She laughed under her breath, quiet and shaky. And then, just when I thought the moment had settled, she whispered something that cracked me open. “You really don’t give up, do you?”
I grinned, the corner of my mouth twitching because she didn’t realize how right she was. “Not when it comes to you.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide, questioning. So I went on, because she needed to hear it.
“You’ve got this habit of muttering under your breath when you think I’m not listening. Usually it’s harmless — grocery lists, school stuff, to-dos. But sometimes, it’s not.”
“Not?” she echoed.
I exhaled slowly. “Sometimes it’s little daggers. Things you say about yourself. Things that aren’t true.”
She didn’t speak, and for a moment, the quiet between us pulsed with everything unspoken. I went on, my voice low. “You wrinkle your nose at your reflection. You mutter about not being enough. And every time, it’s like watching someone kick a diamond into the dirt.”
She tried to roll her eyes. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
“It is dramatic,” I said simply. “Because it’s you.”
That pulled a real laugh out of her, soft and wet at the edgesfrom tears she didn’t want to let fall.
“You really think that?” she whispered.
“I don’t think it,” I said, my thumb tracing her jaw. “I know it. And maybe that’s why I tease you. Why I make you laugh. Because it’s the only way I know how to drown out that voice in your head that won’t shut up.”
She pressed her forehead to my chest, her breath catching as a tear slid warm through my shirt. “You’re too good at this,” she said.
“Maybe,” I murmured, my hand finding the back of her neck, thumb stroking her hairline. “But I mean it. And I’ll keep telling you. I’ll keep showing you, in every way I know, that you’re more than enough. Even if you never fully believe it. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”
She lifted her head then, and I saw it, that quiet breaking open behind her eyes. The walls she’d spent years building, softening under the weight of trust. “Why?”
I smiled, slow and lopsided. “Because I love you. Frustrations, doubts, stubborn walls, and all. Loving you isn’t hard, Cami. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Her breath hitched, the air between us shifting, trembling, then settling as her shoulders relaxed and the tension eased out of her body. I could feel the shift. She leaned in a little more, close enough that her breath warmed my collarbone, and I felt my chest tighten.
Desire thrummed through me, slow and deliberate. Not hunger, not heat, but something deeper. I wanted to learn her by touch, to prove to her she was more than the lies in her head. She wasn’t a dream. She was flesh and fire, solid and here.
I didn’t push, didn’t rush. I just sat there, my hand cradlingher jaw, my thumb sweeping slow circles across her cheek. When she finally looked up, the uncertainty was gone. And when she kissed me slowly, searching, I knew this wasn’t just another night.
Chapter Thirty
Camille
My breath caught, and for a second I thought about pulling back, about making some excuse to head home. But the truth was, I didn’t want to. Not tonight.
“Hunter,” I whispered, my voice barely carrying in the stillness. He hummed, low in his chest, waiting.
“I’m… nervous,” I admitted, heat crawling up my neck.
His thumb brushed along my shoulder where the blanket had slipped, gentle, grounding. “Then we go slow. Or we don’t at all. Whatever you want.” He paused, meeting my eyes with care.
That was the moment something inside me broke wide open. The choice. The patience. No demands, no pressure. Just him, waiting for me.
I leaned up before I lost the courage, my lips brushing his, soft at first, testing, like dipping my toes into water I wasn’t sure I was ready to dive into. A flicker of doubt stirred within me, but his gentle approach quelledthe fear. He met me halfway, slow and careful, his mouth warm and steady against mine, as if reassuring me with every second. The kiss deepened little by little, each moment unraveling another layer of apprehension yet leaving room for those lingering uncertainties.
My fingers grazed his shirt, pulling him closer before I could stop myself. His hand slipped to the small of my back, anchoring me as his other hand skimmed up to cradle the back of my neck. Every touch was deliberate, patient, but charged in a way that left an ache at my core.
I’d forgotten how it felt to be kissed like this. Not rushed, not taken, but cherished. His lips traced the line of my jaw, down to the hollow of my throat, each kiss stealing another piece of the walls I’d built. I gasped, my body torn between nerves and craving.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough.
