Cameron's Control (Novella #1): The Enthrall Sessions (Volume 4) (15 page)

“You’re welcome,” I said. “You’re grieving for your patient. He reminded you of your dad. Your father was a great surgeon too, apparently. A lot to live up to. You’re setting the bar impossibly high.”

“And how this is relevant?”

“Your patient was the same age as your dad when he died.”

“You accessed my father’s records?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know he died here?”

“I checked his name. He came up in MedRecs.”

He swallowed hard. A wave of emotion.  

“I figured you’d have him in the best hospital,” I said.  

“That was a year ago.”  

“We don’t get the privilege of ruminating. There’s another life waiting to be saved.”

“I lost sight of it.”

“Tavon,” I said. “You’ve been up for twenty-four hours straight. Give yourself a break. Go home. Make love to your wife and get some sleep.”

“Sorry about your girlfriend.”

I smiled at his thoughtfulness. “I let my guard down.”

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“I was here for the oatmeal,” I said. “Thanks for having breakfast with me.”

He looked sheepish. “I didn’t know who else would understand.”  

“My door’s always open.”

“Not sure I like your brand of therapy, Dr. Cole.”

“We’re not so dissimilar, Dr. Pierre.”

“What? We’re both arrogant fucks but we get the job done?”

“We do.”

He shook his head, his wariness lifting and the brightness returning.

“Your patient died of heart disease,” I said. “Nothing you could have done would have saved him.”

Tavon sat back and his shoulders lowered.

I took a sip of tea. “Before the operation, your patient stared into your eyes pleading for you to save his life.”

“They always do.”

“He asked for your best, Tavon. You gave it.”

His lips trembled. “A more experienced surgeon—”

“Might not have fought so hard. He or she might have seen such a diseased heart and not spent nine hours trying to do the impossible.”

“I was so close.”

“Grief is not just about our pain. It’s about honoring our patient’s memory and expressing our belief that each life has meaning. That Mr. Ray Arnold counted.” I raised my cup. “To Mr. Arnold and the indelible mark he left on this world.”

Tavon raised his cup and knocked it against mine.

“What is it about tea that always makes you feel better?” he said.

“
Theanine.
It increases the brain’s production of GABA. Meditation has the same effect.”
 

Tea, a five thousand year-old beverage that had made my family a fortune over generations. It had always been more about the art of tea, the healing properties, the ability to soothe that had fascinated me. A sense of pride that my ancestors had been the ones who’d brought tea to the masses. A legacy that included our continued links with India.

Tavon had no idea I was the son of a billionaire tea mogul. In fact, most people didn’t and there was no reason for them to. It served no purpose and threatened to blur the lines of friendship.

“Will you stay with me a while?” he said softly.

“Of course.” I offered a reassuring smile. “I’ll get us some more tea.”

CHAPTER 15

LIGHT SHIMMERED OFF the few golden locks appearing above the covers. Those fine strands were like burnished gold.

Mia clutched one of my shirts. She ached for me too.

My sweet, sweet lover, slept soundly, burrowed safely in our bed.

Lingering at the end, I realized how much I needed her. Mia’s sweetness lifted this burden of knowledge that weighed all too heavily. The cruelty of life’s sting slipped away when she was with me, even with her asleep.

If this was what it meant to be the moth, I didn’t care. I yearned to burn up in her.

Be inside her.

I stripped off my clothes and kicked off my shoes and it felt symbolic, as though I was removing the residue of these last few hours. That incident at the club, where I’d realized Mia’s vulnerability and knew what I was capable of to protect her.  

The strain of seeing Tavon’s pain and soothing him the best way I knew. Not with words of sympathy, but relighting that fierceness within him, that desire to forge on bravely despite truly comprehending the fragility of the lives we held in our hands.

Outside that window, dawn loomed. The world could go on alone.

The serenest retreat awaited me.

Mia, my refuge, my escape.

Upon the side table rested
The Hero with a Thousand Faces
by Joseph Campbell. Mia had found the book in my library and brought it up here to read.

Lifting the end of the comforter, I slipped under it and made my way, planting kisses to her feet and moving upward. She stirred and shuddered when my tongue met her sex. I lapped and flicked her clit, selfishly needing her.  

“You’re home,” she said sleepily. “I’m so happy.”

I replied by kissing deeper, taking her there firmly, lavishing more affection, tasting that which I’d become addicted to, bestowing suckles until she arched her back and breathed in gasps of pleasure.

“Not yet, Mia,” I whispered.

“Oh, please.”

No one could give her what she needed like me. I was the only man who could truly love her the way she deserved. I’d worship her every day like this.

I rose over her and grabbed her wrists, pinning her arms above her head and to the mattress before thrusting deep inside, feeling her tautness, her wetness allowing for my slow, leisurely glide.

I stared down at this impossible conquest.

“Please,” she begged.

“Not yet.”

“I can’t…”

“You can and you will.”

Slower thrusts, deep and powerful, her body trembling beneath me.

“I’m going to die from pleasure,” she stuttered.

I buried my face in her neck to hide my smile.

“Now?” she said.

“No.” I rubbed my pelvis against her sex with each glide.

“Oh God.”

“Obey.”

“Yes, sir.”

I gave her this nice and slow fucking she deserved. I withdrew all the way out, followed by a long steady thrust. Holding off, holding her back, I kept her lingering on the edge and moved slower still when she neared.

On and on, until her moans echoed around us.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and there was a sprinkle of moisture on her upper lip. Her stare glazed with concentration as she tried to obey.

This slow torture of pleasure made my cock ache for release, yet seeing her obey and restrain from climaxing intensified my own mind-blowing orgasm that I could no longer hold back.

“You may come.”

Her cries fractured the silence. Her body went rigid in ecstasy and her orgasm took her over. Eyes closed, she shuddered. Her rare mixture of innocence and passion was impossible not to crave.

My meaning to life.

I followed her over into the abyss and the world disappeared around us. Nothing mattered, only her. We lay like this for a while, me above her staring down into her eyes.

I collapsed beside her, all drama having dissipated from my mind like a foggy memory

“Good morning,” she said at last.

“Good morning.”

“That’s kind of a cool alarm clock you’ve got going on there.”

“Have you reduced me to a technological device?”

“That’s the most amazing way to wake up.” She threw herself onto my chest and rested her head against my heart. “How’s your friend?”

“Doing better.”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like. All that responsibility.”

I raised my head to look at her. “Tavon will be fine.”

“Amazing how one person dedicates their life to saving others and other people out there think nothing of taking lives.”

“My little philosopher.”

Her breathing softened and she fell back to sleep.

Despite wanting to savor every second with her, sleep could have me for now. Exhaustion dragged me down.

Dreams rolled through until there was nothing.  

“Cameron.”

Birdsong rose from outside the window.

I blinked awake.

“Cameron?” Mia said again.

I reached for her. “Get back in.”

“I can’t.”

I raised my head to look at her.

She’d dressed in one of the floral Elie Tahari dresses I’d bought for her. I knew how much she loved that designer and it made me happy she’d chosen a Sunday morning to wear it. She looked gorgeous, her outfit flawless, her hair golden curls of perfection.

I reached for her.

She jumped back. “I have to entertain your parents.”   

“They don’t fly in until six.” I glanced at the bedside clock. “What’s the time?”

“Eleven.”

It was still morning, at least.

“They moved their trip up,” she said.  

I scrambled for my phone and read the texts, all of them from my mom.

I shot up. “They’re here?”

“They kind of are.”

“What does kind of mean?”

“That’s my way of breaking it to you slowly they’re here.”

I scrambled out of bed. “At the front door?”

“No, inside. Well outside now. I’ve been chatting with them. I’ve gotten them settled in the garden. I made tea and croissants.”

Frozen to the spot, I stared at her. “How long have they been here?”

“Couple of hours.”

“And you didn’t wake me?”

“I wanted to, but after I told your mom you’d had a late night at the hospital she wanted to let you sleep in.”

The thought of Mia being left alone with my parents without my deflecting the conversation made me inwardly cringe. There was no doubt my parents would take full advantage of Mia’s sweetness to inquire about my life. As well as ask questions about us.

Mia was wearing the pumps I’d bought her. My gaze quickly broke from that hummingbird tattoo on her ankle.

“You look pretty.” I hopped into my PJs. “What’s been the general gist of the conversation?”

“Maybe you should put pants on?”

I blinked at her, the heaviness of sleep lingering. “I should shower.”

“Do you want to borrow some of my makeup?”

I traced my fingers along my lower lip. “No, but thank you for the offer.”  

She turned to go. “I’ll keep them entertained.”

“Good, yes, that’s one plan.”

Mia paused by the door and faced me. “Don’t worry, Cameron. I survived the ‘which university did you attend,’ question from your dad.”

I merely arched my brows in interest despite my heart rate taking off. “What did you tell them?”

“The truth. That I’m your sex slave and was initially hired at Enthrall—”

“Not funny.”

She grinned. “I’m more than capable of protecting you.”

“There was no mention of Chrysalis?”

“No, but I did sign your mom up for a session at Enthrall.”

“Humor’s not your strong point.” My blood pressure spiked and my head felt twice the size. “Where are my PJs?”

“You’re wearing them.”

“I know that.” I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Can I get you anything?”

“A time machine.”

She gave a salute. “I’m on it, boss.”

“I’ll be right out.” I headed into the bathroom.

My reflection in the mirror made me flinch. That late night didn’t look good on me, even if my bruised lip was less swollen. The cut healed, but I still looked like I’d been in a fight. I ran through all the explanations that might get me off the hook and they all led back to idiocy.

Standing under the faucet, I woke up further beneath the pounding hot water. It felt good and eased my headache. Mia really was beautiful and I couldn’t be prouder to show her off, but my mother’s interrogation might very well break her. They’d be the kind of questions that came laden with judgment. I wasn’t sure Mia was ready for that level of inquiry from my mom on a mission. Though surprisingly, Mia hadn’t appeared too shaken from having hosted without me so far.

Having navigated time spent with my parents with the precision of a Cold War diplomat, I felt a dreadful loss of control that my father would have been provided unfettered access to all aspects of my life through Mia, and without me policing the content. After running through several scenarios for damage control, I got out the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and made my way back into the bedroom.

Not having gone for my morning run was throwing me off.