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‘Yes.’
He kisses her as he pushes in, as slow as he threatened.
‘Fuuuuck,’ he groans, echoing Jules’s thoughts.
Jules feels every inch of his hardness filling her, stretching her until she’s breathless. He’s so hot inside her. But he needs to— ‘Move.’
Cameron nips at her jaw then does as she asks.
It builds quickly, Cameron setting a steady pace that Jules is happy to match. Her mouth finds his again and the messy kiss is hot in a new way. This is what her books tell her a fling should be. Uncontrolled. Passionate.
Jules drags her hands up Cameron’s sweat-slick back, sliding them into his thick hair while her legs lock around his waist. Cameron finds that sweet spot on her neck again and then his thumb is skating over her collarbone, her peaked nipple, dragging down her chest then rubbing over her sensitised clit and she’s bowing her body, needing to be closer to his heat and his everything.
It’s a blur and it’s amazing, hurtling toward the cliff’s edge with him again. His thumb is relentless and her second orgasm of the night comes without warning. She shudders, clenching around him while he swears above her, stimulating her through it until her body goes loose. His pace picks up and seconds later he’s coming inside her, face screwed up in the beautiful mix of painful pleasure, telling her how good she feels around him.
Jules focuses on breathing while Cameron comes down from the high before carefully pulling out of her. Her body tingles. Her heart is a bass thump in her chest. Holy shit. Holy shit. The sex alone might be worth it, even if she never gets to have her relationship with him.
Chapter 9
Jules wakes up the next morning in her own bed in her own room. She rolls over to silence her alarm and bam, the knowledge she had sex mere hours ago with Cameron crashes into her like a bird into a glass door. Better than coffee for getting the blood flowing in the morning. She touches her lips, which feel tender in ways they haven’t felt in years. Along with other parts of her body. It’s a good sore though, because it’s a reminder she had sex with Cameron last night.
Oh my god.
Twenty-four hours ago, she was meeting him in the lobby at work, worrying about what they were going to talk about in the car and hoping to cross step one off her dating plan. Now, she’s turning into a molten goo-ball remembering precisely the shape of Cameron’s shoulders and hips and thighs and the exact feel of him inside her.
Her body tingles and she swears, grabbing a pillow and shoving her face into it. Last night was incredible but far out, it was not how this week was meant to play out. What was the point of writing those steps down because she didn’t want to get drunk and fall into bed with him on night one, if she was going to then proceed to fall into bed with him on night one? At least neither of them was drunk.
And what happens now? There’s no step five on the napkin. Nothing that was meant to come after sex, or ‘hanky-panky’ as Cat so beautifully wrote it. There’s no alternate pathway to seeing if they could date once they’ve hooked up. She wanted to be closer to Cameron before getting to the sex part. Hence steps one, two and three. Is it even possible to slide back to step one now that step four has happened? You can’t hit undo on a real-life decision like that.
Having sex with Cameron was … Her body flushes and her toes tingle. Mind-blowing. But what if she’s accidentally made it so that’s all it is? And, oh god, what if it ruins their entire dynamic. What if they can’t talk to each other anymore? What if the carnal knowledge they now possess of each other means it’s going to be all blushing and stammering and politeness. Or what if it’s just all sexual innuendo and foreplay, all the time.
Her nipples perk up at that and she slaps her arm across her chest. Her body is clearly on board, but she’d like her brain to get there too.
She’s burning up and it’s much less pleasant than the kind of burning she was doing in Cameron’s bed last night. She kicks the sheets off her body and starfishes out. She doesn’t regret it and she wouldn’t take last night back, but she has no idea how to turn a fling into an emotional connection. They were only beginning to learn more about each other. She wants more of that, not the bedroom stuff.
Well. She wants more of that too.
Why did her past self have to get so caught up on having structure and guidelines in place? She’s probably shot herself in the foot with all that ‘what is this’, ‘define a fling’ stuff.
Urgh. This is why she avoids spontaneity and taking relationship risks. She grabs her phone from the bedside table. She needs advice.
‘What,’ Tori answers the group call bluntly, her ‘I’ve not had my tea’ voice firmly in place.
‘Morning ladies.’ Cat’s probably been awake for at least an hour already.
‘Ugh,’ Tori groans. ‘It’s not even daylight yet.’
Jules checks the clock. ‘It’s after seven.’
‘My blackout curtains are awesome, then.’
‘I’m coming in,’ Cat announces.
A video request comes through from Cat and Jules accepts it in time to watch Cat march into Tori’s room and pull open the heavy curtains so a strip of light falls exactly onto Tori’s gigantic, rumpled bed and the rumpled woman within it.
‘No, Cat. Do not interrupt my—Cat!’ Tori throws a pillow at Cat and her phone clatters to the ground. Jules gets a wonderful view of Cat’s slippered feet before the phone is retrieved.
‘See. Daylight.’ Cat’s voice echoes in Jules’s ear as it’s picked up by Cat and Tori’s phones.
