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I double my efforts, hoping to bring him to orgasm quickly so we can spend a long time playing with each other afterward. I have fantasies. So many fantasies. About tying him to my bed. Spreading him out and fucking him while he’s helpless. While he can’t do anything but take it.
God.
Cameron’s hips lift to meet my mouth, and I know he’s close.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and I prepare for the explosion at the back of my throat.
The door is pushed open.
My mother is standing in the doorway, holding two glasses of sweet tea.
I pull my mouth off Cameron.
He comes anyway, unable to stop himself. I feel the hot splash against my chin. My neck.
My mother screams.
The glasses slip from her hands onto the floor. Sweet tea splashes everywhere. Ice nuggets scatter across the white carpet.
My heart stops.
Cameron rolls to the other side of the bed and drops to the floor, out of view.
There’s cum all over the white bedspread. All over my chin.
My mother’s hands fly to cover her mouth. Her eyes are gigantic.
“Mom,” I say calmly.
“No, no, no, no,” she yells and runs out.
Cameron peeks over the bed at me.
“Fuck,” I yell.
Cameron stands, pulling his pants up frantically. He grabs me by the shoulders and says, “We need to find Alan.”
29
CAMERON
We race down the sweeping staircase. Our footsteps echo off the walls like rocks tumbling down a mountain slope. Lucien’s hand grips mine tight as we take the stairs two at a time.
Mrs. Ashford’s face contorted in horrific shock, and her mouth opened in a silent scream before the actual scream came.
Oh God. Oh God.
We hit the bottom of the staircase, and Lucien yanks me left through a narrow hallway I didn’t notice before. The walls are closer here, painted a soft cream color with framed family photos I don’t have time to look at. Our breathing is ragged.
“This way,” Lucien gasps, pulling me around another corner.
The hallway opens into the kitchen. Massive. Gleaming white marble and stainless steel. There’s an older man wearing a white apron, standing at the counter with a silver cocktail shaker in one hand and a pair of ornate silver tongs in the other. He’s dropping ice cubes into a crystal glass with precision.
When we burst through the doorway, he looks up.
An ice cube slips from the tongs.
It hits the marble counter with a sharp crack and skitters across the surface. The man fumbles, catching it just before it falls to the floor. His eyes are wide with surprise.
