Page 138 of Corrupting Camille
I step beside her, close enough that the back of her arm brushes mine. I watch the way her breath stumbles just a fraction.
“Sometimes I make one move a day,” I answer, voice low, tight, not entirely in control. “Sometimes I reset the board and start again.”
She nods, slow and thoughtful, like she gets it. Like she fucking understands me. Not just the surface…me. That I don’t like loose ends. That I don’t like chaos I didn’t create. That sometimes burning it all down is cleaner than letting it rot.
Then she turns her head, brown eyes catching mine, wide and soft and dark like secrets, and she smiles, barely, but enough. Her lips quirk, just the corner. And it wrecks me.
She takes another sip of the whiskey and licks a drop from her bottom lip, slow and thoughtless.
My hands itch.
And then, she tilts her head slightly, playful, but her voice is low, serious. Loaded.
“Play with me?”
I freeze. The words land between us, sharp and provocative. They’re not innocent. She doesn’t say it like she means chess, not at first.
She knows what it sounds like. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
And then she backs away from the board, eyes still locked on mine, like she’s testing how far she can push.
I reach for her without thinking, palm sliding around her waist, grip firm, possessive.
She smirks. “I meant chess.”
I lean in, my voice a growl at her ear. “Liar.”
“Sit,” I command softly, voice low and dripping challenge. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She lifts one delicate eyebrow, setting the whiskey tumbler aside. A smile curls at the corner of her mouth, sly and knowing, as she lowers herself into the chair opposite me. The robe slips slightly from her shoulder again, revealing the soft curve of her collarbone, skin still marked faintly from my mouth. I grit my teeth, forcing my attention to the board.
I sink into the chair across from her, leaning back slowly, eyes locked on hers. I gesture casually at the marble chess pieces.
“White moves first, Camille.”
She meets my gaze boldly, picking up a polished white pawn and slids it forward two spaces, controlled, confident.
“Queen’s gambit,” I note quietly, a slight edge of amusement in my voice. “Classic. Predictable.”
She tilts her head slightly, eyes sparkling dangerously. “Or maybe I just want to see if you’ll take the bait.”
I smirk, selecting my pawn and advancing it slowly, deliberately, declining her offered gambit. “I’m patient. I prefer building tension.”
Her lashes lower just a fraction, dark eyes assessing me, fingers grazing the delicate marble queen thoughtfully. “And I prefer breaking it.” She shifts her knight decisively, aggressive and forward. Bold. Reckless. Perfectly Camille.
I narrow my eyes, impressed, countering her move smoothly, positioning my bishop with deliberate precision. “Careful. Aggression without strategy gets you trapped.”
She leans forward slowly, her robe parting slightly as she reaches across the board, moving another pawn, opening a diagonal line of attack. “And caution without risk is boring. Your move.”
My pulse quickens at her defiance, at the subtle heat behind her words. I shift my rook, allowing the formation of a solid defensive line, giving nothing away yet. “You’re good. But you play emotionally. You’ll slip.”
She smiles faintly, dark eyes sharp, analytical. She lifts her queen, sliding it smoothly, ruthlessly forward, directly threatening my bishop. “Funny. You talk like emotion is weakness. Maybe it’s just another weapon you don’t know how to use.”
Fuck. She’s more than good. She’s exceptional.
My gaze sharpens, blood pounding harder. I push forward a pawn, forcing her to react, a careful jab to draw her closer into a trap. “Or maybe you’re relying too much on instinct and not enough on patience.”
Her fingers hover briefly above a bishop, studying the board intently, the tension between us thickening. Finally, she smirks, making a surprising, daring move, a sacrifice, offering her knight recklessly to pull me out of position.
