And I couldn’t care less.
"So," she says after a while, her head on my chest, running her fingers over my abs. "On a scale of one to ten…"
"Eleven. Minimum."
"I was going to say twelve, but I didn't want to seem easy."
I laugh into her hair and pull her closer. We talk for a while in that lazy, intimate way that only happens when every wall is down and you're both too blissed out to filter.
Eventually, our stomachs gang up on us. She laughs when mine growls loud enough to qualify as a sound effect. We throwon the lodge robes—hers swallows her, mine barely covers my thighs—and sit at the table.
The salmon is lukewarm and the risotto has congealed slightly and I'm positive it's the best meal I've ever had.
"This is nice," she says, spearing a roasted carrot.
"This is everything," I correct her, and she blushes, and I think:Yeah. I could do this with her for the rest of my life.
The next morning, I wake up to sunlight pouring through the cabin windows and the warm weight of Camille pressed against my side. Her face is tucked into the hollow of my shoulder, her hair a dark, gorgeous mess across the pillow, and one of her legs is on top of the covers, bare and beautiful.
I don't move. This right here is what I've been missing. Not just the sex, although the sex was earth-shattering and I'll be replaying it until I'm dead.
It's the waking-up with someone part.
She stirs, stretches, and gives me the sleepiest, most devastating smile ever.
"Morning, trouble," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." She traces a fingertip along my jaw.
She kisses me softly. It starts as a hello and then deepens into something more, her hand sliding across my chest, her body pressing closer. I try to play it cool for about three seconds before she pushes me onto my back and climbs over me, and any pretense of chill evaporates like morning mist.
"I want some time to play with you, now," she says, with this sly, gorgeous look on her face, and proceeds to kiss her way down my body with the kind of determination that has me gripping the sheets inside of thirty seconds.
She traces the muscles of my stomach with her lips. She nips at my hip bone and I jolt. She runs her tongue along the V-line below my abs, and I make a noise that no self-respecting man should admit to, but fuck it.
"You're sensitive here," she murmurs against my skin, sounding entirely too pleased with herself.
“Maybe,” I reply, and she nips me again, and I gasp.
Then she wraps her hand around my cock…hard since I woke up…and I groan.
Her mouth follows, and my brain implodes.
I'm not quiet. I can't be. Every ounce of composure I've ever possessed is gone. I'm babbling—half-words, her name,fuckrepeated again and again, my hands alternating between fisting the sheets and tangling in her hair. She does something with her tongue that makes my spine tingle and my body arcs off the bed.
"Oh god—Camille—there—you're going to kill me and I'll be so happy…"
She pulls back just enough to look at me with a wicked grin. "So dramatic."
"Baby, you have my dick in your mouth and your tongue is magical, I'm allowed to be dramatic—oh fuck?—"
She takes me deeper, her hand working what she can’t fit in her mouth, and the combination of the visual and the sensation and the realization that this is the woman I fell for through a screen who is now absolutely destroying me in person is almost too much.
My hips thrust up and she pins them down with her forearms, which is somehow the hottest display of authority I've ever experienced.
"I'm close—Cam—I'm so close, if you don't want me to?—"
She hums around me and the vibration nearly ends it all right there.
