by Skylar Hill
She stretched her neck back and forth, feeling her curls bounce at the movement. Ferdinand, who’d been sleeping in the living room when she’d gone to work out, barked, a short, excited Harrumph! that said it must be James coming up the drive.
When the muddy, matted pooch had appeared in the backyard that first morning as they were moving all their things in, Cam hadn’t been able to resist ordering him his own burger when she’d called in the food order for all their friends who had shown up to help. James had made a face when she saw him feeding the cheese-covered patty to the gigantic mutt, but then just ten minutes later, she caught him sheepishly sneaking the dog some fries, so he really couldn’t call her out on it.
Once they’d lugged in all the boxes , she and James had asked around the neighborhood, thinking he might belong to someone, but no one knew. Then they took him to the vet to get checked out and scanned for a microchip, but he didn’t have any. Because they didn’t want to walk off with someone’s dog, they had put up signs and posted on the local Cody’s List and Craigslist, , but she was so relieved as the weeks passed, and no one called to claim him. And she knew James was, too. Ferdinand—or Nandy, as she’d taken to calling him—had become a part of the family. She’d never had room for a dog before, and she’d always wanted one.
Nandy was a big softie. His favorite thing in the world was to sit curled up next to James on the couch, his head in his lap, as he gazed adoringly at Cam next to him. Eye contact was Nandy’s drug of choice, and if you talked to him in a silly voice while gazing lovingly at him, he was the happiest dog in the world.
Cam heard the front door open and close, and even though Nandy was quiet and she heard the beep of the state-of-the-art security system James had installed, her fingers automatically curled into fists, her stomach tensing as she heard footsteps heading down the hall.
“Honey, it’s me,” she heard him call, and all her tension relaxed. Something inside her warmed: He’d gotten into the habit of letting her know it was him because he knew she got nervous.
“I’m in the back room,” she called, bending down to pick up her gloves where she’d tossed them.
“Now that’s a sight,” said a voice behind her.
Still bent over, she looked over her shoulder. James was leaning against the doorway, looking at her like he wanted to gobble her up, his gray eyes gleaming with an intense light as they wandered over her body. Hot tingles spread through her as their gaze met. She raised an eyebrow in a silent dare as she slowly straightened up, letting him get a good look at every curve.
He groaned, closing the space between them in just a few steps. His hands settled on her hips, fingertips dipping just barely into the waistband of her leggings as he pulled her up against him. She squirmed, hitching herself up against him as their lips met. His hands moved lower, palming her ass, as she wrapped her legs around him.
She wasn’t used to feeling small—she was tall, and she liked heels—but James always made her feel cherished and safe. And she never had to worry she was going to hurt him by trying to climb him like a tree—something that happened quite a bit, considering how just one look from him could get her panting and flushed. She tilted her hips, grinding down on the hot bulge of his cock, wanting him inside her. His tongue stroked against hers, his teeth biting teasingly down on her lush lower lip, sending sparks through her, her desire mounting. Her workout had gotten her adrenaline pumping, and now she was wrapped around the most beautiful hunk of a man she’d ever known—and he was all hers.
She wanted him. Now.
“I want you like this,” she murmured, leaning back to push her leggings down, her hands going for his belt. His cock sprang free, and her hand curled around it, making him groan as she nibbled along the hard line of his jaw, his beard silky underneath her lips. He dealt with the condom and then parted her wet folds, thrusting into her in one slow slide that lit her nerves on fire. She rocked against him, her head falling back as she was consumed by sensation. She loved that first thrust… he was so thick, it always felt like just a little too much, but in the most delicious way as her body flowered open for him.
His fingers snaked underneath her sports bra, and his thumb brushed her nipple in quick little circles as he worked into her, hard and fast. He knew what she liked when she got like this. Without another word, he moved, pressing her against the wall. She gasped at the sudden change of angle as his cock sank deeper into her.
Her fingers clenched his shoulder muscles as he lifted his hand to cup the back of her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself. She kissed him then, loving that, even when he was fucking her like it was the last thing he’d ever do, he was ever-aware of her comfort—and the fact that she tended to thrash about when he fucked her against walls.
She loved how strong he was, that he could just lift her like this, manhandle her, really—but in the best, most gentle, sensuous way. His other hand cupped her ass, squeezing hard and eliciting a groan from his throat.
“I love your ass so much,” he muttered, his thrusts shortening as he felt her begin to tighten up. “Such perfect handfuls, begging for my hands. You’re so bad, wearing those pencil skirts around me all the time. I can barely think about anything else.”
She couldn’t stop the satisfied smile that spread across her face, and he caught it too.
“Such a brat,” he scolded softly. “You live to tease me. Maybe I should tease you.” He drew almost all the way out of her, the shaft of his cock slipping out of her, just the thick head remaining. She gasped, a whimpering sound passing her lips before she could stop it.
“Please,” she gasped. “Baby, please. I need you.”
And then he was there, thrusting back into her with a fervor that sparked a fire in her. Her pussy rippled around him, her orgasm spilling over her between one breath and the next, taking her by surprise. She moaned, tilting her hips forward, her thighs tightening around his waist as he felt her pulse around him.
“Fuck, Cam, I love you,” he gasped, and then he was coming too, pumping into her once, twice, and then stilling, his head dropping to rest against her shoulder as they both shook from the aftershocks.
Slowly, after minutes past and she felt slightly steadier, she unwound her legs from his waist, sliding down the wall until her feet hit the ground. His hand was still gripping her ass, and his head tilted, his lips grazed her neck as he finally pulled out of her.
“You certainly know how to greet a man when he gets home,” James said, reluctantly taking his hand off her butt and helping her yank up her leggings. “You know I can’t resist you when you’re in warrior woman mode. It’s so sexy. I just want to watch you punch things.”
She rolled her eyes and reached up to kiss him. Her body still tingling, her nerves heated up again as he licked into her mouth, his hands sinking into her hair.
Finally, she forced herself to pull away. “You can’t get me all worked up again,” she said, pretending to frown at him. “I have to shower. I have an appointment.”
Instantly, she wished she could take it back, because the mood in the room suddenly changed, and his expression turned serious. “Right,” he said. “Your appointment with Sheila.”
Cam mentally sighed, hating that even the barest mention of anything to do with the probation hearing made them both go tense and worried, ruining any nice moment. “Yeah,” she said. “I should go get ready.”
She kissed him again, just a quick little peck, and then moved toward the door.
“Hey, warrior woman,” he said, making her turn back to him. “If you’re not doing anything later, maybe you can get sweaty with me.”
She loved him more in that moment than she ever thought was possible. Because no matter the situation, he found a way to inject some sort of light into it. He teased her out of her seriousness, out of her gloom and worry. And he knew exactly when she needed that sort of cheer, like now, right before her dreaded meeting.
“That could be arranged,” she said. “But in the meantime, I could
use some help in the shower.”
Without another word, she walked out of the room, knowing without even having to turn around that he was following.
Chapter Three
Cam
“Okay, Cam, let’s try this once more.”
Cam took a deep breath, trying not to look too annoyed at Sheila, the specialist who was working with Evie and her to craft their statements to the parole board. She’d been having sessions with the older woman for almost a month now, and she knew she meant well. She also knew that though Sheila had more experience than she did, the sessions were making things worse.
It wasn’t Sheila’s fault—it was just that what she wanted Cam to do: to lay her heart and guts and every horrible thing that had ever been done to her out on the table for the board to see—was so against her nature that she kept messing up each time she even tried to do it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She felt like all she did in Sheila’s office was apologize. It was pitiful.
“Cam, it’s okay,” Sheila said. She was an elegant older woman, with long salt-and-pepper hair that was more pepper than salt save for the one, dramatic silver streak in the front. She’d been nothing but calm and understanding about the situation, and Evie seemed to love her, having already crafted a statement that Sheila said was excellent weeks ago.
Yet here was Cam, still struggling.
“I understand how hard this is,” Sheila continued. “You’ve been through a lot. And now you’re being forced to relive it in a very public, very performative way. It’s not easy for anyone, but especially for a young woman like you.”
“I just want to get it right,” Cam said, hating how vulnerable her voice sounded. The closer she got to the hearing, the more she missed her mother. She desperately wanted to talk to her, to get her advice, to just sit at her feet while she sketched, like she used to do when she was small.
“We’ll get there,” Sheila assured her, but Cam wasn’t so sure. It was ironic that when all this started, she’d been determined to shield Evie from having to make a statement. And now she was the one having trouble. “Why don’t we take a few steps back? I know how unnatural this process has been feeling to you.” She settled back in her chair, plucking her oversize dark purple shawl closer around her. “Let’s just sit and talk for awhile. Why don’t you tell me about your mother? Not about what he did to her. About who she was.”
It was a lifeline, one that Cam eagerly grasped. This she could do. She’d been keeping her mother alive in Evie’s memory for years now, terrified one of them might forget something. “She was a mom, first and foremost— or at least, that’s what she would say.” Sheila smiled encouragingly and Cam felt brave enough to continue. “But she had the soul of a painter. She was an incredible artist. I’m lucky, I have some of her pieces and all her sketchbooks from when she was younger..” She didn’t add that she was lucky she had some of the pieces, because her father liked to destroy her mother’s work when he was feeling particularly vicious. She knew she should, it was probably a detail that would make her seem sympathetic, but God, her heart hurt just thinking about it. The idea of saying it, and then the look on Sheila’s face that would follow…
Cam’s head began to pound.
“Did your mother paint watercolors like you?”
Cam nodded. “She taught me. She did some oils and even a little sculpting, too. But mainly watercolors.” She paused, thinking back, picturing her mother. In her memory, she was bright and shining like the sun, her paintbrush tucked behind an ear, and those big blue-gray eyes, so much like Evie’s, staring down at her. “She was tiny, my mom,” she said. “Petite. Kind of delicate. I got the height from his side of the family. I was taller than her by the time I was twelve. I think… I guess that made it easier. To put myself between them.”
“Is that when he started hitting you as well?”
Cam looked down at her hands, shaking her head. “No, it started long before that.”
A gentle chiming sounded, signaling the end of their session.
“We’re getting there, Cam,” Sheila said, smiling encouragingly. “I promise.”
“It’s just coming up so fast,” Cam explained, insecurity flashing through her as she got up and grabbed her purse.
“We’ll have your statement in stellar shape by our final session,” Sheila said as she walked her out of the office. “Speaking of that session, I’ll see you on Monday?”
Cam nodded. “Thanks, Sheila.”
“It’s my pleasure. Bye now.”
Cam hurried out of Sheila’s building onto the bustling street downtown. She stepped into the flow of foot traffic, making her way to the parking garage where the car James had insisted on leasing her was waiting. It was strange having a car again—she’d sold her old rust-bucket after she and Evie had moved up to Portland—and she was still getting used to not having to take the bus or Uber everywhere. She knew it was safer, especially if Keith got out.
That’s not going to happen, she told herself firmly. She wished she could believe it. She was trying—hard. But he wasn’t supposed to have been eligible for parole for another twelve years, and here they were. He knew how to work the system. Cam wasn’t putting any faith in the parole board’s ability to see reason.
She had to be prepared for the worst. Because if he got out, he was coming for her.
She got into her car, locking it and staring down at her hands on the steering wheel for a moment.
When she’d shot him, she’d saved Evie.
But she’d also become the enemy, in his eyes.
She knew him—better than maybe anyone—she’d endured his temper and fists for years. She knew what being bested by a girl—his daughter no less—would do to him.
He’d had eight years to stew. Eight years to get even tougher. Even crueler.
Eight years of no calls, no visits, no word from them.
He’d be curious. He’d find them.
He’d have his revenge.
She could still remember all the blood—and the regret. Not regret that she had shot him.
No, regret that she hadn’t killed him.
Had some part of her realized this is what would come? That no matter what, he’d find a way to weasel his way free of any consequences?
Or was there just a part of her who wanted him to pay—to really pay—for what he’d done?
She didn’t like thinking about it, didn’t like examining that possibility of true darkness in her soul. Because then her thoughts would spiral into wondering exactly how much of Keith was in her.
Had she shot him because she was like him? Or had she shot him because she was the exact opposite?
Did she want him dead because she’d inherited some of that darkness from him? Or was it just rational, to want the person who tortured you to die?
Cam closed her eyes, trying to block out the thoughts. She’d spent years in therapy, both her and Evie, solo and family. She’d made sure they talked things through—together and with professionals. And it had been important. It had been healing. It was one of the reasons she was who she was. But she was so tired of talking about it. She was so tired of baring her soul. And now that she had to do it for a whole crowd of people, to make it such a public performance, in a desperate bid to keep the man who murdered her mother behind bars? She could feel the weight, crushing and punishing, grinding her into the ground with each breath she took.
“One more week,” she told herself, in the quiet of the car.
One more week.
And either she’d get to keep her life, or it would be hanging in the balance.
Chapter Four
James
“Which do you like better? The ivory or the cream?”
James looked at the two white linen napkins Lydia was holding out to him. “The one on the left’s more like eggshell,” he said.
Her brows knit together and she looked down at it. “Okay, Mr. Artist,” she said. “Which one do you want? Cream,” she shook the one i
n her right hand. “Or eggshell?” She shook the napkin in her left hand.
James had to suppress a giant sigh. Cam and Lydia had been handling most of the party planning for Exile Ink’s opening, but he was standing in this morning, since Cam had her appointment with Sheila. He’d wanted to accompany her, but after the first appointment, Sheila had requested Cam come alone. He understood it, but he made it a point to take her to each appointment and wait in the lobby until they were done. She was always so pale after each session.
But with Exile Ink’s opening just a week and a half away, they’d had to start juggling, which meant James was sitting here, making decisions about table linens, instead of waiting in the lobby for Cam‘s session to end. He hated that he wasn’t there. He looked down at his phone, thinking about texting her to make sure she was doing okay.
“Earth to Jay,” Lydia waved the napkin in front of his face.
“Sorry,” he said. “Whatever you think is the best shade of white, Lydz.”
“The cream,” she said decisively, tossing the eggshell napkin over her shoulder. “I have the menu Cam and I decided on; the caterers are on top of all that. The DJ is booked and I did manage to get Elise, the mixologist I love, to take care of the drinks. She’s coming up with a signature cocktail for the opening and everything.”
“Great,” James said. “Anything else I need to approve?” They’d been at this for over an hour, and it was starting to get to him. Lydia was amazing at her job—and he was so grateful she was doing this, her company was so big and in demand that she normally didn’t do small openings like this—but party planning wasn’t his thing.
Lydia looked down at her tablet, pursing her lips. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I just need to go in and out of the space a few times in the next week so I can make sure everything’s set up right. But someone’s almost always there, so it’s not a problem.”
