Page 40 of Dr. Billionaire's Fake Marriage

"Aside from her usual way of saying you look like her when she was younger, Mother likes you because she sees a daughter she couldn't have in you." I explain, "Mother doesn't like many people."

She smiles at my joke. "But she hates me now, thanks to you and this marriage."

I laugh, realizing that Camile values Mother's opinion of her. "She is just still in shock over the whole marriage; she will get over it soon, trust me." I see Camile's shoulders become more relaxed.

I am sitting next to her, but the wind on the rooftop is working against my decision to make this marriage one without intimacy.

“We should go home,” I suggest. Camile looks at me like she just remembered that we live in the same house.

Camile still sits while I stand up. "I thought you didn't want us to be seen together at the hospital."

I shake my head. "I don't care anymore," I say. "We have a long day tomorrow."

Camile frowns. "Tomorrow?" she asks. "What is happening tomorrow?"

"Henry and Amelia's wedding rehearsal," I remind her. I can see her phone buzz; she calls Amelia's name and remembers that she is out of touch with the whole wedding process.

"We will be there tomorrow morning," I hear Camile whisper to Amelia over the phone. She stands up to leave, but her coat must be caught on a rogue nail, making her almost trip to the floor.

I run to her to keep her from falling, but her soft hand grips me instead. She seems to need me to protect her forever.

I look up, and my eyes fall on hers, then on her lips. She sighs as her eyes search mine. My back aches from bending to grab Camile, and she holds me longer than I thought she would.

“Why do you have to be this beautiful?” I find myself saying as my arm rests around Camile’s waist.

She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t take her eyes off me; she only bats her eyelashes. I motion to pull away, but she moves in for a kiss.

The air above us feels crisp when her lips touch mine.

Camile finds my lost self whenever she kisses me, and right now, I feel like I am being found. I don’t want her to lose me again, so I give in to the kiss.

I give in to the softness of her lips - to the subtleness in her breath. Her shampoo scent fills my nostrils, taking over the perfume I formerly smelled. I retreat and she looks up, wondering why I stopped. I push her hair back behind her ears, and her full beautiful eyes beg me not to stop.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

“I want you, Troy,” she says as if she can’t help herself. She tugs at my shirt, her eyes falling on my chest like she is too shy to admit that she wants me.

I hold her tighter and murmur, "I want you too." Her eyes light up, realizing that she is not alone.

“We are breaking the contract rule,” she says, and I let her raise her head.

“I know,” I reply, “rules are meant to be broken.”

I see the fear on her face that we might be heading to a destructive end. I am not sure I can assure her that we aren't heading to a place where our hearts could be broken. "I can't make promises to you, Camile," I say. "I can't make promises to myself."

She nods. “I don’t want you to,” she retorts. “I just want you to be my husband tonight.”

I smile, pulling her in until I am holding her arm. "Let's go home," I say.

Camile obliges as I find my car in the parking lot. My eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror, and I flash a smile whenever she tries to divert her eyes.

I take her mouth as soon as I open the door to the house. She drops her bag on the floor by the entrance, and our clothes are littered everywhere. I wrap her legs around my waist, running my fingers through her luscious hair.

"Gosh! You are so beautiful," I say, refraining from attacking her mouth, and instead, I kiss her neck. She arches her back against my body. I lay her gently on the bed, gazing eagerly at her pink lace bra and watching her unstrap it before me.

She beckons for me to come on the bed - to come over to her. I don't answer immediately; I wait to take in the sight of her full round breasts. Her taught, brown nipples are pointed at me, begging for my touch. I pull off my shirt first, resting on one elbow as I caress her neck. She moans every time my lips graze it, but when my wet mouth finds her left nipple, she moans my name for the first time.

I have it in my mouth while my hand is rubbing her right breast. I raise my head to see her gone into ecstasy: her eyes are closed, and her breath is heavy.

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