by Celia Crown
Matt pulls out the folded paper of the immunity contract, “Grey has ears and eyes everywhere, she recently found out that you disapprove of her involvement within the government and she took the liberty to get herself insurance.”
“Then find her and fix this mess! We cannot allow the people to think that we make deals with terrorists!” the president sighs aggravatedly, holding his head in his hands.
“You won't find her if she doesn’t want to be found.” Matt points out plainly.
I squeeze my fist, digging my nails into my palm at that shitty news. Of course, she would be hard to find. She will actively avoid my advances and it’s a game of one step forward and two steps back that I have no patience of playing.
“Hansen!” the president shouts, “You spent the most time with her, you have to pick up on something!”
“I didn’t.” I lie with a straight face.
He narrows his eyes at me, dissecting my façade as I coolly stare back.
Matt speaks again, “Bottom line, you will lose the support of this country if you break your promise.”
“I did not make that deal.” the president glares.
“The government did.”
It’s the same thing as the president’s name is linked to the government no matter how anyone phrases it.
We won by the frustrated and defeated look on his face.
Chapter Thirteen
Camille
The train comes to a halt, it’s been two hours of constant running through the tracks that lead from one destination to another. This is a long-term train that goes overnight, I took a private room for my need to just breathe and get away from people.
Some passenger thinks the noise from the train is too loud and too annoying with the constant clanking on the tracks. I find it relaxing as it keeps my mind from wandering too much, the predictable sounds lure me to sleep as my mind becomes accustomed to them.
I step off the train, stretching my legs as I pull my arms above my head. I wipe the sleep from my eyes as I look over to the direction of the bathroom, all the women are rushing towards there as I remind myself that the train won't leave for the next ten minutes.
Everyone walks around the station to buy food, water, and any necessity that they need for the long night as it is the last stop for the next four hours.
I use the bathroom first, taking my time to wash my hands and drying them while staring into my reflection. My hair is a little messy and maybe it’s the lighting, but the dark circles under my eyes are a lot uglier than I give them credit for.
Fishing out some money I stashed into my pocket, I accidentally took out a wad of crinkled snack wrappers. I didn’t want to litter in the train, and there isn’t any place I can trash it without having to ask train employees to take my wrappers every time I open a granola bar.
Memories flood in my mind as I smile shakily, it’s a weird sense of déjà vu when I throw away the garbage in the nearest trashcan. I vividly remember taking out a ball of dried up wet wipes the day I left the CIA headquarter, I stupidly thought to keep it to calm myself down from crying.
Keep it as a form of coping because it’s technically the only thing I have that is remotely close to Mark, oddly speaking.
That was a year ago, today marks the day I left without goodbye as I look up onto the digital clock that shows the date and time. I think about him a lot during the first six months, think about what he is doing and if he’s taking care of himself. I promise myself that I would leave him alone and let him go back to his life, it’s for his own good. Nothing good would come by staying with me and I hate to cause him unwanted trouble.
The government would really frown upon our relationship, if I can call it that.
He would get into so much trouble if anyone were to find out what we did that night.
We took the meaning of ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ too literal.
“Madam?”
I look over to the train operator and smiles appreciatively at his reminder that the train will depart soon. Stepping inside to a row of travelers in their respective seats as I walk down the sparsely seated first-class passengers.
The private rooms are at the back to avoid any nosy commuters.
My ruffled sheets and deflated pillows are still the same, and it looks very comfortable as I toe off my shoes. Since I’m going to Sweden, I think a pair of tennis shoes would be better than my pink slippers because I will get too much attention from locals.
No one walks around with colored socks and bright house slippers.
My appearance screams of a tourist.
I can't help that I need to be in this grand celebration of a big theme park where they sell dinosaur-shaped chicken. Nothing gets me excited more than the thought of creativity that revolves around dinosaurs.
It’s a childish thing to be happy about but Mark didn’t make fun of me when I told him about my interest in the extinct creatures. Obsession is pushing it as I’m not that crazy about it, just a little enthusiastic.
Oh god, everything links back to Mark.
I don’t want stalker to be in my résumé, but I get this itch in me that tells me to just follow up on his life to make sure he’s doing fine and then I will stop. I won't contact him or even make him notice my presence, it’s a fix that I need for my addiction of him.
Time goes by without a hint of him and I’m proud of myself for being able to be a big girl.
I still think about him more than I like to admit, I’m dealing with it the best I can for the last six months of my life. I travel from place to place to keep my mind off of him, experiencing new things that would ease the heartache for mere hours, I cannot think about his strong touch and my name on his lips.
“Cammie.”
I squeal loudly, my throat closing as my heart lurches up. My lungs hurt from how hard it’s pushing against my ribs, my knees crumbling at the shock as I fall face first into the small lounging bed.
I scramble from the bed and spin over to face the man I haven’t seen in twelve months. He’s gotten more handsome and I didn’t think it’s possible to be so sinfully sexy with those tight clothes.
His eyes have changed, they show anger and hunger. Fear grips onto my pounding heart as I shudder from the uneven breathing, he wraps his big hand around my wrist and yanks me off the bed. My limp body flies to his muscular chest and the scent that I miss so much engulfs me.
I nearly sob, and I don’t look pretty when I cry.
So many questions are running in my head, battling with the sensory overload as I’m in the arms of my dream man. Against my better judgment, I cling onto the back of his shirt as he crushes me to his chest. I feel his breath hitting the top of my head as he clenches me tighter, I discreetly wipe the tears from my eyes on his shirt and pray he doesn’t feel the wetness from my emotional happiness.
“Why did you run,” he murmurs, it’s not a question for me as I have a feeling that it’s a question he asks himself every day as if he’s the one that did something wrong.
“You can’t be here,” I whisper back.
His voice is deep and baritone, the same chills that I would get when he talks to me. I have convinced myself that he had been talking to Camille, not Grey who has been giving him the solutions to the weight on his shoulders.
“You’ll get in trouble,” I tell him, unable to let go of his shirt.
He grunts, “I don’t care.”
“You should, your job is important.”
Mark chase away the doubts in my voice, “Not more than you.”
My arms froze around him, the tenseness in my shoulders results in him adjusting his stance to tuck me deeper into his embrace.
“Is that why you ran? Didn’t say goodbye?” there isn’t a hint of accusation in his tone, but it still forms a ball of guilt in my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
I’m sorry for many things, but I am the sorriest for not telling him that I was leaving. Maybe he wouldn
’t have chased me to a train going to Sweden, it would save him some leg work if he is going to take me back to get prosecuted.
“Are you going to take me back?” I ask, there’s no anticipation in me as I can guess that his duty as an agent of the government, he is to follow the law with the utmost diligence.
“No, I’m not taking you back.”
My brain skirts to a stop as the cogs get jammed inconveniently, “What?”
“You ran because you thought I would have to choose between you and work.”
I swallow and remain silent, I’m scared to confirm his theory like the coward that I am. I would never wish that decision upon him, being a hacker in his eyes is already vile enough, I don’t want Camille to be a nuisance to him.
“I did choose,” he rasps, and I bite my lips with a sob choking my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper.
A hand goes up to my hair and ruffle them, rubbing the thumping of blood on my skull as I sniff into his shirt. His ministration is comforting, soothing the frayed nerves in my body as I jitterily tremble.
“I chose you.”
I literally stop breathing for a solid minute, albeit exaggerating but it feels like an eternity before I remember to breathe or I’ll go into hyperventilation.
“I will always choose you.”
He knows what to say to make my heart beat like a school girl and it’s embarrassingly fast, it’s fine as I can hear the rhythm of his own heart beating just as quick. He can’t trick me with his calmness because my forehead is on his heart while my nose gets smooshed on his nice pec.
I’m allowed to take advantage of his hunky body, I haven’t been able to touch him for so long that I’m sensitive to everything pertaining to him.
“You like work though,” I comment, earing ringing at his confession.
“Why the hell do you think that?” he gruffly huffs.
I lift my head up, a small wet patch around my eyes goes cold. “I don’t know, just a feeling.”
“Then you don’t know me that well,” he shoots back, and I reluctantly accept that comment.
It doesn’t hurt any less when he outright says it. I put my face back into his chest, tackling the problem face to face with his unfairly composed face is a battle that I got my butt handed to me.
“That’s fine, you have the rest of your life to know me.”
My neck aches at how fast I look back at him, my eyes widen at his words and I go slack in his arms with my mouth opening and closing to say something. No words want to form, a repetitive echo of his words floating in my mind as I make unintelligent noises.
“I’m retired,” he tells me.
One mind-blowing news after another, I worry about the lack of brain cells regenerating in my head. This man is doing his absolute best to keep me speechless, so I don’t try to make excuses, which I was doing just mere moments before.
“You can’t be retired,” I stutter, my mouth dries like cotton being stuffed down my throat.
“I am,” Mark affirms.
I shake my head, throwing the delusion away from my mind. “You have things to do, people to save.”
“What do you think I have been trying to do for a whole year?” he growls, leaning down and pressing his lips to my cheek firmly. I meekly mewl at his scruffy jaw; the roughness scrapes my soft skin and I love it.
“I don’t need saving.” my lips jutting out, “I’m saving you. A government employee and a criminal doesn’t have a nice ring to it. I think it’s what people call ‘being jammed up’ is.”
Mark takes the hand from my hair to cup my jaw, slanting his mouth over mine in such a heated kiss that my knees knock together. My heart shudders, mewling breathlessly when his hot tongue curl with mine.
“You let me worry about myself.” he sets his lips softly over my own as his breath fans on the plumpness.
“I can’t just not care about you,” I protest faintly, looking into the darkened irises of his intense gaze.
“I’m not asking you to, I want you to take care of yourself.”
I cock my head, our forehead bump into each other. “I do.”
“I found you with your name, Camille,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
My heart skips a beat, I admit that a part of me hopes he finds me. That’s why I didn’t bother to change my name, I only use a different last name. It doesn’t take a genius to find me when Mark has all the pieces of the puzzle to predict my movements.
A train, dinosaur themes, and my name. It’s everything I have told him about me.
“There’s a lot of Camilles.” I pointlessly try.
“There was, but I was only looking for you.”
I purse my lips, frowning at another thought. “I could have been under a different name.”
“Your name is Camille.” he looks me in the eyes, “Your real name.”
His intuition is sharper than a knife.
“Yes. There’s no Carmichael, only Camille. I have always been Cammie, I don’t remember my last name.”
He smiles and my love for him grows and overflows from my soul, the possibility of me passing out from too much happiness outweighs the desire to kiss him.
“Take mine,” he offers, eyes serious as his husky voice shoots an arrow through my heart.
“Can I?” I shyly ask, my lashes flutter with a blush donning on my cheeks.
“Yes.” Mark caresses my cheek.
I lick my dry lips and laughs, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”
Epilogue
Mark
Four Months Later.
Working in the private sector as a security consultant gives me ample time to fix Camille’s ridiculous lifestyle. It’s hard work because she is stubborn, anything she wants to keep as her ‘identity’ is laughable.
I had tried bribery, asserting dominance to thoroughly fucking her into the bed.
Just one look with those big doe-eyes and I become a slave to her pleading.
I got rid of her habit of chewing on pen caps. Every time she bites, I would return the favor by sinking my teeth on her bottom lip as I want the bite to hurt. She would remember the connection between them, and she’s gotten better when I inspect the pens. There are one or two baby canine marks on them, it’s better than that one time she swallowed the cap.
She thought she was going to get ink poisoning from the contact with the pen tip.
Serves her right for being foolish.
The next thing that I changed her is the fucking rows of mascot heads. She has a shrine of them, all lined up and cleaned. I refuse to let her put them on the dresser because it faces our bed, I’d be damned if I wake up in the middle of the night to find animal heads looking ominously at me.
I might shoot them.
I had to pry her favorite panda head away from her weak arms, I had no trouble yanking it from her as I am much stronger. I have never seen someone cry without tears but sound so broken.
I stayed strong and threw them away, Camille stole my pillow that night. Though she still ended up in my arms no matter how much she denied her voluntary actions, she believed I snuggled her.
The one thing she refuses to budge is her hideous collection of socks. Really, who the hell has one design in all the colors? It’s an eyesore, it’s as if yellow ducks on her socks isn’t enough, she has to get several other colors too.
I secretly began to hate ducks for the entire week she wore them.
If talking to her doesn’t deter her love for socks of all things, then action is the only option I have left.
The number of socks she has is unhealthy.
I would take them off whenever she has them on, her futile defense against my assertive hands is no match for my quick moves. It’s common for me to get her wounded puppy look and it’s goddamn effective because I’m weak against her watery eyes and upset whimper, sniffing wetly and the silent treatment turns me into the bad guy.
Technically, I am.
She can ke
ep her bright-ass socks. I can’t stand not having her voice babbling about the most irrelevant things.
We come to a compromise, she can wear them around the house and I get to have her sockless in bed. I will not tolerate the abrasive material to block my access to her soft legs.
It’s a chilly night when we go to bed, the cover gives us partial warmth as my body provides the rest as we heat up under the comforter.
Her cold toes stick to my leg and I glare playfully at her innocent eyes.
“What?” she blinks.
“Get your fucking feet away,” I growl, my hand going to her thigh and squeeze to bring a squeal from her pink lips.
“I’m cold!” she whines, pouting prettily.
“Then wear—” I catch myself and scowls at her sly smile.
She eagerly wiggles closer, wrapping her arm around my naked waist. “Wear what?”
“You will not wear socks in this bed.” my tone wavers when her fingers trace up and down my spine teasingly.
“How will I get warm?” she widens her eyes in a damsel in distress manner.
I can think of many ways she can warm up, but none of them involves her socks.
She wordlessly slips one small hand inside my briefs, wrapping her tiny fingers around my big cock and she moans giddily. Camille runs her hand up and down my throbbing shaft, I’m no longer surprised that I can get hard this fast. She brings out this thirst in me, I always want her pussy coiling around me.
Taking me out of the confines, she thumbs the beading head as I stifle down a groan. I snake an arm under her waist and crush her ass in one hand, she shudders with trembling fingers.
I hiss through my teeth as she wastes no time to hook her thigh over my waist with the head of my cock nudging her bare slits, wet and hot against the sensitive tip.
No panties.
“You planned this,” I accuse with no animosity, “You fucking filthy girl.”
She looks up at me through a haze grin, dropping her hips down to take me to the root in one swoop that has me bucking my hips to make her flush against me. Stars dance across my eyes, her fluttery walls pulsing spasmodically with all her straining muscles.
