that if I’m to spend my free time assisting you.” I nod at the migraine pills in my hand. “Take these.”
All the hardness in her features melts away as relief flashes in her big blue eyes. Where my eyes are icy blue with steely hints of gray hidden within, hers are the color of the ocean waters she so desperately craves to wade in. Her fingertips graze against my palm, and she shivers. As if the sensation never happened—as if I created it in my mind—she turns back to the mirror and chokes the pills down dry, gagging.
I raise a brow before gesturing toward the sink, and she scrambles to turn on the water. Moving to stand beside her, I gather her silky tresses in my grip so they don’t get wet as she drinks from the faucet. When she finishes, she turns off the tap and our eyes collide in the mirror, my fingers still wrapped around her hair. It would be so easy to yank up her dress, tear her panties from her little ass, and bend her back over the sink. I’d show her what it feels like to well and truly get fucked.
“You can let go now,” she breathes, her lashes fluttering. She doesn’t want me to, though. Her eyes plead with mine, and she probably doesn’t even realize it.
“I don’t want to.” My lips quirk up on one side. Flirtatious. Playful. I will let go of her. I won’t fuck her. But she doesn’t need to know all my cards. “I really don’t want to.” When I step closer, pressing my cock against her back, she lets out a mewl.
“Camden…”
I press a soft kiss to her exposed neck before letting her hair go. She remains frozen as I adjust the locks back into their original position off to one side. She clutches the strand of pearls around her neck, another nervous move, and I stifle a smirk.
One day, I’ll give her a pearl necklace…
“Pearls,” I say lowly. “I imagined you as more of a sapphire girl.” Like her eyes. Like her motherfucking birthstone. Like the fun, chunky fake jewelry she wore as a college kid. Now, she’s a pearl-clutching bore.
“They were gifts,” she mutters, backing away from me. It’s cute how she thinks distancing herself in the small bathroom will keep me away.
I track her with my eyes, drawing the same effect as my touch without not needing to touch her to have the same effect. Her flesh is red, and I fucking love it. “From your fiancé?” I taunt.
Her plump lips press together. “And my father.”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
With a wink, I turn, unlocking the door, and she rushes into a stall just as I open it. A pretty brunette goes from being annoyed to batting her eyelashes in a matter of seconds.
“I think you’ve stepped into the wrong bathroom,” she says before biting on her bottom lip.
“My mistake,” I rumble. “Would you be a doll and show me to the right one?”
I offer my arm, she takes my elbow, and away we go.
* * *
“You’re home late,” Hayden grunts from the sofa, his girlfriend Katie sleeping with her head in his lap. He changes the station to the news and nods at the recliner beside him.
I shed my tuxedo jacket and yank off my bowtie before settling in the chair. Schmoozing with some of the biggest players in this city wasn’t difficult. That shit is second nature to me. Fucking with Poppy? Easy.
It was him.
Seeing him was fucking difficult.
“Everything okay?” my brother asks. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
I flash him an easy grin. “Just thinking about a girl.” Not a total lie.
Hayden snorts. “Better than a guy.”
If Nixon were here, he’d knock Hayden on his ass for that comment. It’s not like Hayden knows how much it bothers me, though. My mind drifts to my early teenage years.
Am I gay?
It’s a question that eats me alive each day. That man did those things to me. Did he see something I don’t?
I open my Tumblr app and look up gay porn. My dick doesn’t twitch. If anything, I start to sweat and get that creepy feeling that sometimes shudders down my spine as I remember him. It’s not that these people are grossing me out. It’s what he did. It’s how he made me feel. Bile rises in my throat as a familiar panic attack rears its ugly head. I breathe in and out, trying desperately to slow my racing heart. He didn’t give me a choice. He didn’t ask.
I quickly exit the search and go back to the stuff that does get my dick hard. Blonde-haired beauties with jiggly tits and smooth pussies. My cock rises, and I let out a breath of relief. I’m not gay. Nothing against them, but I prefer women.
“Dude,” Hayden says softly, jerking me from my memory. “I’m just kidding. You know I love you no matter what. Brock’s bi and we support that shit.”
I laugh, but it feels hollow. “I’m fine. Just tired. I’ve got an early morning. I’m goi
ng to head to bed.”
“Class or your new internship?”
Rising to my feet, I stretch and yawn. “I have to run in and turn in an assignment, but then I’ll be at the law firm.” With little perfect Poppy.
“I’m here to talk. If you ever need me,” Hayden says, his tone serious. “I’m not your dad, but I’m your big brother. I can help you if you’re ever in trouble or need to talk.”
I groan. “Are you about to start your period, man?”
He throws a couch pillow at me, but I dodge it. “Fuck off, kid,” he shoots back, smiling. Hayden is much happier these days. His girl has changed him for the better. When she finally moved into our loft, my brother began smiling more and lightening the fuck up. Katie is good for him.
Speaking of her…
It’s now or never.
“I’m moving out.”
Hayden’s smile falls. “What the fuck? Why?”
“Because it’s time, Hay.”
He eases her head out of his lap and stands before stalking my way to grip both my shoulders. “No.” Stubborn as fuck this brother of mine.
Gently, I push him away from me. “Yes. Then, you can have the alone time you two desperately need. To plan weddings and make babies and shit.”
“We’re not exactly making babies and shit. This condo is big enough for the three of us,” he says, practically fucking pouting.
Not making babies, but planning a wedding for sure. Or at least soon. I went with him to pick out the giant rock he plans to give her. It won’t be long. “I know,” I say with a sigh. “And I’ll be over here all the time to eat because we all know I can’t cook for shit. I just want my own place.”
He spears his fingers through his hair and scowls. “I don’t know…”
“It’s not your decision. You’re not my guardian anymore. I’m an adult and have my own money. I need to do this, okay?”
Reluctantly, he nods. “Fine, but I expect you over for dinner every weekend, asshole.”
“As long as I don’t have to watch you and Katie make out, it’s a deal.” I grin.
He grumbles, and I leave him to call my other brother. Dropping onto my bed, I dial Nixon. He picks up on the first ring.
“Yo,” he grunts.
“What’s up?”
“Just watching my girls sleep.”
“That’s creepy,” I utter.
He laughs. “One day, you’ll get it. It’s not fucking creepy, I know that much.”
“I’m moving out.”
“Do we need to make up the guest room?”
I shake my head. My brothers are more of a father than mine ever was. They make up for where he lacked. “Not with you, dick. On my own.”
“Tampa?”
“Yep. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“I’m not ready to lose you to DC yet,” he says, chuckling. “Plus, a kid will need his uncle.”
“You know, I’m technically Erica’s brother.”
“But Erica’s baby brother is still your nephew.”
A pregnant pause fills the line.
“Wait…are you and Rowan expecting?”
He chuckles, sounding happy as fuck. “She wanted to wait to tell anyone until we knew the sex.”
“Congratulations, man,” I say, grinning. “Way to spread that Pearson seed everywhere.”
He snorts. “You just keep your seed to yourself for the time being. We don’t need you getting distracted, Mr. President.”
My thoughts drift to Poppy in her form-fitting dress and swollen red lips.
“I’m laser-focused on my goals,” I assure him.
And when I destroy them, I’ll get back on track with what I was born to do.
Take over the world.
Chapter Six
Poppy
I’m frazzled as I rush into my office. Fridays are hell. The judge was being difficult, and I felt like a newbie in the courtroom, scrambling to justify my evidence. It was all solid, of course, but Judge McNamara has a way about making you second guess yourself. She’s older and resembles a hawk. I swear, she enjoys tearing poor little attorneys apart and eating them for breakfast.
“Calendar is up,” a familiar deep voice says. “You had a phone call with a campaign donor scheduled for noon—”
Shit!
“Oh no,” I groan as I drop my messenger bag and purse to the floor. “That was ten minutes ago.”
Camden smiles warmly at me. He’s made himself comfortable in the chair across from my desk looking all too good in his three-piece suit. The guy dresses better than the partners at this firm. “That’s why I took the liberty to call and reschedule. I booked a lunch with him next week instead. He was thrilled to have more of your time than a simple phone call.”
My heart races as I mentally think over my schedule for next week. “Do I even have any lunches open?”
“I sent your father an email canceling. You can meet with him anytime. Mr. Booker is now in Tuesday’s slot,” he tells me. “Coffee is hot. Sit. Chill out. You have the rest of the afternoon free of appointments. Then, at five, you have a meeting with your wedding planner.”
I plop down in my chair and let out a heavy sigh. The last thing I need right now is to be planning a wedding. Jacque demands my focus at these wedding meetings and I’d rather be anywhere but picking out venues, flowers, and cake flavors. Mateo says it’s the woman’s choice, therefore he’s leaving it all up to me. Since he’s been married once before, he wants me to have it exactly the way I want.
The way I want is just the two of us on an island with our toes in the sand and God as our only witness. That’s not so difficult. When I mentioned it to Mateo, he laughed as if my suggestion was a joke.
“Keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles,” Camden teases.
I rub at my temples, feeling another migraine coming on. That makes one every day this week. The stress is really beginning to weigh on me. I hate to admit it, but Camden came at exactly the right time. He still undresses me with his eyes at every turn, but he’s incredibly smart and takes initiative. He puts out fires with ease and keeps me on track. He’s barely been here a week and I already feel like I would drown without his assistance. When I admitted that last night over dinner, Mateo had been overjoyed.
Lifting my gaze, I watch Camden as he taps away on his laptop. I know he works on assignments when I don’t need him immediately. It’s fascinating how he multitasks effortlessly. I’m trying to take a page from his book, but he makes it seem so simple.
“Stare too long and you might fall in love,” he flirts.
I laugh, no longer angered by his advances. “I don’t have time to fall in love.”
His brows lift. “But you’re already in love, so that doesn’t matter anyway, right?”
My face heats as I realize I admitted something I hadn’t yet admitted to myself. I love Mateo. I love Mateo. I love Mateo. But I’m not in love with him. My head throbs, and I squeeze my eyes shut. His chair squeaks, and then his palm is on my back. He strokes his fingers through my hair, and instead of yelling at him or removing myself from his touch, I allow this moment of comfort.
“When my sister-in-law was pregnant, she was susceptible to migraines,” he utters softly. “I was the only one who could help. Once, I read up on acupuncture and pressure points.” His fingers dance along my skull, sending shivers through me. He begins pressing into parts of my head, temples, and neck, and I drop my head forward. Some spots do nothing. Others make me see stars. And certain areas keep the throbbing at bay.
I moan in relief, my hand clutching his wrist to keep him still. “Right there. Don’t stop, Camden.”
He kneads the flesh with expert hands, and I relax. It feels good. Too good. It makes me wonder what else he’s good at. Heat floods through me, and I feel myself blushing again. I moan again, this time having nothing to do with my headache and everything to do with my dirty fantasies. The more I work with him, the more frequent they come. Just this morning, I
got myself off in the shower, imagining it was him doing it instead. Then, guilt overcame me.
As Camden presses into my skull with his right hand, his left strokes my hair away from my neck, massaging the tightness out of my shoulder. It feels so good, I moan in relief, then panic slightly that he’s going to make fun of me. Camden doesn’t, though. He remains silent, and I’m thankful. If he were razzing me or flirting, I’d freak out, and I’m enjoying this moment. I selfishly don’t want to be stolen from it. When he slides my suit jacket off one shoulder, I tense, but it gains him access over my blouse to work the area better.
Hot breath tickles my hair near my ear as he whispers, “Feeling better?”
“Much,” I choke out. I grip my hand tighter around his right wrist, willing him to continue doing what he’s doing.
He chuckles, and it vibrates straight to my core. My thighs clench, and I’m embarrassed at how wet my panties are. All from a simple massage. Thank God I’m spending the night with Mateo and can take my sexual frustrations out on him. His thumb peels back my blouse at the neck, grabbing my bra strap along the way, exposing my neck and shoulder. I let out a gasp of surprise, but then his hot hand is directly on my flesh.
We need to stop.
This feels too good. It’s going to lead to things I can’t undo.
And yet…
“You have so much tension,” he murmurs, the heat of his words against my ear. “I’m going to work it all out.”
His fingers slide lower down the front of my chest beneath my blouse, and my breath stills. I can’t find the words to tell him to stop, part of me hoping he’ll touch my breast. His long fingertips skim over the top, tickling me.
Don’t stop.
Don’t stop.
Don’t stop.
God, don’t stop.
“Stop,” I choke out. “You have to stop.”
His fingers pause, caressing my flesh just above the cup of my bra before he drags his hand up in a slow retreat. My skin burns in his absence, and I hate that I can’t have what I want.
