I can’t look away from him. I say his name like a prayer.
“That’s it. Don’t slow down now, sweetheart.”
I drag the vibrator over my clit, relishing the rumble that works its way through me.
When he grits out “Come for me, baby,” I’m a goner.
Without constraint, I squirm and shiver, conceding to ecstasy. My eyes are shut tight when the first warm droplets hit my belly. Fuck, I don’t want to miss this. When I open them, the image above me is magnificent. Cameron, quivering and grunting through gritted teeth.
“Fu-u-ck,” he howls in pure bliss.
With one final shudder, he collapses onto the bed to my right, hand lightly wrapped around his cock.
The aftereffects of my orgasm are subsiding, the heat in my core banking just a little, but there’s still a faint pulsing sensation inside me.
Next to me, Cameron props himself up on an elbow and assesses my body, now sprawled out on the bed. “Shit,” he sighs, taking in the cum pooling in my belly button. “I’m sorry.”
Still riding my high, I dip my finger into the milky warmth and drag it over my lips, then lap it up with my tongue.
“Fuck, Joey,” he pants, his hot breath caressing my cheek. “Are you trying to kill me?”
I stifle a predatory laugh, then heave myself up on both elbows.
“Wait.” He sits and snags a few tissues from the nightstand, then wipes at my stomach with a flourish. He surveys me, his breaths slowing. We stay like that for a heartbeat too long, but before I can muster the energy to back away, he excuses himself and strolls to the bathroom. He turns on the water for a moment, and then he’s back, crossing the room in full birthday-suit glory and scooping his sweatpants off the floor.
He holds out my silicone toy. My clean, dry silicone toy.
“Did you just clean my vibrator?” I ask, dumbfounded. I hadn’t noticed he swiped it from the bed.
He nods. “Consider it the sixth love language.”
Lovelanguage. He can’t be saying shit like that. Not whenI’m trying to put distance between us.Yeah, because letting him jerk off on your stomach is “distance.”
I’m so fucked.
“Well, good night,” I blurt out, quickly looking away from the longing look in his eyes.
“Good night.” With that, he’s gone, quietly closing the door behind him.
After rinsing his stickiness off my body, I settle into his bed and pull the sheets up to my chin. Though I got the orgasm I was in such desperate need of, an emptiness settles in my soul. Fear forbids me from finding out what it means.
35
Josefine
I must have forgottento set my alarm this morning, because I wake to a sunlit room and the smell of bacon and coffee, then discover it’s already ten. Shit. My plan was to get up at eight and be out of here shortly after. And I still need to run by the store for a replacement water bottle for the woman I bumped into last week before tonight’s writing workshop.
After brushing my teeth, I secure my hair with a gold claw clip and take the world’s fastest shower. I don’t even bother to wait until the water is warm. I guess a little bit of Greece came home with me after all. I pull on a short yellow sundress I bought in the resort’s boutique, then pull in a fortifying breath, straighten my shoulders, and venture to the kitchen.
Cameron is standing over the hot stove, wearing his glasses, and he’s got a cup of coffee pressed to his lips.
“Morning,” I announce, reaching into the cabinet for a mug of my own.
“Morning,” he echoes, pulling on the waistband of his gray sweatpants. Fuck, I really wish he’d take those off. No, not like that. I mean wear something less sexy. It’s a well-known fact thatwomen can’t focus when in the proximity of men wearing gray sweatpants. IfScientific Americanhasn’t published an article on it already, they’re sure to release it any day now. The sight of his shirtless chest and abs aren’t helping either.
I utter a thanks when he pours me a mug of freshly brewed coffee from the French press and shuffle behind him to get to the fridge, careful not to brush up against him in the narrow galley kitchen. I want to take a mental inventory of what I need to replace.
“What the—” I pause when the cool air hits me. Inside, the shelves are exquisitely stocked. The display before me would put The Home Edit to shame.
