Without waiting for an answer, he sucks my clit into his mouth again, and a wave of bliss washes over me. I come with a scream, the sensation only building when he bites down on the sensitive bud, then tongues it while he spears me with two fingers.
My vision is still spotty when he pulls me down his body and enters me in one rough thrust, then fucks me with a fierceness that borders on angry. “Would she, baby girl? Is that what you want? Someone else here to please you? Am I not enough?”
I convulse around him, my whole body shaking, one orgasm bleeding into the next. My vision goes black in earnest now. I don’t know how I’ll survive this feeling, yet I never want it to end. From this angle, the barbell at his base teases my clit, setting off another orgasm. This one is slower, more like a rolling wave, and I ride it out, grinding my pelvis against him.
“You’re everything,” I sob, my lungs burning, my breaths choppy.
He swells inside me, and with his big hands gripped tightly around my thighs, holding me tight to him, he releases. This time when hecomes, he does it with a quiet groan because our mouths are fused and neither one of us wants to let go.
We breathe each other in. We breathe for each other.
THIRTY-ONE
CAMDEN
This may come as a surprise,but I laughed when I readCalliope’s Column. The one I couldn’t dredge up enough energy to look at when Noah sent it to me. I finally scrolled the article while lying in bed, Savannah asleep in my arms, when I couldn’t get my mind to quiet.
My thoughts were jumbled after my hellish day and the incredible evening. I was restless despite how exhausted my body was.
When I laughed out loud at the column, Savannah barely moved. She let out the tiniest sigh, her warm breath hitting my neck, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead and kept reading.
It took less than ten seconds to determine that Savannah had written the article. And it was obviously about me.
Calliope’s Column
It’s Not Him, It’s You (Kind Of)
Rule Number 6: Don’t Sync Your Ovulation Calendars Before the First Date.
I thought this would be the deal-breaker. It should have been. Ladies, this is not me telling you to pull a stunt like this. Seriously, you’d have to be off your rocker to even think about allowing a man to knock you up before you’ve gone on a first date. Sex on the first date, debatably hot; ovulation calendars, not so much.
So when I tell you that the man I’m seeing didn’t so much as blink, and he most certainly didn’t dump me, this is not me paving the way for you. I know I’ve told you that I’m not the exception, but here’s the thing I’m quickly learning: he is.
He’s a man who knows what he wants. Who is there for the people who need him. He’s fiercely protective too. My man—and yes, I’m claiming him; he didn’t dump me and now I won’t let him—always gives the people he cares about what they want. So I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that when I told him I wanted his baby, he shrugged like it was no big deal.
I’m not sure what, if anything, I’m teaching you through these columns anymore, but I’ll keep doing them and reminding you to be patient and wait for the exceptional man. When you find him, there’s a good chance that the rules won’t matter so much. Until then, it’s not him, it’s you. (Kind of.)
X,
Calliope
When I finished that column, I went back and read every one she’s written on this subject. I was worried, at first, that she started this before she met me. And though I don’t give a shit about who she was with in the past, I had no interest in reading about her with other men. Being teased about her with another woman: hot. Reading about her real dates with another man: enraging.
Fortunately, I seem to be her only victim. Yes, that’s what she called me in her first article.
That’s fine. I’ll be her victim any day of the week if it means I get to wake up with her in my arms.
From the sound of things, she’s looking for more subject matter towrite about, and I feel like a little payback might be fun. So with a plan forming in my head, I carefully climb out of bed and rush outside while she’s still asleep.
THIRTY-TWO
SAVANNAH
Christmas morning,I wake to the most delicious scene. Camden Snow, bare chested, in a pair of gray sweats, padding across my tiny apartment with a cup of coffee topped with whipped cream.
I smile as I reach for it, deliciously sore from last night and ready for more. “This might be the best Christmas morning ever.”
His expression goes from cocky to radiant. It’s one of the things I love most about this man. He doesn’t hide his emotions. He might not be an open book, and I have a lot to learn about him, but I always know how he feels. If he’s upset, the anger or frustration are written on his face. If he’s turned on, his facial expression isn’t my only hint. But moments like this might be my favorite. When he’s happy, he lets the emotion show. It’s freeing, seeing him like this. It gives me permission to be happy too. And yeah, I shouldn’t need permission, but I grew up in a house where a smile would be snuffed out quickly, so I hid any joyful emotions. If I didn’t, the feelings would be bled from me in one way or another.
