Haven't Forgotten My Way Home (Camren)

Chapter Eleven

Camila raised her hand, poised to knock, but before her fist had even struck the door, it swung open, inward. She took a step back.

The woman in the doorway wasn't exceptionally tall, though by seventeen-year-old Camila Cabello's standards, anyone was tall if they were over five foot two. And it wasn't so much her height, but the way she held that height, looking almost regal as she studied Camila with one hand holding the door.

"Camila, is it?"

Her voice wasn't at all what Camila expected, and it was a hobby of hers to study voices. She knew that not every voice was as superb and talented as hers, but a Dominant ought to have, well, a dominant voice. This woman's voice wasn't thin, but it wasn't rich either. Nasally, but with a strength and command that Camila couldn't help but shiver as she nodded.

Wait, no. Nodding wasn't good. She cleared her throat.

"Y-yes, Ma'am."

There was no question in Camila's mind who this woman was, and the respect that she was to be given.

She smirked. "Very good. Come with me."

She turned on her heel and walked into the house, seemingly not even caring whether Camila was following behind or not, and Camila realized it was because she expected her to follow behind. Which she did, and it gave her ample time to somewhat study the woman with whom she'd be spending her next few days.

She had dark hair that nearly reached her shoulders and curled in loose waves around her ears, and she was wearing a blue silk blouse with a black (very tight, Camila noticed, and she swallowed hard) skirt. Black pantyhose and black heels completed the ensemble; her heels sounded noisily on the marble of her foyer as she stopped, and turned to Camila.

She nodded at her. "Kneel."

It was a simple command, one that Camila had known to expect, the only command that she expected. And it went against everything Camila knew about herself. This was not who she was, she was not meant to kneel for someone, anyone. But she also knew that this was why she was here, this is what she had to learn. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she knelt.

She didn't realize her gaze had lowered until she saw the same black heels come to rest next to her, and she felt a soft hand in her hair, stroking gently.

"Excellent, little one. Now we can begin."

"Camila, sit." She turned, and, seeing Camila's hesitation, smirked. "Please."

Camila rolled her eyes and sat on the plush red couch, crossing her legs. She accepted the glass of wine that was handed to her, and smiled when the other woman sat next to her, so close their knees were touching.

"It's so good to see you, Spencer."

"Don't think I didn't catch you rolling your eyes at me. That ought to land you over my lap."

Camila nearly choked on the wine, and fought not to roll her eyes yet again when Spencer patted her back, laughing in triumph. "I haven't been over your lap in years."

"Well then we have a lot of catching up to do, don't we, little one?"

"Spencer!" Camila finally laughed herself. "Stop that, or else your boy might get upset with us both." She looked around, searching for any sign of the submissive Spencer had had for the last year. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Oh," Spencer mused, running her index finger over the rim of her wine glass before taking a sip, "He's a little tied up at the moment." Her eyes glinted mischievously at Camila.

Camila shook her head, then suddenly grew serious, leaning into Spencer. "I've missed you," she said, a bit of disbelief creeping into her voice. She hadn't given it a second thought, but now, sitting next to the woman, Camila realized just how much she'd missed the comfort and companionship. "Don't let me go another year without seeing you. I'm sorry," she added regretfully.