Page 129 of Where the Snakes Sleep

I want to walk into his space, tell him what I want, take exactly that, and leave. No ambiguity. No hidden motive. No Camille quietly steering the interaction while performing patience. My rules and my terms. If he says no, it stops. If he says yes, then for once we both know exactly what this is and neither of us is pretending otherwise.

The idea settles under my skin like a second heartbeat.

I stare at the ceiling and admit, “This is probably a terrible idea.”

Camille is in the library. I find him on the couch, a book open across his lap.

I stop in the doorway, and he looks up. Camille snaps the book shut, then sits very still, waiting, as I walk towards him. I halt a few feet from him, folding my arms across my chest.

“Fuck me,” I demand.

His body remains motionless, but his eyes heat before there’s a flicker of caution. That caution almost makes me rethink. It means he understands the stakes, how tangled we still are.

Camille slides the book onto the low table beside him, straightening his back. “Alright.”

I shake my head. “No—not alright yet.” Understanding dawns in the lines around his eyes. I inhale slowly. “If we do this, it does not mean I forgive you.”

“I understand.”

“It doesn’t mean we’re back together or anything like that.”

“I understand.”

“It doesn’t give you proof that everything’s fine.”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t get to decide what happens.”

He meets my gaze without flinching. “Okay.”

“I do, and if you don’t like that, say no now.”

He’s silent for a few tense moments, and I fight the urge to smile at his seriousness. Finally, he says, “I am comfortable with you deciding what happens, provided I can tell you if I need something to stop.”

Relief loosens the tight knot in my chest. “Obviously. There will be rules, too.” He leans forward a fraction, concentration sharpening his face. “No kissing, no pet names, actually—no talking unless it’s to say you need to stop or something, and no touching yourself or me without my permission.” I swallow. “If you don’t want this, say so.”

“I want it.” His answer is instantaneous, and firm enough to send heat spiraling through me.

“Sex.”

“Yes.”

“Not some self-punishment bullshit where you let me do anything because you think you deserve it.”

His eyes narrow. “That is not why I’m agreeing.”

“How do I know?”

“You don’t. But I can tell you that I want you, and I am willing to let you control this because I should have done it from the start. Both are true.”

My throat tightens. I hate when he cuts through my anger like that. “Stand up.”

He stands, tall in one fluid motion. Normally I’d lean into his height; today it reminds me how easily he could overpower me. The thought makes me shiver with something dark and delicious.

“Bedroom,” I command.

His eyes flick toward the door. “Mine?”