Partway through the beginning, Cameron rises from the couch and shuts off the main lights, the only brightness coming from the television screen and the porch light drifting through the wall of windows.
A leg brushes against mine, and I turn my head leisurely to see Cameron shifting beside me. His proximity distracts me from the scene where Snow White is frantically running from the Huntsman. The warmth radiating from his skin boosts my body temperature enough that I consider removing the blanket draped across me.
He’s close.
So close that his thigh touching mine makes my heart flutter, and my stomach flip. He stretches his arm, draping it across the back of the couch behind me. I disregard him and the intimate moment as Snow White sees the shadows shifting into scarier things.
“Is that how scared you were, running from us that night? As if Bren and I were two huntsmen chasing after you?” Cameron murmurs.
His breath skates across my neck, soaking into my prickling skin. God, I should just ignore him. Pretend his words don’t hold the power to melt me faster than the frozen dessert in my bowl.
I eat another spoonful, and my tongue darts out, slowly licking the cream off the silverware. His heated eyes latch onto my mouth, my slow movements making him shift uncomfortably beside me. Deciding to ignore him again, my eyes find the screen, but my psyche doesn’t stray from thinking about him beside me. I’m painfully aware of him and his effect on me.
Everyone remains silent as the movie slowly transitions to the scene where the Evil Queen hands Snow White the poisoned apple. The red color of the fruit holds my attention, memories of the night they drugged me flooding back.
The fatigue.
The nausea.
They spiked my margarita, but I still can’t remember anything that followed. I reach into the bottomless depths, my brows pulling together in thought as I dig my fingers through the box of blurred memories that I can’t piece together.
Cameron’s calloused fingers drift over my neck and tangle in my hair. Each brush of his skin against mine causes me to shiver.
His rough voice lowers to a whisper. “You ate our poisoned apple, and here you are.”
Turning my head, I look at Tristan and Elena knocked out on their mountain of pillows and blankets. It’s probably from all the sugar I let them have.
I lean back, allowing his arm, draped over the back of the couch, to press into my shoulder blades. “Sleeping death would’ve been easier,” I murmur.
Cameron’s dark chuckle graces my ears. His hand glides under the blanket, the pads of his fingertips contacting the skin on my inner thigh, lighting sparklers on my skin.
His warm lips skim the shell of my ear. “But the nightmare is so much sweeter. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He drags his hand up and down. Each time he ventures upward, he approaches the hem of my shorts and pauses his teasing movements. The muscles in my jaw clench right before his fingers dip under the thin fabric, forcing me to hold my breath as his warm digits brush against my panties. I unintentionally release a whimper.
Rapidly moving my hands under the blanket, I grab his wrist forcefully to tell him to stop.
This should not be happening.
Not here.
Not with two young kids asleep on the floor below us. But his strong hand moves anyway, and my thighs open a little further.
God, I am so turned on right now, it’s embarrassing. I grind into his hand inadvertently, and heat crawls up my neck, flushing my cheeks.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” I feel him smiling beside me, and he takes it as an invitation to dip below the silk underwear; his middle finger glides over my wet seam. His groan rumbles in his chest, the vibration causing me to shudder beside him.
“We aren’t thirteen years old, Cameron. You should not be touching me like this here,” I quietly say through my teeth.
He leans in closer. “Who the fuck touched you like this when you were thirteen?”
I shake my head, looking at him over my shoulder, noticing Brennan isn’t in the recliner. He probably went to bed. “Nobody. That’s not what I meant,” I sigh. “But you’re acting like a hormonal teenager who can’t sit through a movie with a girl beside him.”
He arches an unamused brow, and I bite back my smile. The flashes of light from the television dance across his features in anarray of colors. We sit silently for a second before his jaw pops, followed by a strand of mussed hair that falls onto his forehead. Clearly not caring about our surroundings and proximity to his younger siblings—who are still passed out on the floor—he snakes his arm around my waist and effortlessly tugs me onto his lap.
I choke on my tongue and the air in my lungs at his rapid movements. The solid ridge of his cock presses against my center as he uses the muscles in his arms to push my body down harder, his massive bulge shooting liquid fire between my legs.
His rough hand snatches the nape of my neck possessively. “Then don’t grind on my hand because I’ll take that as an invitation to glide my fingers into your needy cunt.”
