19. Supernova

Chapter 19

Supernova

I forgot what it was like to sleep. Really sleep. The type of relaxation and zen that only comes from the comforts of a peaceful mind. My mind hasn't known peace in years. It's always on guard. Ready for battle. Armed and alert.

Except for last night.

My eyelids flutter open, greeting the soft yellow hues of the morning sun. Warm. Everything feels warm. Like my skin, my soul, my entire being is wrapped in a universal embrace.

I've never known death to bring comfort. The thought itself is uncomfortable and yet...

Flipping on my side, I trace the ruffled linen folds of where he slept.

He slept here, didn't he? I didn't make that up, did I?

It's all a bit of haze. But not the type of faded memory that I'm used to though. This haze doesn't scare me. It's not something I'm trying to forget. I want to remember. I think I do .

He was here.

I can smell him.

I can almost taste him on my lips.

He was so close. Mere inches away. For hours. It must have been hours.

But now he's gone. He's gone and yet fragments of his touch are still on me. His hand on my waist. His breath against my ear. I close my eyes, inhaling his lingering cologne. His fingers in my hair. His beating heart. I still hear it. Rhythmic. Steady. A transient melody that lulled me to sleep.

I'm awake now. A sad reality.

And he's gone.

Rolling out of bed, I strip out of my clothes and grab a silk robe, draping it over my body. I look out the window, sighing. The sun has barely risen above the towers. It's still early. Too early to overthink. Thinking requires power. And power requires fuel.

I head out of my bedroom, and an inaudible gasp slips past my stunned lips as I stop in front of the kitchen. Hayden's bare back is turned to me as he hovers above the coffee machine, a glass pot in his right hand. The same hand that was holding me. Gripping me. Damn near pinning me down.

I was asleep but I remember.

I didn't have to see in order to feel.

And he didn't have to talk in order to speak.

I heard him last night. He was loud. Basically screaming. He must have heard me too. I think he's heard me for weeks. And he's still here. Standing in front of me.

He didn't run .

He always runs.

Every time a line becomes too blurred...he's gone. I've noticed that. Like clockwork. Not this time though. It's different. The white, dusted chalk no longer separates us. There is no line. He crossed it, and it vanished. He did that. Consciously. No alcohol. No drugs. Nothing but his own volition.

"Morning," I breathe out.

He turns around slowly at the sound of my voice, the rippling curves of his chest muscles fucking glowing under the sunlight. His smokey gaze flits around my burning face as he drags the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip.

It's no longer warmth that is coating my skin.

It's heat.

Pure fucking fire.

"Good morning, Camilla," he says with a raspy morning timbre. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I say, chest rising as I take a knowingly dangerous step toward him. "You?"

"I'm a bit..." He swallows, gaze floating down the length of my body. Outlining it. Taking in all the skin on display. He snaps his head back up, his upper lip twitching slightly. "Tired."

"Oh," I hum, biting my lip. I glance down at the empty coffee pot in his hand. "Need some help?"

"No," he says, a frustrated edge in his tone as he clears his throat. "I've got it covered." He doesn't let me reply as he nods over my shoulder to the couch, expression softening to add, "Pinto is at Wayfair Clinic. It was the closest?—"

"Thanks," I cut him off, frowning. A wave of frustration washes over me.

What is he doing? Is he really trying to divert the conversation right now? Does he think I don't know exactly what he's thinking? Precisely where his mind's at?

He's in my home. My kitchen. Half fucking naked and staring at me with such intense hunger, he might as well be a starved animal. But he's not pouncing. No. He's holding back. Barely. But he is.

I tilt my head, watching him like a predator. Like a carnivorous beast. It's a dog-eat-dog world. And in my world? I always get the first bite. If he won't surrender. If he won't drop this foolish facade, I might just...

"What are you — " Hayden's pupils widen, his green irises invaded by growing darkness as I undo my robe, the silky fabric dropping to my ankles. Glass shatters beside him as the coffee pot smashes against the marble tiles. He doesn't look down. He can't. With lecherous eyes, he soaks in every inch of my exposed body. If he wasn't hungry before, he's fucking famished now. "I?—"

"Oops," I say, stepping over the robe as I meet his blazing expression. "How did that happen?"

"You," he stammers, jaw tensing as I stride toward him. He grips the edge of my counter. Lucky fucking counter. "Cam?—"

"I'm going to take a shower now." I cast him an inviting smirk, satisfaction lacing my tone. I briefly glance at the shattered glass on the floor. "Clean that up, will ya? I would hate to see you bleed."

Making sure I give Hayden enough motivation to follow me, I subtly sway my hips as I walk toward the main bathroom. In most circumstances, I like to be the first to bite. The first bite establishes dominance. Shows who's on top. Literally and figuratively. But Hayden? He seems like a biter too. I can sense it. His need for control. This should be interesting.

Will he take the bait? Will he bite?

My toes crinkle as I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature before closing my eyes. Tepid water cascades down the top of my head, down my cheeks, lips, neck, dripping past my breasts.

Grabbing the nearest body wash, I squirt three drops in my hand and begin to lather, soapy suds forming across my needy skin. A tiny moan leaves the back of my throat as I massage my breasts, giving my nipples a gentle pinch.

"Harder." Hayden's voice booms from behind me as I feel his erection against my ass. I grin, gasping as he wraps his hand around my throat, his hot breath blowing in my ear. "Harder, Camilla. Now."

Game on.

"Like this?" I moan, twisting my nipples between my fingers as I arch my back. Hayden's cock presses further into my ass. "Mmm..."

"Harder," he demands. Definitely interesting. I bite my lip as the sensational pain spikes. My core pulses as he drags his thumb along the edge of my jaw, then coaxes my lips open. "Suck."

"Yes, Doctor," I breathe out in excitement. This is new. I fucking love new. I suck his thumb, my tongue swirling, flicking, saliva dripping down my chin. Hayden wraps his arm around my waist. His hand slides down my stomach, stopping just before my clit. "Mmm..."

"What do you want, Camilla?" Hayden's villainous chuckle reverberates in his chest, my spine writhing, my hips thrusting forward with desire. Fucking hell. He keeps his thumb in my mouth, squeezing my cheeks with his free fingers, hindering my ability to talk. "Come on now," he teases into my ear, licking the lobe. "Use your words."

Shit.

"Move your hands and it's over," he warns as I let go of my nipples.

Fucking bastard.

I regrip, squeezing even harder.

"Good girl. Is this what you want?" Desperate pleas echo against the bathroom walls as his fingers slither only a millimeter closer to my sex. Close enough to drive me wild but nowhere near as close as they need to be. "You should hear yourself right now, Cami," he rasps, sweeping his fingers against my clit. I buck forward, and he lets out a devious laugh. "It's not fun to be teased, is it?"

I shake my head against his chest. I hate him! I fucking hate him!

"I should really punish you,” he rasps. My eyes widen with shock as I crane my neck up. He smirks. "You think this is punishment, Camilla?" His aroused, hardened gaze meets mine. "This is child's play."

I no longer like new.

This is why I always bite first.

He's making the rules. Thinking he's king .

But he's not.

A king is useless without a queen.

And I'm a fucking queen.

"Enough," I grunt, biting down on his thumb as I spin out of his hold. His startled eyes dart down to my hand as I grab the base of his shaft, stroking his thick cock as water spurts down from above. "Are you really trying to threaten me with punishment,D octor ?" I tilt my head, tightening my hold on him as I rotate my wrist, creating the perfect amount of pressure. He groans, the muscles in his throat clenching. "Oh, you like that, huh?" I take a step forward, forcing him up against the cold, tiled wall.

"Fuck," he moans, tilting his head back as I expertly jerk his cock. "Don't stop." I slow down immediately, casting him a disapproving scowl. He frowns. "I said don't stop."

"I don't like being told what to do," I counter, squeezing his dick, not so pleasurably this time, but he doesn't seem to mind. "We go at my pace, Doctor. Not yours."

"Oh really?" He gives me a confrontational glare as pushes himself off the wall. I gasp as his arm lurches forward, his fingers finding my sex.

"Oh fuck," I let out an ecstatic moan as he rubs my clit, a stray finger dipping inside me. "Faster."

" Quid pro quo , Camilla," Hayden states in a grunt, slowing down as he nods at my loose grip on his cock. "Well?"

I can see why some kings have their queens murdered .

And vice fucking versa.

"Fuck’s sake," I grumble, rolling my eyes as I continue giving him an aggressive hand job.

The annoyance lingers for only a second though as Hayden plunges his fingers inside me, his thumb circling my clit. My eyes roll again, but this time, I'm not pissed. No. I'm fucking flying.

Our deepening pants bounce around the steamy bathroom, our free hands scratching skin, pulling hair, roaming, ravaging, relishing in the heady, hedonistic, and hellish game of tit-for-fucking-tat.

"I'm coming," I cry, my core clenching as I squirt all over his pillaging fingers. "Oh my God!"

"Fuck," he grunts, gritting his teeth, chest rapidly rising and falling as his cock pulses in my hand. Warm, sticky jizz shoots onto my stomach as he orgasms. "Holy fuck."

After several seconds of quiet recuperation, he reaches out, pulling me flush against his wet body, chuckling deliciously against my forehead.

Oh...

"As fun as that was..." He cups my cheek, tilting my head back and scanning my sated features. "Next time, Miss Bianco, perhaps we should establish who's calling the shots.” He pauses, licking his plump, pink lips. "Hmm?"

"Next time?" I smirk, raising a brow. "I didn't scare you off?"

"No." He lets out an airy snort. "But I can't say I've ever done this before," he says. "However, I wouldn't be opposed to taking a step back...once in a while. "

"Once in a while?" I give him a tiny scowl. "I was thinking more like fifty-fifty."

"That's a big ask," he notes, pushing a stray wet hair out of my face. "How about seventy-thirty?"

I frown. "Sixty-forty."

"Sixty-five, thirty-five," he sighs. "Final offer."

"No deal." I cross my arms, glaring up at him. "Back to fifty-fifty."

He takes a long labored breath, closing his eyes. "You're impossible, Camilla."

"True." I toss him a coy shrug. "But you seem to like the challenge."

"I do," he whispers, slowly opening his eyes. A slight frown mars his brows as he swallows, adding in an almost hesitant tone, "Why don't we discuss this over dinner tonight?"

I blink. "Dinner?"

"Yes." He clears his throat, turning off the shower. "It's a meal typically consumed in the evening." I hand him a towel as we step onto the raggedy bathroom rug. "Well?" he asks, drying himself off. "Will you have dinner with me?" Another pause as he meets my wary gaze, his own guarded. "There are a few things I think we need to discuss."

"Are you going to fire me as your patient now?" I wrap the cotton towel around my chest and lower my voice. "Worried I'll rat you out to the board?"

He gives me a weak smile as he sighs, scanning my face. "No, I don't think you would."

My lips twist up in fake contemplation. "Fine, I suppose I could have dinner with you. "

"You suppose ?" He quirks up a brow. "How romantic."

I tilt my head. "Is that what you want? Romance?"

"Perhaps." He swallows, his unreadable gaze dancing across my skin. "Among other things."

"Okay." I chuckle, lavishing in his overt admiration. "But I don't eat meat. No steakhouses."

He smirks. " All meat?"

"Funny," I jeer, giving him a shove before slipping past him. "Make a reservation, Doc. I don't do walk-ins." I look over my shoulder. "Use my name. It'll get us a table anywhere."

He nods, stiffening. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I guess—" I swallow, biting my lip as I glance at the couch where Pinto took his last breath, "—I guess I'm saying goodbye."

To both of them.