Camden_Four Sons

by K. Webster

  “Miss Beckett—oh…oh my,” a voice says as the door to my office opens.

  Horrified at our position, I swivel away in my chair to right my shirt. Camden wisely strides away from me toward Nellie.

  “That looked worse than it was,” he tells her. “I know how pretty little girls like to gossip. She has a migraine.” He smiles as he tugs on a strand of her hair. “Plus, I don’t want you thinking I’m interested in her…” he trails off, “because I’ve been wanting to ask you out all week.”

  He has?

  “You have?” she breathes, her eyes wide with awe.

  “Tonight. Dinner at Zaggato’s?”

  “The waiting list is months in advance,” she utters.

  “I always get what I want, Nellie. Tell me your number and I’ll get your address later to pick you up at seven.”

  She rattles off her number, and he plugs it in his phone. I’m composed by the time they finish.

  “Miss Beckett, your father called. He says the lunch you canceled was important,” she finally says, smiling. “Please call him back.”

  “Of course,” I say tightly. “And next time, knock please.”

  She gives me a clipped nod and Camden a bright smile before slipping from my office. The migraine is in full force now. Tears burn at my eyes. That was so close. Shit.

  “Calm down, Poppy,” Camden grumbles. “It was nothing. I fixed it.” He reaches into his pocket and hands me a couple pills. I toss them back and swallow them dry.

  “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “Come on. You missing lunch is a thing of the past. We’ll grab food really quick. Let’s go.”

  I rise to my feet and grab my purse. “We can’t…uh, we can’t ever do stuff like that. It looks bad.”

  “Yeah, we’d hate for Daddy to find out,” he says as he storms out of my office.

  What the hell?

  “Camden!” I call out as I rush behind him. Several eyes dart our way, but I ignore them. He’s at the elevators by the time I catch up. I grip his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  He flashes me a wide smile, but his steel-blue eyes are hard. This is the look I struggle with so much. Camden Pearson is better at faking than I am. A monster lives inside him and rages to be set free. Just then, his monster was nearly cut loose.

  “You can’t be mad at me for what didn’t happen,” I say lamely. “I’m engaged.”

  He chuckles. “And I’m about to go on a date tonight with a beautiful woman. Nothing happened, and nothing will.”

  My head throbs. I don’t understand his abrupt mood swing. The doors open, and I follow him inside. He mashes the button and ignores me the whole way down. Once in the parking garage, he stalks over to his Bugatti. One of the partners admires it as he climbs out of his Porsche. He gives me a nod before walking inside, leaving us alone. Camden climbs in, and I hurry after him. The tires peel out, and I quickly click my seatbelt into place.

  We drive out of the garage into the sunlight. It warms my flesh, and I yawn, suddenly exhausted. Closing my eyes, I rest for a moment.

  * * *

  “A little too much to drink,” Camden says. “She needs to sleep it off.”

  “Sleeep,” I slur and giggle.

  The man laughs, shaking his head. “A little early in the day for that, miss. But your secret is our secret. Enjoy your stay.”

  * * *

  Migraines are the worst. I wake, thankful to realize it’s gone. Squinting, I try to make sense of where I am. I’m stretched out in a bed, not a car. A very soft bed. It’s dark, and I can’t see anything but shadows.

  Mateo’s.

  I’m at Mateo’s.

  It’s all coming back to me.

  It’s Friday, and it’s evening. That’s where I am.

  A warm hand caresses my stomach, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’ll have to call the doctor. Losing half my day to a blackout migraine is scary. What if I have a brain tumor or something? The terror bleeds away as desire pools in my belly. Mateo’s hand finds my bare breast, and he squeezes. His mouth starts pressing kisses down the middle of my chest. I moan when he spreads my thighs apart. He’s rougher than usual, his fingers bruising my flesh, and I love it. His body presses against mine, his hard length straining against his boxers between us. A thrill of pleasure shoots through me as he grinds his cock against me. Almost painfully so.

  I’m dizzied by his touch. My nails scrape along his flesh as he dry humps me. His lips find my neck below my ear and my back arches, pressing my tits against his chest. He smells good. Different. He smells like…

  I freeze.

  Panic stutters through me.

  I feel his smile on my neck. “Did you enjoy your nap, Popps?”

  Camden.

  Oh. My. God.

  “No…” I choke out.

  “That’s not what you were saying hours ago when I fucked you,” he taunts.

  I shove him hard, and he rolls off me. My body falls to the floor with a thud in my attempt to escape him. Tears spring to my eyes as I blindly search for a lamp or something. Before I can find one, the overhead light comes on. I spin around to find a disheveled Camden watching me with narrowed eyes, all flirtation and ease gone from his features.

  He’s glaring. Angry. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. Against my better judgment, I skim down his cut, muscled chest down to the dark trail of hair on his lower abs leading below his black boxer briefs. I blink several times at the way his large cock strains in his underwear—underwear smeared with my arousal across the front.

  “Fuck!” I hiss. “How did this happen? What did we do?”

  He skims his gaze along my naked flesh. “What didn’t we do is a better question.”

  I shake my head in horror. “No. I don’t believe it.”

  “Oh?” He saunters over to the bedside table and pulls out his phone. “This says otherwise.” He tosses it on the bed between us.

  Dread pools in my belly.

  I snag the sheet from the bed and wrap it around me, hiding my nakedness from him, then snatch up the phone. It’s open to his pictures folder. I stare in disbelief.

  There we are. Middle of the day. Lying in the bed. Naked. My eyes are closed, and his lips are on mine as he takes a selfie.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  When I flip through the pictures, I’m stunned to find several of them with us in intimate positions. I recall nothing. Holy shit.

  “Did you rape me?” I ask, horrified.

  He laughs scornfully. “Nope. What you see in those pictures is all that happened.”

  “Why did you do this?” I start deleting pictures as quickly as I can, and he makes no moves to take the phone from me.

  “Insurance.”

  “Insurance for what?” I screech.

  He shrugs. “To get what I want.”

  “Which is what? To ruin my life?”

  “Nobody has to know about this. Unless you decide to change things. Then, everyone will know,” he says simply as he prowls my way.

  An affair on my fiancé with my young intern. The press would have a field day and my campaign would be ruined. All I’ve worked for would go down the toilet.

  He’s blackmailing me.

  Shit!

  I stumble away from him as reality sets in, dropping the phone to the carpet. He backs me against the wall, tearing the sheet away. When his body presses against my bare flesh, I shudder. My eyes close as I wait for the tears that never come. My mind is too busy trying to plan how I’ll fix this—how I’ll erase it all. Strong, warm hands grip my hips, and I snap my gaze up to stare into his cruel blue eyes.

  His thumbs rub circles along my naked skin, and I curse the way my body heats to his touch.

  “What did you give me? You drugged me,” I accuse, pressing my palms against his sculpted chest to push him away. He’s like an immovable wall.

  “A little bit of this. A little bit of that. Something to make you sleepy. Something to make you horny.�
� His lips curl up into an evil smile that shouldn’t look hot. “You were horny first, for the record. Then you tired yourself out.” He reaches up and grips my jaw in an owning way. “Do you remember the way you came all over my tongue, Popps?”

  “No. I would never,” I snap. But that’s a lie. Memories from this afternoon flutter into my mind.

  “Please,” I beg. His hot breath on my naked thigh drives me wild. This is a bad idea, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to figure out why. All I know is I want him.

  “Say it again,” he mutters, his voice husky.

  “Please.”

  His tongue runs along my slit, and I lose my mind to pleasure.

  My body heats several degrees at his touch and the memory fresh in my mind. My nipples harden as I allow myself to consider the fact that this wolf in sheep’s clothing was between my thighs. And I begged him for it. Fuck.

  “Is that so?” he murmurs. His lips press to mine, and I taste me, confirming his words.

  Shit!

  What have I done?

  Chapter Seven

  Camden

  I push my tongue into her mouth, swiping it across hers. She’s frozen, and I take advantage, kissing her like she’s never been kissed before. Hard. Punishing. I fuck her mouth like I’m going to fuck her pussy one day. And I will.

  Poppy Beckett will give me everything.

  She’ll say yes because she has to. There is no other way.

  While she’s stunned and coming to terms with our arrangement, I grab her round ass and lift before sliding my palms beneath her thighs, spreading her for me. The moment my cock presses against her heat, she moans.

  Too easy, Poppy.

  I rock my hips against her, loving the way her breath hitches each time I press against her clit. Her pussy is drenched—thanks to the ecstasy still running through her veins—and she claws at my shoulders.

  “Let me go,” she moans against my mouth. “I hate you.”

  I laugh as I press kisses along her jaw to her ear. “Hate can be just as hot as love.”

  It doesn’t take much effort before Poppy comes apart at my touch. Her head bumps against the wall, and she screams with pleasure. I don’t give her time to recover before I drop her to her feet and walk away. When I glance over at her, she looks like a delightful mess. Her chest rising and falling as she pants. Hair wild. Cheeks crimson. If I weren’t so controlled in my plan, I’d walk right back over there and fuck her like she wants.

  Oh, and does she want.

  Her blue eyes blaze with lust. Swollen, pink lips part. Hell, she’s not even hiding her nudity from me. Every creamy curve is on full display. One day, I’ll nip and suck on every part. One day. Just not today.

  “I don’t understand what you want from me,” she mutters, her arms crossing over her chest to try to hide herself from me.

  Too bad I’ve seen it all, sweetheart.

  “Get dressed. I’ll fill you in on the way home.”

  She blinks at me and shakes her head. “I’ll call a cab.”

  I pick up her discarded skirt and toss it on the bed. “No, you won’t. I wouldn’t go through all this trouble without reason. Get dressed and let’s go. Move your ass, woman.”

  Fire blazes in her stare, but the tears never come. I’m thankful. Poppy was always a good target because she is strong. Most women would be a blubbering mess. I need her to remain rigid. I want to break her—and nobody wants to break something soft.

  She dresses quickly, then starts hunting for something. I throw on my clothes and hold up her phone.

  “Looking for this?”

  She glowers at me. “Mateo must be worried sick.” She looks over at the bedside clock and shudders. “It’s eleven. I was supposed to come over after my appointment with the wedding planner that I missed. I’ll bet he’s sent out a search party by now.”

  I almost feel bad for her.

  “Actually,” I reveal with a wicked grin, “he never even texted.”

  Her lashes flutter as her brows crash together. “Whatever. He’s worried sick.”

  “He’s not.”

  I offer her phone in the palm of my hand. She storms over to it, trying to take it, and I seize the opportunity to pull her against me. Her mouth pops open in shock when I grab a handful of her ass.

  “He never called or texted,” I say again. “How does that make you feel?” I’d expected him to worry, and when he didn’t reach out, it made my job easier.

  Her nostrils flare, and the tip of her nose turns pink. She chooses this moment to burst into tears. My chest feels tight, but I ignore it. I release her and give her back her phone. She frowns as tears roll down her cheeks, all the while looking for evidence he tried to make contact. Then, she finds what I want her to.

  “What’s this?” she chokes out.

  “The start of our illicit affair,” I say, chuckling.

  From the moment I got her in my car this afternoon and she passed out—thanks to the sleeping pill I’d given her in place of her migraine medicine—I texted back and forth between our phones. Documented how the affair started the night of the governor’s birthday party. How we hooked up in the bathroom. That the secrets are too hard to keep from everyone. Some of the same pictures she deleted on my camera roll had been texted between us. Basically, an entire day of communication from us.

  “You asshole,” she snaps. “All this for my pussy?”

  Shaking my head, I open the door and usher her out of the hotel room. “Don’t flatter yourself, Popps. Your pussy is just a perk of our arrangement.”

  * * *

  She ignores me the entire way to her apartment. This time, I park and follow her inside. I expect a fight, but she’s still groggy from the medicine. Once inside her place, she motions to the couch before disappearing into her room. The shower turns on, so I make myself at home. Just as I knew, her home is colorful and fun. Plants line the windows. The walls are painted in pretty reds, oranges, and yellows. It’s all very Bohemian and unlike Poppy. The girl who lives outside these walls is pastel and a fucking bore. The girl who lives within them is colorful and fun.

  While she showers, I scrounge around in her refrigerator. Finding some leftovers that don’t look old, I set to microwaving them for her since she hasn’t eaten. Earlier, while she slept, I took Nellie to dinner like I promised. The girl practically threw herself at me in the car after, trying to kiss me. I told her when I really like someone, I like to take it slow. She seemed unsure how to take my words. And when I dropped her off, she tried to reel back in the fact that she was ready to whore herself out to me and pretended to be demure. Batted her lashes. Smiled prettily. Asked me to call her.

  I deleted her number.

  Nellie was just an alibi.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m thrilled to see it’s one of my college buddies, Cronk. Cronk isn’t his real name, but his real name is unimportant. It’s what kind of friend he is that is important. Cronk is a hacker.

  Cronk: Your request has been completed. I wish I could bleach my eyeballs. You owe me, fucker.

  And I do—which is why I wire him eighty thousand for his troubles, instead of the forty promised. He’ll send me a “receipt” for a small yacht so it’ll look legit to the IRS if they ever come sniffing around. You can never be too careful.

  Me: See some old guys in speedos at the beach?

  Cronk: Four of them. Filthy as fuck.

  The information Cronk has uncovered will be saved to a flash drive and mailed to Nixon under the guise of a birthday present for me. Nixon will unknowingly keep it until I need it. The information will be safe.

  Pocketing my phone, I walk into the living room, set Poppy’s food down on a pile of magazines, then locate some wine. I bring the bottle and a glass. She’s going to need it. I settle myself in the middle of the couch to wait for her. A few moments later, she stomps in looking closer to my age than her own. For a second, I’m caught by how gorgeous she is when she’s being the real Poppy Beckett. Her we
t hair is pulled into a messy bun. The makeup on her face has been scrubbed clean. She wears a sweatshirt several sizes too big and some tight yoga capris. My dick twitches in appreciation.

  I pat the cushion beside me. “Come eat, beautiful.”

  She scowls, but obeys. Good girl. Her body settles beside mine and she gobbles up her food. As she finishes, I pour her some wine. I watch with amusement as she guzzles it down. So petulant. It makes me want to spank her. With a smile, I pour her another glass.

  “Careful,” I say lowly. “If you lose your senses again, I will take advantage. It’s in my nature. This time, rather than my tongue, it’ll be my dick inside you.”

  Her pale cheeks redden, and she flips me off. “Go to hell.”

  “I want meetings with some influential political players,” I tell her, cutting straight to the chase. When I rattle off the names of the police commissioner, the mayor, a senator, and a judge, she frowns.

  “All this because you want to meet with them? For what? To have a flawless résumé?” Her voice is shrill. “You’re a sociopath.”

  I laugh and shrug. “I think the term you’re looking for is psychopath. And my reasoning is unimportant to you. All you have to do is obey.”

  “Or what?” she challenges, her nostrils flaring.

  “Or I expose your illicit affair to every news and media outlet in the country.”

  “People have affairs all the time,” she bites out. She downs the rest of the wine and wisely sets the glass on the table.

  “But most of them are with consenting adults.”

  “As are we,” she screeches, her face turning red with anger.

  “But what about when you were my babysitter, Poppy?”

  She blinks at me in horror. “Gross. I would never…don’t even insinuate something so sick.”

  My mind floods with my own sick past. It strengthens my resolve. “The media would have a field day with that. Your opponent would crucify you with that information.”

  “Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, her voice cracking as more tears well in her eyes. One spills out and races down her pink cheek.