Chapter 243: Chapter Two Hundred And Forty Two
Damon was in the room. But he was not sitting in his chair or standing by the window or even sleeping on the bed.
Damon was kneeling on the floor.
He was kneeling beside a small table. His posture was rigid and perfect, exactly like a disciplined soldier awaiting a strict command. His hands were behind his back and his shoulders were pulled back. His head was bowed slightly, looking down at the floor.
And he was shirtless.
He had taken off his military coat and his linen shirt. His muscled chest and his broad back were completely bare in the cool night air. The dim yellow light from the oil lamp highlighted the small, faded white scars scattered across his skin.
Camilla stared at his kneeling figure. Then, her eyes moved to the top of the small table.
Resting on the smooth wood was a long, thick, leather whip.
It was a military whip, used strictly for punishing disobedient soldiers in the camp.
Camilla stood by the door. She processed the strange, shocking scene in front of her.
"What is he doing now?" She thought to herself. Her internal voice was full of deep confusion, but also a rising sense of sharp amusement. "Is he actually kneeling for me? The great, terrifying Benson General is kneeling on his own bedroom floor with his shirt off?"
She did not rush forward to ask him to stand up. She decided to remain calm and take total control of the situation.
Camilla walked slowly into the room. Her footsteps were quiet. She walked past his kneeling figure without saying a single word.
She walked over to the edge of the large bed. She stopped and turned around to face him.
First, she reached down and took off her shoes. She dropped them onto the floor.
Next, she raised her hands to the front of her dress. She slowly began to unlace the tight silk ribbons. She pulled the fabric down over her shoulders. She let the outer dress fall to the floor, stepping out of it gracefully.
She was left wearing only her thin, soft chemise. The simple undergarment reached down to her knees, leaving her arms and her lower legs bare to the cool air.
Damon remained kneeling. He kept his head bowed. He heard the soft rustle of her silk dress falling to the floor. He saw her bare feet stepping out of the fabric in his peripheral vision. He knew she was undressing right in front of him.
His heart began to beat very fast against his ribs. The heat rushed up his neck. He tried to keep his breathing slow and steady, maintaining his strict military discipline, but her quiet presence was incredibly distracting.
Camilla sat down on the edge of the large, soft bed. She lifted her bare legs and crossed them neatly at her ankles. She rested her hands on her lap. She looked down at him kneeling near the table.
"What is the meaning of this, my lord?" Camilla asked softly. She raised an eyebrow. Her voice was calm and smooth.
Damon did not lift his head to look at her. He stared at the floorboards right in front of his knees.
"According to the book of conduct of the Benson army," Damon replied. His deep voice was very serious, firm, and devoid of any arrogance. "A soldier must be punished by whipping thirty lashes for misconduct."
Camilla rested her chin on the palm of her hand. She looked at him. She found his strict obedience very interesting. He was treating his mistake in the fabric shop like a military crime.
"Interesting," Camilla said quietly, nodding her head slowly. "So what is your crime?"
Damon tightened his jaw. He remembered the blinding jealousy. He remembered grabbing Allen by the throat. He remembered disrespecting her business and her honor in a public place.
"Misconduct," Damon answered simply, his voice low and full of deep shame.
Camilla let out a soft breath. She uncrossed her legs and stood up from the soft mattress.
She walked slowly across the floor in her bare feet. Her thin chemise swayed gently around her legs. She walked toward the small table where the whip was resting.
"And I am to lash you thirty times," Camilla stated softly as she walked. It was not a question. She was simply repeating his logic.
"Until I am worthy of your forgiveness," Damon replied firmly, keeping his head bowed. He was fully prepared to accept the intense physical pain. He felt he deserved every single strike for doubting her.
Camilla reached the small table. She reached out her hand. Her small fingers wrapped around the thick handle of the whip. She lifted the weapon from the wood.
She turned around and looked down at his kneeling figure.
"Is this a military camp?" Camilla asked. Her voice was quiet, but it held a sharp edge of authority.
"No," Damon replied honestly.
Camilla took a slow step closer to him. She stood in front of him.
"The great tyrant general never bows or kneels," Camilla spoke smoothly, looking down at his dark hair. "People do that instead when they see you. They tremble and fall to the ground. But you are on your knees for me."
She paused, letting the heavy silence fill the room. She held the long leather whip loosely at her side.
"Am I your commander?" Camilla asked him directly.
Damon was quiet. He did not say a word. He could not answer that question. In his army, he was the commander. But in this quiet bedroom, he felt completely at her mercy. She controlled his peace, his thoughts, and his heart.
Camilla looked at his silent, still body. She decided to test his discipline even further.
She slowly raised the whip. She did not raise it to strike him.
Instead, she moved the handle of the whip toward his bare chest.
Very gently, she pressed the cool leather against his warm skin. She began to trace the handle slowly across his pectoral muscles. She moved the leather down the center of his chest, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen.
The contrast between the cold leather and his hot skin was intense.
Damon could not control his physical reaction. The sudden, slow, teasing touch sent a massive shock of electricity straight through his nervous system.
His chest muscles jumped. He let out a very low, shaky whimper from the back of his throat. His entire body trembled slightly under her gentle tracing.
Camilla saw him shiver. She smiled a very small, secret smile.
She stopped tracing the leather handle. She slowly leaned her upper body forward. She bent her knees slightly, bringing her face very close to the side of his head.
She moved her lips right next to his ear.
"I don’t want to add more scars to this beautiful body," Camilla whispered softly. Her voice was warm, sweet, and intimate against his ear. "I can’t bring myself to do it."
Her warm breath hit the sensitive skin of his neck.
Damon felt a powerful shiver run rapidly all the way down his spine. The heat in his body exploded. His face turned a bright, burning shade of dark red. He had to clench his hands into very tight fists to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her.
Camilla pulled her face away from his ear. She stood up straight again.
She looked down at his bright red face and his tense muscles.
She thought to herself, her internal voice filled with genuine affection and highly amused delight.
"Look at his red face," Camilla thought, smiling softly in her mind. "He’s just too cute. How could I still be angry at that face?"
Damon froze.
His racing heart skipped a very large beat. His eyes widened slightly, though he kept his head bowed.
"Cute?" Damon thought to himself, his mind shocked and confused by her internal comment. "She thinks I’m cute? Me? Isn’t that what pet owners call their pets? She thinks I am cute like a small pet?"
It was the most surprising and unusual compliment he had ever received in his entire life. It ruined his serious, guilty mood. He felt a strange flutter of happiness mixed with his embarrassment.
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