Cami meets my gaze, and the air shifts, like we are one breath away from crossing a line she’s drawn so clearly.
She’s stunning. Yes, in the obvious way. But also disarming in a way that sneaks up on you.
Forcing myself to, once again, look away, I push to my feet before I end up saying or doing something I’ll regret. “Maybe this is a good time for me to catch some sleep.”
She stands, too, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “As promised, I’ll hold down the night shift.”
We pause for a moment too long, magnetic energy crackling between us.
“Wake me if you need backup?” I manage, my delivery rougher than it should be.
“I will. Goodnight, Knox.”
“Night, Cami.”
As I head upstairs, the echo of her coos follows me like a ghost I can’t shake.
If keeping my distance is the smart play, why does every step away from her feel like a step in the wrong direction?
It’s just after 3 a.m. when I head downstairs for a glass of water, groggy and still tangled in the warmth of sleep.
Rounding the hall corner, I smash into Cami—same as that first night on the beach.
Her body presses into mine with a quiet gasp, and instinct has my hands at her waist before either of us can process the moment.
She’s in one of my white tees, clinging to her like a secret she didn’t mean to share. Her hair is wet, loose around her shoulders, and she smells freshly showered—clean, crisp, and somehow erotic.
“Sorry,” she says, breathless. “I spilled formula. Took a quick shower. Grabbed a shirt from the dryer. Didn’t want to crash on your couch in wet clothes. Did I wake you?”
“No.” My hands stay put, warm against her waist. “And for the record: you wear that shirt better than I ever could.”
She laughs, low and husky, mingling perfectly with the quiet stillness around us.
I brush a damp strand of hair from her cheek, my thumb gliding along the delicate line of her cheekbone.
Her eyes lift to mine, unguarded, luminous in the star-washed glow spilling from the skylight above.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Cami.” The words tumble out, raw and way overdue.
She melts into my touch, and whatever restraint I had left detonates.
Leaning in, I close our narrow gap and brush my lips to hers.Finally.
Our kiss builds slowly, exploratory at first, like we’re teetering on the edge of something fragile.
When her mouth parts, tongue tangled with mine, tasting exactly like what I’ve been trying not to want, the rest of me catches up to what I’ve been craving since that first night on the beach. Since our subsequent encounter at the coffee shop. Since our almost-kiss at her front door.
Cami kisses me with matching heat, fingers threading through my hair, tugging me closer like she’s been starved for this, too.
Backing her against the wall, I kiss her harder, deeper, until she’s breathless, her body molded to mine.
Her soft curves meet the full weight of my cock—hard, aching—and I groan into her mouth as she shifts, hips rolling just enough to unravel me.
Fuck.
My hands roam her waist, her hips, then lower, gripping her round ass, memorizing what I’ve spent too many nights trying not to think about.
This isn’t some fleeting, lost-in-the-moment kiss; it’s a slow burn turned wildfire.
