billion dollar woman || nanowrimo 2k18

six

10AM

Camila is laying atop Alfie's chest—their lips have barely left each other since they moved to the bed. Cami's hands crawl up under Alfie's button-up, his blazer and tie long since forgotten.

He makes a noise and pushes gently on her shoulders, spacing themselves apart just enough to get a few words out. "You're sure about this? We can wait—"

Camila shakes her head immediately, smiling down at his consideration. "I've done enough waiting." She pauses when she sees the hesitation on his face. "Do you want this?"

He nods gratefully, his features softening as his thumbs rub over the fabric at her hips. "More than anything," he whispers, pulling her back down.

He moans lightly, starting to speak but cutting himself off and pausing his hands. Camila bites her lip to hold back a smile, and she asks, "You don't know what to call me, do you?"

He chuckles, tucking his head into her shoulder where he can smell coconuts—what he assumes to be her shampoo. "I really don't."

She puts her hands on either side of Alfie's face, so their eyes meet. "How about Camila? Or even Cami?"

He gives her a grin, turning her head to kiss the palm against his cheek. "Cami," he tests out, nodding his approval of how the nickname tastes on his lips.

Alfie tugs on her cotton pyjama top, and she moves the rest of the way to toss it off of herself, a bare torso and chest above him as their breaths get shallower. This is when he flips them, now he's on top.

His eyes glaze over the scar on her left shoulder. She lets out a quick breath, saying, "I know. It's ugly."

Alfie shakes his head, not wanting her to think he agrees for even a second. "No. It's part of you, so it's perfect." He leans down, tenderly kissing the surface of the area.

12PM

It's a while of tangled limbs, panting between them, and soft whispers of their names until their heartbeats calm again. Alfie's laying on his back when he lets out a satisfied sigh.

"You are something else, love," he compliments, the deepest adoration in his eyes.

Camila beams at him. "I like 'love,'" she whispers against his bare shoulder. "But I like when you say my name with your accent," she admits with a blush creeping up her neck.

"Really?" he says with raised eyebrows. "I quite like when you say my name with your accent."

"Alfred or Alfie?"

He nods, saying, "Alfie, definitely."

The moment passes, and Camila lets out an anxious sigh, rolling her shoulder as she lifts herself into a seated position, bringing her knees and the comforter to her chest.

Alfie rests a hand on the woman's back as he sits up beside her. Running his fingers along her spine, he asks while nervous about her answer, "Do you regret it?"

"No," she says immediately, putting a hand to his cheek, lightly touching her thumb to his lips. Her eyes get sad, and Alfie lifts her chin, prompting her to continue. "I just don't want to get you in trouble."

He doesn't say anything—doesn't know what to, really. He leans his head on her shoulder, taking a short breath as he waits for her continue. He knows where she's coming from. It's not like Alfie planned this, or wanted to risk losing his job. He's never slipped up in this job before.

"I don't want you to get fired. So we keep it quiet, okay? Do this in secret?" she asks, hoping he'll agree because of course she wants this to go on but she doesn't trust anyone else in his spot.