Page 155 of Corrupting Camille

“No,” I say weakly, shaking my head. “Absolutely not. I’m already spiraling. Weed is just going to accelerate the disaster.”

She lights it anyway, rolling her eyes and exhaling dramatically. “Girl, you’ve already crashed headfirst into a full emotional breakdown. We might as well enjoy the ride. Take it. Doctor’s orders.”

I sigh heavily, giving in to her expectant look and take a careful hit. It burns my throat, but the warmth settles quickly, loosening the tight knots inside me.

Soon, we’re sprawled lazily on her fluffy carpet, surrounded by popcorn kernels, and smoke drifting in lazy curls toward the ceiling.

“So,” Lena drawls, eyes glassy but laser focused. “I still don’t know what your billionaire sex god looks like. Details, please. Paint me a picture.”

I press my palms over my burning face, groaning softly. “God, Lena, I can’t…”

“Ma’am.” She smacks my arm gently, mouth twitching. “Do I look like someone you should be withholding information from? Spill.”

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, slightly dizzy and way too comfortable. “He’s…unfairly attractive. Dark hair, ink everywhere, eyes that look like they could ruin your entire life.Ridiculously tall. He wears suits like they offend him, but you know there’s muscle underneath. Like, disrespectfully hot.”

Lena whistles lowly. “Damn. So, basically your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” I protest weakly.

She snorts loudly, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Bitch, your entire type is literally ‘tall, toxic, emotionally unavailable, and capable of destroying your entire life.’ Tell me I’m wrong.”

I tilt my head, glaring weakly at her smug face. “I hate you so much right now.”

“Because I’m right,” she grins, nudging me playfully with her foot. “Alright, so he’s criminally hot, obviously, but how good are we talking exactly?”

I groan, embarrassment scorching my skin all over again. “Lena, haven’t I suffered enough tonight?”

“Bitch, absolutely fucking not,” she says bluntly, leaning closer, eyes glittering with mischief. “It’s hard out here for us single hoes, so if my bestie aka you is getting fucked senseless by a tattooed billionaire daddy, you owe me explicit details. Now quit stalling. Did he choke you? Praise kink? Mirror sex? I need specifics, Cam.”

I turn my head toward her with a curious frown. “Wait, pause…what the hell is praise kink?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, ticking examples off on her fingers. “‘You’re so fucking good at that. You know exactly how I like it. Your mouth, your ass, your tits, they’re perfect. And my personal favorite, “You’re such a good girl.”

“Huh...” I murmur quietly, staring back up at the ceiling. “I think I just learned something new about myself.”

“Please share with the class.”

I bite down on my lip, heat burning my cheeks as I avoid her eager stare. “It’s nothing…just...he may have called me that a few times.”

She grabs my arm, a Cheshire grin on her face, hazel eyes wide and delighted. “Oh my god, Cami, baby, I genuinely, wholeheartedly love this for you.” She smirks wickedly, leaning even closer. “Hits every time, doesn’t it?”

I groan softly, covering my face. “Every fucking time.”

We both burst out laughing, the weed making us giggly, warm, and blissfully reckless.

I close my eyes, a memory surfacing before I can stop it. “He told me to sit on his face and called it my throne.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then Lena shrieks so loudly I’m surprised the neighbors don’t call the cops, popcorn flying everywhere. “Bitch, excuse me? ‘Sit on your throne’? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

I bury my face in my hands again, giggling uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Lena gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. “You absolutely should’ve. Queen shit, Camille! Honestly, I’d be proposing marriage after that. No wonder you’re traumatized.”

I burst into laughter, my ribs aching in the best way, the weed loosening my embarrassment and the ache of missing Kane. Lena shakes her head in disbelief, taking another hit before waving the joint like it’s a pointer.

“Seriously, you had your own goddamn throne and still walked away for Mr. Oat Milk Latte?” She sighs dramatically, staring at the ceiling. “I raised you better than this.”