After a few more mind-blowing brushes of his tongue over my swollen clit, I’m done for. The orgasm hits me, my whole body seizing and then releasing in an intense rush.
“Chevy!” I cry out, and he moans, still working my pussy. He holds me through it, his mouth gentle now, his hands steady on my thighs, easing me down from the high with soft kisses pressed to my trembling skin.
When I can finally see straight, I look down at him.
He's still on his knees. His hair is a mess from my hands. His lips are slick and his eyes are glazed with want and something deep and wonderful.
"You are trouble, indeed," he says, his voice like gravel.
And I know, with a certainty that settles into my bones, that this man is just as much trouble as he claims I am…in the best way.
CHAPTER 6
CHEVY
I'm wrecked.
Kneeling in front of Camille in a mountain cabin with her taste still on my lips and the sound of my name in her sexy voice still reverberating through every cell in my body—I am completely, catastrophically wrecked.
And I couldn’t be happier.
Camille pulls me up to her by the front of my shirt. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and glowing and a little stunned, and she kisses me slowly and deeply. It’s the kind of kiss that saysI want more of you.
I could live in this kiss.
"Take me to bed," she murmurs against my mouth.
I do the thing I've been imagining for weeks: scoop her up, one arm under her knees, one behind her back, and she yelps and laughs and wraps her arms around my neck.
"Chevy! You don’t have?—"
"I absolutely have to. I've been mentally rehearsing this for a month. Don't take it from me."
She buries her face in my neck and I feel her grin against my skin, and carrying this woman across the cabin to the bed is thesingle most satisfying physical act of my entire life, and I say that as a guy who once rescued a labradoodle puppy from a second-story window.
I lay her down on the bed and she looks up at me—hair fanned out, dress rumpled at her hips, flushed and gorgeous—and my heart bursts.
I've been with plenty of women. But nothing…not one single encounter…has ever felt like this. With everyone else, it was superficial…the charming grin, the smooth moves, the version of Chevy Torres that women expect when they see my face, a body with no substance underneath.
With Camille, she already knows me. The scared parts, the soft parts, the mess underneath the jokes. She fell for the guy behind the face, and now that guy is standing in front of her with his heart wide open and his hands shaking slightly, not from nerves but from the sheer weight of wanting this.
I pull my shirt over my head and her eyes go wide, trailing down my chest and stomach. "Oh, that's just rude," she whispers.
"What is?"
"Your body. It's offensive how hot you are. I'm offended."
I bark out a laugh and kneel over her on the bed. "We’ll see how long you complain…"
She grins and lifts up so I can unzip the back of her dress, working it down her body inch by inch while she watches me with those warm brown eyes. She shivers when the fabric slides past her shoulders. I lift it up and off of her leaving her in a lace bra and a matching pair of panties.
I told her I love lace and the thought that she chose these formemakes my blood run hot.
"You okay?" she asks, softly.
"I'm taking a mental photograph." I trace a fingertip along the edge of her bra, over the swell of her breast, and watchgoosebumps bloom across her skin. "I told you I'd look at you like you're the sexiest thing in my life. And you are…by a landslide."
She gasps as I reach around her and unclasp her bra with one hand and slide the straps down her arms. It drops and I just stop to admire her beauty.
