Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3 (11 page)

It was for the sake of education. It had nothing to do with waking up every night from dreams of her, hand wrapped around his dick and two pulls from coming all over his stomach. In his dreams, he’d taken her every way he’d wanted to and in a few positions and settings so deviant they nearly fried his brain. He even caught himself daydreaming instead of focusing on his work. He’d stare out across the Los Angeles skyline until it blurred and he instead saw Camille’s silky, black hair fanning around her delicate elfin face.

That decided it. He needed closure on this if he had any hope of having a productive workday. He emailed Kat, explained the situation—though leaving out some sensitive details—and asked if she had Camille’s contact information. He didn’t think Kat would release anything to him, but it was better than sitting there with his thumb up his ass.

The hour between sending the email and getting her response was, like the rest of his morning, a total waste. After the first twenty minutes, Damien abandoned his desk completely, taking his phone and a stack of PA applications to the broad leather chair in the corner. He weeded through the applicants, finding seven that required more follow-up attention than he could muster.

When Kat’s email pinged his inbox, he jumped up from the chair, scattering papers all over the plush navy carpet. He ignored them and pulled up her email, then sighed in resignation. She offered to call Camille on his behalf, but wouldn’t give out her information. He respected that, even if it didn’t suit his current needs. If only Maison Domine had an online Rolodex…

Fuck, he was an idiot! He dug through his work bag until he found the business card he’d stuffed there Saturday then promptly forgotten about. Before he’d left for Derek’s, he’d seen Camille’s purse spilled over on the counter, with its contents all over the countertop. A business card had been on the edge of the mess, just begging him to take it. He’d sworn not to call her. He wouldn’t pursue this relationship, business or otherwise. It set a bad precedent, but he was a desperate man.

Her phone number wasn’t listed, just her name and job title:
Cam Verona, Junior Literary Agent, Finnick Literary Agency
. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Still, it was a start. He hopped online, hoping her contact information would be listed…but it wasn’t. Not even her name was on the website, though those of other junior agents were.

How odd. Maybe it was out of date, but he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. He called the general number he found online, then asked for Camille. The welcoming voice on the phone turned frigid. “And you are?”

What the hell? “I’m a friend from out of town,” he explained smoothly. “I’d just like to leave a message for her.”

“Oh.” The secretary mellowed. “Sure, Mr…”

“Damien Winter. I was hoping to take her to lunch while I was here, but her cell phone isn’t connecting.”

His answer passed muster. “I’ll give this to Ms. Verona. Thank you, Mr. Winter.”

Well, at least he knew she still worked there. Why wouldn’t she be on the site?

He emailed Kat, saying she didn’t need to call Camille and reconfirming his demonstration there for Saturday night.

It would be quite the enjoyable weekend, once things fell into place.

For three days Cam had jumped at every electronic noise coming from her phone. Text messages, email alerts, phone calls—they all kept her on edge. No more random emails from Shawn had appeared and no new threats had surfaced. She was ready to assume the pissed-off reader was over his or her little fit and would leave her alone. Media hype in general had calmed down once Finnick announced they were doing an internal inquiry and holding accountable any responsible parties, which seemed to be blood enough for the piranhas at
Midnight Entertainment
.

When Kathy, the sweet front-office receptionist, brought her a phone message, her whole body cramped. Once she reconciled Kathy’s smile with her gut instinct, Cam offered a wan smile in return.

“Some man called for you, Cam. Sounded pretty sexy too.” She fluttered the phone message in between two perfectly filed, shell-pink fingernails.

Cam extended her own woefully unmanicured hand for the note. “Thanks, lady. Here’s hoping it’s my Prince Charming—or Publishers Clearing House saying I’ve won a million dollars!” They cracked up, and Kathy headed back to her desk.

Cam braced herself for the worst, then looked at the note. Her heart tripped when Damien’s name popped off the page.
Friend in town. Lunch date?
was the whole message, penned in precise handwriting, followed by his phone number.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about Damien, though after reviewing their night together a hundred times, awake and asleep, she’d simply concluded that the note he’d left was a courtesy so that he wouldn’t be that guy sneaking out after a one-night stand. He seemed decent enough to make the gesture.

Before she could think about it too much, she called him. Out of pure curiosity, she insisted to herself, though that bullshit was thicker than Tolstoy’s oeuvre.

“Hello?” Sexy voice indeed! Something about the airwaves dimmed the intensity of Damien’s voice—as evidenced by her underwear that hadn’t gone completely damp—but there was no denying he’d be hell on a mic.

“Damien?” Her voice hit an embarrassingly high register and she rolled her eyes. Taking a sip from her now-cold coffee, she winced and continued. “It’s Cam…from the weekend. You left a message for me?” Smooth, Verona. Very smooth.

His laugh rumbled through her speaker and pulled at her nipples. “I know who it is, sweetheart.”

Aw fuck. There went her panties. “How can I help you?”

“You can start by taking that tone out of your voice.” His words belied his jovial tone.

She snuck a look around the office. No one was within hearing range, but she was still in her real life now. “We’re not at the club anymore!”

“Does that mean all your manners are gone?” She pictured the look on his face, the expectant arched eyebrow and quirked lip, waiting for her to dig herself in deeper.

Her heavy sigh ruffled the loose papers on her desk. “Sorry.” She’d been saying that far too often the past week. Maybe she needed to surround herself with men who were a little more beta.

“Good girl.”

His words sizzled through her, burning aside the crazy thought of eschewing Doms. She just couldn’t help herself.

“Now are you ready to listen?”

Cam nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“I’ll let that slide since you’re at work, sweetheart. But I’m
Sir
to you. Don’t forget it.”

The knot of lust kinking up her stomach flooded south. She stayed silent, hoping he’d finish their conversation before he talked her into an orgasm.

“I seem to be in a situation and I could use your help.”

“What, you need a literary agent?” Her dull nails tapped out an anxious rhythm on her keyboard.

“I’ll add that to your punishment. As I was saying, I have two events this weekend and my demo partner is still ill. I would be much obliged if you would help me out.”

“Another demo?” There was her Minnie Mouse voice again. But since her two settings seemed to be Bitchy and Squeaky with him, she stuck with the safer option.

“One Friday night in San Diego, one Saturday evening, again at Maison. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up.”

She’d dreamed about the wicked tortures his toy bag held, whether he could make pain as pleasurable as heat or ice. Between the orgasms in her sleep, the embarrassing number of times she’d buried her fingers inside herself and imagined him fucking her and the stress from her week so far, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She needed the release. “Okay,” she replied, then rattled off her address. In any other situation, maybe she would have hedged, but the promise of having Damien scene with her again overcame her most rabbit-cautious instincts.

He sounded surprised, even upbeat. “How about I take you to dinner tomorrow and we can go over the details. I imagine you don’t want to discuss it at work.”

The blush that crept across her cheeks burned, another reminder of the devious ways he’d played her Saturday. “Good point.”

“I’ll text you the details. Don’t be late, sweetheart.” He hung up on her, the dead air throbbing in her ear.

Hell. The next thirty-odd hours were going to drag on forever.

Thursday afternoon, her first day back in her apartment, Cam received a text from Damien telling her when and where to meet for dinner. After a little research into the restaurant, one she’d never heard of, she realized why—it was so far outside her budget that it never even hit her radar. She was half-tempted to counter his offer with
How about In-N-Out?
or maybe
Dinner at my place instead? I’ll be dessert…
But the former would only get her a punishment and the latter was too…honest.

Yep, she had it bad. When she got home, she’d primped and tried to soothe her ragged nerves. He’d presented this weekend as a business arrangement, after all, so she tried to reign in her expectations. It wouldn’t suit to show up expecting a repeat of Saturday and getting nothing but contract negotiations.

Dressed in a conservative black dress and high black heels, her one nod to the possibility of having the evening heat up, she opened her door to go wait for Damien in the lobby and ran into a hard chest on the other side. Strong hands steadied her as her head swam with his scent—Damien.

“What are you doing here so early?”

His hazel eyes twinkled at her when he smiled. “Having beautiful submissives run into me, evidently.”

Cam blushed. Why couldn’t she make it through one encounter with him, dignity intact? “I’m not a subm—” At his look, she bit off her protest. She hadn’t even been able to sell herself on that lie lately. “Fine. But I’m a very particular, picky,
demanding
submissive,” she groused.

He laughed and the sound rumbled through her chest where they still touched. “No argument from me.” He plucked the keys from her hand, pulled her door closed and locked it before pocketing the key ring and locking their fingers together. Damien led her down the hall like this was a date. Butterflies hatched in her stomach.

While they waited for the elevator, he studied her, his eyes stroking up and down her body with the look of a man who’d seen that body naked and lost in ecstasy. “I’m glad you were ready early. I dislike being tardy.”

She tapped her heel on the dull-gray carpet. “Control freak much?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. He guided her inside, then said, “That will be two.”

“Two what?” She glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to ignore the breadth of his shoulders leaning against the metal-paneled car.

“Two good spanks.”

The hand not held by him tightened into a fist. The man was infuriating but, as arousal coated her pussy lips, undeniably hot. The doors of the elevator slid open and they entered.

Big mistake. The lifts in her building were older, smaller. Having Damien contained in that kind of space was hell on her control. She’d decided that she’d do these two scenes with him—God knew she needed the quick-fix release of a good scene—but no more. No fucking, no kissing, no—

He trapped her against the mirrored back wall of the elevator. “Three. And wipe that look from your face if you don’t want me taking you back upstairs and fucking you all night.”

Panties. Soaked. “What look?” Why did she have to get so turned on by the caveman act?

With one foot, he shoved her legs apart, filling the space between her thighs and shoving her skirt upward in the process. He skimmed one smooth hand up her thigh and under her skirt until he found the edge of her lacy boy shorts. He groaned, then stepped back and hit the STOP button on the elevator.

Now she was in trouble. “Turn around,” he bit out.

On shaking legs, she spun, bracing her arms on the mirrored wall. She caught sight of herself, dark-lined eyes soft with arousal, lips swollen and ready for him. Then her gaze slipped to Damien in the background, his jaw clenching and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Don’t look away, sweetheart.”

A fresh wave of arousal made her dizzy and toyed with her womb. She couldn’t, for anything, break eye contact with his reflection. The few feet separating them grew heated, heavy, until he closed the space and fitted himself flush against her back. With one hand, he swept her hair off her neck, eyes locked with hers the entire time. Moving in slow motion, he set his lips on her exposed neck and bit down, just shy of leaving a visible mark along with the rush of tingles.

Cam wished he had. She’d never been fond of bruises or welts, mostly because they hurt and hickeys she saw as a result of juvenile fumbling around. But she’d gladly wear Damien’s teeth marks. Fuck. Who the hell was she turning into?

Before she could think more about it and ruin the moment, Damien flipped her dress up to expose her black panties. “I can smell your arousal.” His words brushed air over her neck and her arms shook with the stress of holding herself upright under his verbal and physical onslaught. One of his hands cracked against her ass and she jumped, expecting pain but getting nothing but hot pleasure and an aching reminder that she wanted him inside her. Before she could recover her equilibrium, he ripped both sides of her boy shorts, shredding the fine lace without effort.