by Giselle Fox
I cupped my hand beneath her breast. Her nipple jutted toward my fingers. I clasped it between my thumb and forefinger and gave it a pinch. She moaned, so I did it again with a little more intensity. “Are you wet?” I whispered when her eyes dipped closed.
She nodded. Her lips were parted, her cheeks were flushed. It was warm up in that room with the door closed. I could have turned on the fan but I preferred to watch her sweat. “Touch yourself,” I instructed.
She opened her eyes. She picked her bra up off of her lap and flipped it onto the desk behind her. Then she slid her hand slowly down her abdomen and behind the waistband of her pants.
“Keep going,” I said. I could see how far her hand had already gone but I wanted it deeper. I brought my legs down, resting my feet on the floor beside her hips. She looked up into my eyes. “Do you want me to fuck myself?”
“Yes,” I said.
She undid her button with her other hand. Her zipper spread from the pressure of her forearm. Her hand moved gently inside her thong, slowly spiraling her fingers deeper inside her body. I lifted my legs again and gently guided her head down. When her mouth hit me, her body trembled.
I gripped onto the arms of my chair as Camille’s tongue circled over me. She pulled her hand from inside her pants and reached it up toward my mouth. I clasped it between my lips and took her sweet juices in. “Fuck, you taste incredible,” I moaned.
Camille’s eyes flashed up at me, her breasts jiggled against my thighs. We were sticky and sweaty and flushed with intensity. She began to grunt and moan with every thrust of her tongue. I was so close, but there was more than I wanted to do to her.
“Stand up,” I said, breathlessly. Her eyes flashed up at me again and she frowned.
I guided her to her feet and then turned her around. “Palms on the desk,” I ordered.
She leaned forward, looking back at me over her shoulder. She was grinning like she knew what was coming. I wrenched her pants down to her ankles and pulled her wet thong down with them. I smacked her gorgeous ass with the palm of my hand and then slid my chair forward. Through the gap of her thighs, I could see her plump lips glisten with dew. I slid my fingers between her legs and pinched her bud with my fingers. She hung her head between her arms and moaned. Her legs began to tremble.
I pushed my thumb inside her, rubbing her clit with the tips of my fingers as I watched it disappear. “I love watching your pussy move around me,” I said. She began to circle her hips around my fingers, bending her knees and pushing back.
I leaned forward and slid my tongue down between her legs.
“Fuck…” she whimpered.
“Mmm,” I replied. I plunged my tongue inside, her back arched backward, her nipples grazed the desk. It was moving, rocking wildly beneath her. It wasn’t made of oak like hers and I wondered if it would last the night.
She reached out her arms and gripped the far edge of the desk. She pressed her forehead into the fake wood and pushed back against me. My hand was slick with her juices; it slapped between her wet thighs. My face was soaked with her; I felt it on the tips of my hair.
I rose to my feet and leaned over her back. She reached behind and coiled her hand through my hair, clutching at it as I drove my hips against her.
“Fuck,” her breath shuddered again. “Don’t stop.” Her eyes tightened. I pushed my hand deeper, our bodies slapped together in an asynchronous rhythm. And then I felt her tighten around me and her legs give way.
She began to moan, it rose slowly up through her belly and erupted through her chest. I clamped a hand over her mouth, but I could tell she’d already entered an altered state. Her face was red, her brow was beaded with sweat, her eyes were squeezed shut. She trembled and seized below me and my hand felt hot and damp with her again.
Then, she released; slowly, like the retreating tide. She loosened her grip on my hair, her body relaxed. Finally, after a few deep breaths, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Fuck that was good.” She reached behind me and grabbed a handful of my ass. “All I could think about was this.”
I pulled myself off of her. My t-shirt was soaked with our sweat. She lifted herself off the table, her chest and abdomen were red from friction. She took one look at her pants, dangling around her ankles, and laughed. I knelt and helped her free one leg at a time while she held the desk for balance.
When I rose to my feet, she slid her hand between my legs. “Oh, baby.” Her grin was pure wickedness. She smoothed the tips of her fingers over me like a whisper. By then, I was so sensitive that it felt like torture. I grabbed onto her wrist and held her where she was. Her crystal-blue eyes flashed back at me, knowing how close I was.
“Say it,” she whispered against my lips. “Say what you want.”
“I want you,” I whispered back.
“Do you want my mouth or my hand?”
It was too hard to choose. “Can I have both,” I said, grinning back at her.
She pressed her fingers into me just a little bit harder, sliding all the way down to tease my opening. My legs went weak and I held onto her for support. “You can have anything you want,” she said.
She glanced around us; there was the chair, the desk, the floor, and of course, the bed in the corner—made and undisturbed—but that seemed so far away. I watched her eyes weigh the merit of each location before moving on. She spun me around and backed me into the desk. It was to be there, right where we’d started.
It wasn’t comfortable, but that had never stopped us before. In times like those, sensation shut off in the mundane parts of the body so it could do double-time in more demanding parts. And Camille knew exactly where those parts were. She’d made them hers long before. She could divine from them more than even I could. And there was nothing she loved more than fucking me somewhere she knew she shouldn’t.
I could never decide what turned me on more: the physical sensations of her hands and mouth, working in such perfect tandem that it was all I could do to lay back and keep my legs open, or whether it was the intensity that rippled through her beautiful body, the ferocity that unleashed in her when I lost control and begged. It was all mind-blowing: every flick of her tongue, every thrust of her hips, every clasp, bite, and kiss; every dirty thing she said and knowing where we were. Even the silence we knew we should keep, added to those moments. One after the other, they added up, joined forces, and drove with singular purpose toward the end Camille had designed.
She was above me, her palm was planted beside my head, bracing her body from the blunt drive of her hips. My knees were bent and raised, my heels anchored at the edge of the desk below me. Our eyes were locked. Her breasts bounced, her abdomen rippled, the sweat at the nape of her neck had made her dark curls darker. She was as raw and wild as I’d ever seen her. Her fingers danced inside the depths of my body and did pirouettes around hidden erotic zones.
I reached to touch her face. My arm felt weak, though I knew it wasn’t. I watched it stretch out before me like a lithe, golden animal. This body, I thought from a higher mental plane, I knew my good fortune in owning it because Camille loved it and the soul that lived inside. I was high; she’d flown me above a desktop in a new home office; she was up there with me and, somehow, I knew she always would be.
She clasped my thumb between her lips; my breath stumbled inside my chest. I felt emotion surge up through me, ignited by the tips of her fingers. Her eyes glistened and then watered with tears. Our connection was so complete that she’d felt the same overwhelm I had. And then that place inside me unraveled, like a dark and distant star finally reaching its nova. I felt it begin at my fingertips and the bottoms of my feet. I felt it shoot up my limbs and gather into a ball of light at the base of my spine. And when it finished gathering and spinning there, it shot up through my body and exploded through the crown of my consciousness. I lay weightless in Camille’s arms for a few ecstatic moments until I floated gently back down to the place where I belonged.
CHAPTER EIGHT
; Time passed more gently. Camille’s hours at the office didn’t diminish by much, but at least she didn’t seem crushed every time she came home. Her determination to build something better had been sparked. Now that she wasn’t fighting to make changes, Vermillion Global began to run more smoothly. Still, there was a long, long way to go.
John seemed happier too. Learning the truth had been a good thing. He only spoke of Camille with respect and admiration and I could tell that he honestly trusted her with the empire he had built. His mood was lighter, his smile more ready. When he sat and gazed at the ocean he allowed himself to drift off into his thoughts. His notebook was always nearby and he took notes with the full range of colors. Before long, we had outlined his entire book, and every concept he chose to share sounded eloquent and well-formed. I was as excited as he was to begin the process of putting it into words.
Then more and more images of Bryce began to surface. Jasmine had kept a watchful eye on things since the first of his drunken shots had appeared on Nighttime Live. Someone inside his inner circle was publicizing his downward spiral, laughing at him openly, and encouraging others to do the same. It wasn’t funny. Bryce seemed hated even by the people that hung around him.
Perhaps he deserved that kind of ridicule, but I knew it wouldn’t help him stay alive. I also knew that John had been keeping tabs on his son but that out of respect for his daughter, had kept his concern to himself. After a while, it became difficult for any of us to stay quiet. If Instagram was any indication, Bryce was nearing rock-bottom. There were enough viral videos and gifs to prove it.
“I’ve tried calling him,” Camille said one night while we were eating dinner.
“Your dad has too,” I said.
Camille shook her head. “I wish I knew how bad it was. I mean… it’s easy to take a bad picture when you’re drunk.”
“He looks pretty bad,” I said. “Has he done this before?”
“Yes, but not for this long,” she replied. “Who are these people anyway? Aren’t they supposed to be his friends?”
“I don’t think they’re his friends,” I said. “One guy calls himself a Scandinavian prince, though I don’t think it’s true.”
Camille groaned. “Jasmine told me.”
“He also has a YouTube channel. I get the impression that he mooches off of rich people and sells stories about them to the highest bidder.”
“Bryce needs help,” Camille said.
“Will he get it?”
Camille looked up at me and shook her head. “No, he won’t.”
Two days later, Jasmine called a meeting that she wanted all of us to attend. “It’s time. We have to do something,” she said after showing us another set of videos.
“I agree,” Camille replied. “But what do we do? I’m not comfortable with the idea of Claire going after him.”
“Claire,” Jasmine said, looking at me across the boardroom table, “what do you think?”
I’d been prepared for it. Jasmine had, once before, suggested that I might be the best person to talk some sense into him, though I didn’t actually believe that was true at the time. “I think he needs help. I’d be willing to find him.”
Sabrina, who had been keeping quiet in Jasmine’s presence, never even looking her in the eye, nodded slowly. “I’ll go with you, of course.”
“I’ll go too,” Leda said. “With three of us, maybe we will have a chance.”
Camille reached out her hand and clasped mine. “This is serious. You don’t have to do this.”
“What other choice is there,” I asked, looking around. “I mean, seriously, how else do you get someone like Bryce out of a situation like this? Do you hire someone to kidnap him? Lock him in a rehab center? The only way I know, unless the guy gets thrown in jail, is for people he knows to go after him. And it can’t be you,” I said looking at Camille.
“No,” she said.
“And it can’t be John,” I said. “Do we drag Veronique into this? No.” I sat back in my chair. No part of me wanted to go, but I knew there was no other way. Bryce was capable of a lot of stupid and hurtful things, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of turning my back on him. “Say the word and we’ll go.”
Jasmine smiled at the three of us. She slid a sheet of paper across the table. “We figured out where he was from the images taken in front of the house. He’s staying at a beachfront property in Aonang, Thailand. Sources have told us that the police have been out there a few times. It’s only a matter of time before something serious happens.”
“Alright. We’ll leave ASAP,” I said.
Jasmine looked back at me. “How does tomorrow sound?”
I wanted to explain to John what was happening, so Sabrina and I drove out there one last time. He was sitting out on his lounge chair on the lower patio, writing notes in his book.
“I need to talk to you about something,” I said when I sat down.
“Camille told me,” he said.
“What do you think about the idea?”
John exhaled. “What do I think about sending you to go get my son?” He looked over at me. His eyes were sad and filled with shame. “I don’t feel good about it at all.”
I nodded and looked down at the patio stones at my feet.
“But,” he continued, “What choice do we have? I could send my security team out to wrestle him from that place and leave him at a rehab clinic where he could dry up. But would that work? Would he stay? I don’t think so.”
“Hard to keep the media out of that scenario too,” I said.
“They’d be all over it,” John agreed. “I thought about going myself.”
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” I replied.
“No, not now. How long do you think you’ll be gone?”
“As long as it takes, but probably a couple of weeks.”
“Be careful,” he said, looking at me gravely.
“I’ll have Sabrina and Leda; they’re tough.”
“So is Bryce when he’s angry,” John said.
We sat there together for a few more minutes, but I grew increasingly aware of the time. “I should probably go. We have a few things to work out still. Do you need anything before I take off?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Claire. I appreciate this more than you know.”
“I know you do,” I said. “Let’s hope it works.”
He stood up when I did and walked me back through the house to the front door. Sabrina was waiting out front by the car. “Thank you, Sabrina,” he called to her. “I owe you one.”
Sabrina walked up the steps and shook his hand. “Take care of yourself, Mr. B. We’ll see you soon.”
John put his hand on my shoulder. “See you, kid. Good luck with everything.”
“Maybe we can get some chapters down when I get back, okay?”
“Okay, that sounds good.” He looked at me again and then opened his arms. “Should we… hug?”
“Yeah.” I put my arms around him and gave him a squeeze. “We probably won’t be in contact unless something goes wrong.”
“It’s pretty remote where we’re going, but there’s a satellite phone for emergencies,” Sabrina said.
“No news will be good news then, I guess,” John said. He waved goodbye and watched us go.
The alarm went off at 5 am the next morning. I was already packed and ready to go. Leda was planning to pick me up at seven after grabbing Sabrina, then we would drive to the Changi airport and catch our flight to the Krabi airport in Thailand. From there, we would hire a driver that would take us to Aonang where Bryce was staying. If he had moved on, a whole other level of search would begin.
Camille slid close and wrapped me in her arms. “Are you having any second thoughts?” she whispered.
“No, actually.”
“I hope you know how much this means to us,” she said, planting a few soft kisses along my temple.
“I do know,” I replied. I turned onto my side and looked into her eyes. “I�
��m going to miss you.”
“It’s going to be awful,” she said miserably.
Two weeks without her felt like forever from inside the warm comfort of her arms. Still, I knew there was no way we could ignore Bryce’s situation any longer. I took a deep breath. “Maybe when I get back, we can go somewhere, just the two of us. It doesn’t have to be for long.”
“I would like that,” she whispered.
***
The flight from Singapore to Krabi was a short one. Finding a local to drive us to the area where Bryce was staying was easy since Leda spoke a reasonable amount of Thai. It was a beautiful drive through the dense green. The few other properties we saw along the water’s edge looked like fabulous places to relax. When we reached the address that Jasmine had given us, the driver stopped out front.
I could see the top of the house beyond the cover of palm trees. The gates, when I tried them, were unlocked. Leda spoke to the driver and asked him to wait.
“Here we go,” I said as we all walked onto the grounds. As we passed through the cover of trees and got a better view of the house, we saw the true state the place was in. There was furniture outside, tossed haphazardly about the lawn. There was a bed under a rim of trees that was covered in leaves and mud, looking like it had been left out there for weeks to soak up the rain. There were bottles everywhere, trash and plastic packages stuck to the foliage that rimmed the property. To one side, under a thick of trees, was a spot in the rough that looked like someone had made it their latrine, with accompanying clumps of tissue paper and a foul smell to match. We had only been there for a couple of minutes and already we were thoroughly disgusted.
Dull thumps of electronic music came from inside the house. We walked up the path and around the side to the entrance to the pool deck. The view of the water was amazing. Stony crags flanked either side of the property, standing like sentries at the mouth of the bay. We’d seen no one so far, but as the music grew louder, I knew we were close.
