I lick my lips, buying time. What I say next will make a difference. But all I have is this question I’ve been dragging along with me all day. “What is happening to us?”

She shakes her head, sinks her teeth into her bottom lip the way she does. “We must be losing our minds.”

“There’s no better way to describe it.” I lunge for her again. Before I kiss her, I tear at the towel and it drops to the floor. I can’t stop myself. I need to have her. Need my hands over her breasts, my lips against the skin of her neck. It seems that all those discussions I had with Rebecca about lacking passion belong to another lifetime. A life before Camille. I dread to think what might have happened if Rebecca had remained in charge of the rental, if she hadn’t thrust it upon me like a toy she no longer cared for—kind of like she treated me. If she had met Camille. I push the thought away, never wanting to entertain it ever again. Fuck Rebecca. Or no, actually, if she hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t be standing here being overcome by all of this either.

“We should talk,” Camille says.

I drag my lips away from her neck for a second, only to see her head is thrown back all the way—like she’s offering herself to me.

“We will,” I mumble, my mouth lost somewhere in her hair. I push her down onto the crumpled towel, which can’t be very comfortable, but comfort is the last thing on my mind. I kneel in front of her, pull her close, and let my lips roam freely—widely—over her skin. I inhale her, taste her, sink my teeth into her where I can.

I push her down more, until she’s leaning back onto her elbows. Her knees are chastely shut in front of me and I push them apart, starting gently but soon overwhelmed by animalistic desire to just have her. Own her. Feel her near as much as I can as long as I still can. I look down at her. The light outside is already fading but I see all I need to see. Camille Rousseau spread out before me. Her eyes eager, pleading. She’s been waiting all day as well.