Page 37 of Hawthorne

“Camilla, let me ask you a question, yes?” I nod hesitantly. “Do you desire me? Do you want me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then, what’s stopping you?”

“Everything,” I whisper. “The world.”

“Fuck the world,” he spits out, annoyed. “It can burn down for all I care. If it is both of us inside this manor, nothing else matters.”

His hands lower from my jaw to my cleavage, dislodging the upper button of my white shirt. My breath hitches when the tip of his index outlines the curve of my breast.

“Tell me to stop,” he pleads.

Stop. It’s an easy word. All I need to do is say it aloud. Right?Right.

My mouth opens, but no words leave my lips. When the silence stretches for longer, another button is freed, showing the top of my bra’s cup.

“Camilla,” the duke growls. “Tell me to stop, or I won’t be able to control myself.”

I have to say it. I need to say it.

And yet, the low vibration of his voice shakes me to the deepest parts of my core, undoing the resolve I had to master for the past day. It’s gone in a split second, completely dominated by my desire for him.

Tilting my head up to look him in the eyes as I voice my answer, I shyly whisper, “Don’t stop.”

And that’s all he needs to hear before diving in.

12

Vincent Hawthorne

Those two words are all the confirmation I need.

With my hands securely holding her bum while her legs are tightly wrapped around my hips, I effortlessly carry her to the bedroom that is attached to the office.

Even though she is not heavy at all, walking is hard for other reasons. The erection that is straining against my slacks and continuously grinding against her core is both blissful and torturous. But this is the excruciating result of days of playing games and avoiding what was inevitable.

The past twenty-four hours especially have been filled with the creation of different ways I could fuck her into oblivion. So much so that I didn’t work today.

“Hold on tight, Ms White,” the rasp is a clear sign of the strain I’m in at the moment. “This is the first and only time I’ll have the finesse of carrying you to a bed so I can fuck you.” My words are followed by a teasing bite on her neck, forcing a moan out of her.

The slim arms wrapped around my neck are not smooth against my skin as usual, and from the corner of my eye, I can see the goosebumps on her skin.

The bedroom decoration is neoclassical, just like the rest of the manor, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck about it now, except for the fact that I am reaching the four-post king-sized bed.

It’s a challenge, especially because I keep burying my head in her neck and chest, kissing and nibbling while managing the short—turned longer than needed—walk.

When my knees hit the edge of the bed, I gently drop her on the mattress. She looks at me wide-eyed with messy hair and a rumpled shirt. My eyes zone in on her cleavage, focusing on the way her chest heaves up and down.

I crawl on top of her, stopping just close enough so I can quickly unbutton the white fabric. With each button that is freed, the more I can see her bra and the valley her full breasts create at the centre of her chest.

Camilla’s hands are shakily gripping the bed’s cover, and I can’t help but guide them to my chest over my shirt as a way to let her know I want her to undress me. too.

I might be a duke,her boss,and from her perspective, her superior. But I am still a man, and I sure as hell love the tingling that ignites on my skin every time she touches me.

“Do not be afraid to touch me.”

Her shaky hands lower to my buttons and start to work, revealing my torso to her. My hands, which were on her waist, rise up to her chest, grabbing a handful.

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