Chapter 32 I want to kiss you again
“I... I can’t be careful with you, chief,” Camille whispered. The words left her softly, but there was no taking them back. They slipped free like something she had been holding behind her teeth for far too long, bare and exposed once spoken. Her voice carried no armor now, no practiced control. “Not… not with you.”
The space between them tightened, charged with everything she hadn’t said. Camille’s breath brushed Holland’s cheek as she leaned closer, the scent of her mixing with the warmth trapped between their bodies. Unable to hold back, Camille’s hand slid up, finding the line of Holland’s neck. Her skin gave beneath her touch, warmer than she’d imagined, a restless pulse jumping under her palm. Camille’s fingers curled there, not tentative, not retreating, tightening as if the contact itself anchored her. She drew Holland forward, closing the distance she could no longer endure.
Their mouths met, and the impact stole the air from Camille’s lungs. Thought scattered instantly. There was no hesitation in it, no pause to reconsider. She kissed the older woman like she had been denying herself this moment for too long, like hunger had finally overruled restraint. Her body pressed closer, seeking, insisting, lips moving with urgency that left no room for doubt. She tilted her head, deepening it, asking without words and answering at the same time, her mouth coaxing, claiming, demanding Holland rise to meet what she offered.
Heat flooded her chest, spreading fast, lighting every nerve as though her body recognized this before her mind ever had. It felt inevitable now, unavoidable. For a heartbeat, Holland’s lips resisted, held firm, breath caught between them. Then something gave. Her mouth parted, yielding just enough, and Camille followed instantly, closing that opening without mercy. Her tongue brushed against Holland’s, a deliberate sweep that tasted of surrender, of something finally let loose after too much restraint.
A broken sound escaped Holland, caught halfway between breath and moan. Her hand lifted, pressing against Camille’s torso, fingers splaying as if to create space, or maybe to hold on. The desk met her back, solid and unforgiving, its edge grounding her there, leaving no room to step away. She knew she should stop this. She felt the thought flicker and fail. Her body refused it, leaning in instead, clinging where it should have pulled back. Her breath came uneven now, slipping free against Camille’s lips in fractured bursts, the loss of control written in every tremor she could no longer hide.
Camille’s grip only tightened, her fingers curling into the curve of Holland’s neck, drawing her closer, refusing to let go. The pressure wasn’t painful, but it was inescapable, a silent insistence that anchored Holland exactly where Camille wanted her. Heat radiated from Camille’s hand, spreading upward, sinking into Holland’s skin as if her body had forgotten how to pull away.
Holland’s mind emptied, every thought burned away until there was nothing but heat, nothing but fire, nothing but Camille kissing her harder, hungrier, pouring every reckless beat of her heart into it. The world narrowed to mouths and breath and the relentless closeness between them. Their bodies aligned without thought, instinct guiding every inch of contact.
Their breaths tangled in the silence, rough and desperate, the sound almost obscene in its intensity. Each inhale collided with the next, uneven and unrestrained, filling the small space between them with proof of how far control had already slipped.
When air finally demanded its due, Holland tore her mouth away, but not cleanly. Their lips brushed, clung, parted slowly, as if reluctant to accept the distance. Their breaths mingled, eyes fluttered open, then locked. The look that passed between them was unguarded, exposed, stripped of everything Holland usually kept in place. Holland tried to turn her face, tried to push away, but strength abandoned her. Her perfect composure lay shattered, her body trembling where she stood, caught between instinct and the remains of restraint.
“Enough,” she whispered, though the steel was gone. What lingered instead was fire, trembling and dangerous.
Camille’s lips curved, swollen and daring. She didn’t step back. She didn’t loosen her hold. Her gaze stayed fixed on Holland’s mouth, on the faint space left between them. “You didn’t stop me this... this time again.”
She leaned in again, her whisper grazing Holland’s mouth, so close their breaths fused. The words brushed against skin rather than air, intimate in their closeness. “I want to kiss you again. Please.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and charged, their breaths colliding in the narrow space left. The room felt suspended, as if waiting for a decision neither of them could undo. Then Holland’s lashes lowered, and she closed her eyes. The last thread of restraint gave way in the next heartbeat as she surged forward, sealing the gap herself.
The second kiss wasn’t surrender, it was a storm breaking. It landed with force, with intention, carrying everything she had refused to admit seconds before. Her hands, finally unbound, shot to Camille’s waist, fingers digging in as if she’d been holding back for far too long. She dragged her close, crushing her against her body until there was no space left, until the heat between them erased every boundary and left nothing but contact.
Camille gasped into it, the sound swallowed by the fierce press of Holland’s mouth. Triumph curled keen and sweet in her chest, tangled with a hunger so consuming it sent a tremor through her legs. Holland kissed her like she despised her, like she needed her, like stopping was no longer an option she could reach. Every wall she had lived behind gave way under the force of it, cracking open, collapsing inward, leaving nothing between them but want and contact. Whatever careful distance Holland had built over years fractured in Camille’s hands, piece by piece.
And Camille? She answered with fire. She kissed back harder, reckless and unrestrained, meeting every demand with more. The spark had caught, and now it was an inferno, heat surging between them with a life of its own. Neither of them tried to put it out. Camille’s fingers tightened, her body pressing closer, refusing space, refusing retreat. She felt Holland yield again, felt the moment tip past restraint into something undeniable.
Holland broke the kiss only long enough to breathe, her forehead resting against Camille’s, breaths spilling hot and uneven between them. Her hands remained locked at Camille’s waist, holding her there as if letting go would undo her entirely. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was charged, ringing with what had just happened, with what could no longer be unmade.
When Holland lifted her head, her eyes were dark and unguarded, stripped of the distance she usually wielded so effortlessly. She didn’t step back. She didn’t speak. She simply stayed, close enough that Camille could feel her breath, her heat, the choice written plainly in the way her grip did not loosen.
Whatever line they had crossed burned behind them now, unreachable. And neither of them looked back.