His eyes fall shut and he rests his head against the headboard. “Nope.”
“Why?”
“I was a fuck boy who couldn’t get out of my own way.” His lashes flutter open and his eyes dart to mine, but his head remains tipped back. “Guess I figured if I stopped trying, it wouldn’t hurt so much if no one chose me.”
The words speak to me at a cellular level. My constant use ofsarcasm to deflect deep emotions. My use of sex to avoid real connection.
When I adjust myself, moving to straddle him, and press a hand to his chest, it’s not to distract him, or myself, with sex. “Did it work?”
“Hmm?” His focus drifts to my lips and his palms move to my bare thighs.
“Did losing out on what you wanted hurt less when you stopped trying?” I clarify.
He shakes his head, his attention darting away.
“Does it hurt right now?” I whisper, inching closer.
“Nothing hurts when I look at you.” His eyes are on me again, his words strangled, like he doesn’t want to believe them yet can’t stop himself from saying them.
It’s odd, because I feel the same way.
“I bet it would be even better if you kissed me,” I prod softly, bringing my face closer to his.
One side of his mouth slants up. “Oh yeah?”
I nod.
He slides those warm, callused palms up my thighs and tilts his head so his mouth is lifted.
Rather than wait for him to make the move, I go for it. The kiss is soft at first. Gentle. Like we’re learning one another. Introducing ourselves.
His fingers dig into my thighs. The slight pain only makes the moment hotter. When I roll my hips, his chest rattles with a deep groan. Pulling back, he blows out an unsteady breath and assesses me.
What I see in the depths of those blues can’t be explained. Longing, desire, acknowledgment, acceptance.
I’m still processing it all when he brings a hand to my neck and presses a finger to my pulse point. I’m sure the rhythm is scattered and wild. It’s how I feel. Desperate.
He watches me, eyes roaming, breathing deeply. “I’m going to devour you, baby girl.”
“Please,” I whimper, my core fluttering.
Then his mouth is on mine again, his tongue threading between my lips, his taste embedded in me, and I know I’ll never be the same.
TEN
SAVANNAH
I scrambleto undo the buttons of his shirt, fingers trembling. I need to feel his skin. Need to see every inch of him.
Camden smiles against my mouth, a breathy laugh escaping him. “Need something, baby girl?”
Sitting back, I assess the gorgeous man beneath me. And he’s exactly that. All man. Older, harder, sexier than anyone I’ve ever been with.
I’m determined to enjoy every second I have with him. I’m not foolish enough to believe I’ll get a repeat of tonight.
“Strip,” I order.
“As you wish.” He grasps his shirt with both hands and yanks, ripping the buttons clean off, his grin wicked. As the buttons scatter, tapping the hardwood floor, I drink him in, surveying the tan skin covered in dark ink. Dozens of beautiful designs tattooed over defined muscle. Even lying down, without any effort at all, the man has a fucking eight-pack. An eight-pack.
