Chapter 4: Caught Between Beats
Elise stepped back into the Velvet Room with her pulse thrumming too fast. Camille had been stuck in her head all week—the taste of her mouth, the drag of her fingers, that rough laugh Elise couldn’t shake. She’d touched herself to the memory every night, biting her pillow to keep quiet.
Now she was here again. On purpose.
Camille saw her right away. Leaning against the bar in ripped jeans and a tank top that showed off ink and skin, whiskey dangling from her fingers. She looked like trouble—the kind Elise kept walking into. But when their eyes met, Camille’s smirk went warm.
"Mon ange, " she murmured, already closing the distance. Her lips brushed Elise’s cheek, lingering just long enough to leave her skin burning. "Come meet the band."
Elise followed, hyper-aware of every place their bodies almost touched.
The band—two women and a guy—lounged near the stage with beers and beat-up instruments. Camille squeezed Elise’s hand like it was nothing, and God, that tiny contact almost wrecked her.
"Play nice, " Camille told them, grinning. "She’s delicate."
Elise rolled her eyes, but the band just laughed, easy and welcoming.
When Camille had to set up, she kissed Elise’s knuckles, breath hot against her skin. "Don’t wander off."
Then she was onstage, guitar slung low, and the music hit like a punch to the chest. Camille moved like she was fighting the song, voice ragged and sweet at the same time. Every so often, she’d catch Elise watching and flash that dirty grin—the one that said tonight wasn’t over.
By the third song, Elise’s shirt clung to her back, and she didn’t care.
When the set ended for a break, Camille didn't even bother hiding her hunger. She vaulted off the stage, guitar swinging behind her, and beelined straight to Elise.
"Come, " Camille said, her voice rough, desperate.
Elise didn’t even hesitate.
Camille dragged her by the wrist through the thick crowd, past the bar, down a dim hallway lined with flickering lights. She slammed into the women's restroom, locked the door with a vicious twist of her wrist, and backed Elise into the nearest stall.
The door banged shut. The latch clicked. The bass from the main room vibrated faintly through the walls.
"You drive me fucking crazy, " Camille growled, her hands already on Elise’s hips, sliding under her top, tugging it up.
"Camille—" Elise breathed, half protest, half prayer.
Camille didn’t let her finish. She crashed their mouths together, teeth clashing, tongues tangling. Elise whimpered, caught between the rough tile wall and Camille’s relentless body.
With frantic hands, Camille yanked down Elise’s jeans and panties in one motion. Elise gasped as the cool air kissed her slick folds, her thighs trembling with need and embarrassment.
"What if someone comes in?" Elise whispered, her voice thin.
Camille grinned wickedly, sinking to her knees on the filthy tile without hesitation. "Then they'll hear how beautiful you sound when you come."
Before Elise could argue, Camille’s mouth was on her, licking a hot stripe up her dripping slit. Elise slapped a hand over her own mouth, muffling her cry as Camille devoured her with shameless hunger.
And suddenly, she was flooded — not just with sensation, but memory. The heat of Camille’s body that first night, the ghost of her voice saying “You taste like summer.” That terrifying, magnetic pull that made Elise feel at once exposed and wanted. She thought she’d been over it, but no — she was still falling.
"Fuck, you're sweet, " Camille murmured against her, voice thick and reverent. She licked again, slower this time, teasing the swollen nub of her clit with lazy, swirling strokes.
Elise’s legs buckled, her hand scrabbling at the stall wall for purchase. Camille gripped her thighs firmly, spreading her open wider, angling her hips just right to feast deeper.
Elise bit down on her own fingers, trying to muffle the desperate sounds escaping her throat—but failing miserably.
Camille didn't give her a damn second to breathe. One second she was teasing with featherlight licks, the next she was sucking hard enough to make Elise's toes curl. That little satisfied hum Camille let out? Yeah, that went straight to Elise's gut, hot and electric.
"Camille—fuck—" Elise choked out, her voice breaking halfway.
Camille paused just long enough to glance up, lips slick. "Too much?"
Elise stared down at her, hips jerking. "Are you kidding? Don't you dare stop."
The grin Camille gave her was downright sinful. Then her fingers slid deeper, curling just right, and Elise's head cracked back against the stall wall hard enough to rattle the whole damn bathroom.
"That's my girl, " Camille purred, her French accent dripping like honey. "Louder."
Elise came apart with a broken cry, legs shaking so bad she would've faceplanted if Camille hadn't caught her mid-collapse. Next thing she knew, she was being hauled onto Camille's lap like she weighed nothing, her own breaths coming in ragged gulps.
"I—where—?" Elise stammered, still dazed.
"Right here, " Camille murmured against her temple, kissing the sweat-damp hair stuck there. "Where you're staying."
Elise barely registered the stream of filthy French whispered against her skin—not that she'd understand it anyway—before finally blinking her vision clear. Camille was staring up at her with that smug smirk, chin glistening.
And then—Jesus Christ—she licked her own fingers clean slow as hell, moaning like she'd just gotten dessert.
Elise felt heat punch through her all over again.
"You're gonna kill me, " she croaked.
Camille just laughed that throaty laugh of hers, helping Elise tug her clothes back on with weirdly gentle hands despite the chaos minutes before.
"Only for you, " she said.
They stayed tangled up in that tiny stall way longer than they should have—kissing slow and deep, saying everything without saying a word. Finally, when Elise could almost breathe normally again, Camille laughed under her breath, fixed her own messy hair, then swiped her thumb across Elise’s smudged lipstick. "We gotta go, " she murmured, "before people think I stole you."
Elise’s face burned, but she nodded.
When they slipped back into the Velvet Room’s noise and neon, they looked exactly like what they were—rumpled, flushed, marked up in all the best ways. Camille snatched her guitar off the stand for the next set, throwing Elise a wink that should’ve been illegal before facing the crowd.
"This next one’s for somebody stupid special, " Camille said into the mic, and the whole place screamed.
Elise collapsed into her booth, pulse racing, body still thrumming, grinning like an idiot.
Yeah. She was ruined.
And god, she loved it.
The last chords of Camille's song were still ringing in the Velvet Room when Elise pushed away from the bar, her cheeks warm from whiskey and the way Camille had been staring at her from across the room. Her heart was pounding—too fast, too loud—but she couldn't stop the small, stupid smile tugging at her lips.
Camille hopped off the tiny stage, guitar hanging loose behind her, and cut through the crowd like it wasn't even there. Her eyes never left Elise's face. Not until—
Some drunk woman stepped right into Elise's path, swaying a little in her heels. She smelled like cheap perfume and expensive vodka. "You're the new girl, huh?" she slurred, leaning in too close. "Listen, sweetheart—Camille's fun, until she isn't. She'll make you feel special right up until she gets bored."
Elise's stomach dropped. The words hit like a slap.
The woman smirked. "Trust me. I know."
Elise opened her mouth—ready to snap back—but then Camille was suddenly there, shoving between them. "Back off, " she hissed, voice rough with anger.
The woman rolled her eyes. "Just giving her fair warning."
"Fuck off, " Camille snarled, low and vicious.
With a dramatic flip of her hair, the woman disappeared into the crowd. Camille turned to Elise immediately, hands gentle on her arms. "Ignore her, " she muttered, voice tight. "She's nobody. You're—" She stopped, jaw working. "You're not like that."
Elise forced a smile. But something ugly twisted in her chest. What if she was right?
Camille must've seen it. She didn't say anything else, just squeezed Elise's hand and murmured, "Let's go."
They'd only made it a few steps down the sidewalk when someone called out—that lanky guitarist from Camille's band, breathing hard like he'd sprinted to catch up. His dark hair was a mess, fingers rough from playing.
"Hey!" He grinned, giving Elise a quick once-over before elbowing Camille. "Damn, you're actually serious this time?"
Camille's arm wrapped around Elise's waist automatically. "Yeah, " she said, simple as that.
"Dude, finally." He laughed, smacking Camille's shoulder before wandering off.
As soon as he was gone, Camille's smirk faded. She kicked at the pavement. "That guy's a dumbass, " she muttered. "But... he's not totally wrong."
Elise shot her a look.
Camille jammed her hands deeper into her torn-up jeans. "I suck at this—the staying part. The boring shit. I'm good at fast and loud and fucking everything up before it gets complicated."
They walked quiet for a block. Some old flyer skittered past Elise's feet.
Camille suddenly chucked a pebble into the street. "But I wanna stay with you."
Elise almost tripped.
"You're—" Camille dragged a hand through her hair. "You make me wanna try being still. Christ, that's cheesy as hell."
Elise studied her—the beat-up boots, the worn-thin shirt, the way her throat moved when she swallowed.
"S'not cheesy, " Elise said softly.
Under the buzzing streetlight, Camille shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it over Elise's shoulders without a word.
Elise froze for a second, caught off balance. The jacket smelled like cigarettes and worn-in leather, with something underneath—just Camille, unmistakable and electric.
"You're freezing, " Camille said, watching her. "And... I kinda like you in my clothes."
Elise pulled the jacket closer, warmth spreading through her chest in a way she couldn’t explain.
They started walking again, and Camille’s fingers brushed hers—once, then twice—until Elise finally tangled their hands together. A small thing, but solid.
"I don’t... usually do this, " Elise admitted, voice thin.
Camille slowed. "Do what?"
"Any of it."
Camille stopped dead. Elise did too, their breath clouding between them.
"You’re safe, " Camille said, rough and quiet, like she meant it more than anything. "I mean that."
Elise held her gaze. Something shifted—not words, just knowing.
She nodded, throat tight, and didn’t need to say anything else.
—
Camille’s apartment was a mess in the best way—cramped, second-floor, with a skylight that dripped when it stormed. The place smelled like paint thinner and nag champa, with fairy lights tangled across the ceiling. A wobbly table was buried under brushes and half-finished canvases. On a shelf, a chipped skull-shaped ashtray spilled over with burnt-out incense sticks. And in the corner, propped against the wall: a painting. Just the outline of a face, but Elise would know her own profile anywhere.
She stood there, pulse hammering.
This wasn’t just an apartment. It was Camille—weird and rough around the edges, but alive.
Camille hovered in the middle of the room, suddenly awkward. “I wasn’t lying, ” she said softly. “This isn’t just some fling to me.”
Elise couldn’t move.
"I want all of you, " Camille said. “The messy parts too. If you want that.”
Elise felt it then—that hitch in her chest. Was it pain? Or something softer, blooming under her ribs?
"Okay, " she whispered, barely audible.
Camille smiled—not her usual cocky grin, but something real. Unsteady fingers tucked Elise's hair behind her ear, lingering.
Elise leaned into her touch, inhaling the scent of her skin.
Their lips almost met—hovering—before Camille closed the gap with a kiss so light it could’ve been a breath. Not demand. Just a question.
Elise answered by rising onto her toes and kissing her back. Slow. Deep. Like they had forever. She fisted Camille’s shirt, dizzy as the world tilted away.
When they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Camille’s exhale warmed her lips.
"You stay with me tonight?" Hopeful. Barely there.
Elise nodded.
The couch creaked under them, the knit blanket scratchy but familiar. Camille pulled Elise tight against her chest, arm snug around her waist. Elise tucked her face into the curve of Camille’s neck, fingertips tracing the hem of her shirt.
Silence stretched.
No hurry.
No rules.
Just warmth, and the quiet sync of breathing.
Camille’s lips brushed Elise’s temple, then, softer than a sigh:
"Mon rêve."
My dream.
Elise didn’t need to know the words. She felt them in her bones.
Outside, London spun on — indifferent, endless. But inside that tiny flat, time folded in on itself.
And in that breath between now and tomorrow, they simply were.