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As if she sensed his effort, she broke from his mouth, running a thumb over his bottom lip as she gazed up into his eyes. “Let go,” she said, her voice breathy. “I want you to let go, Camden. Please.”
His heart swelled. This woman. This woman seemed to know him, to read his fear and his struggle. To understand that, for him, sex could hold pitfalls, ambivalence, and doubt. His introduction had been anything but natural. He wanted to find out who he was, to explore his desires, to feel safe enough to do so, known, and that had never been a possibility before now because he’d never shared his secrets with a woman. Instead, he’d struggled along, having a few emotionally unsatisfying experiences before he’d moved back to Farrow, always half there, as though he watched his body from the outside, observing, but never truly participating.
Camden didn’t feel that way now.
He felt intensely present, almost overwhelmingly so. This slender, delicate woman made him weak in the knees and the thought made him want to smile.
Scarlett opened her eyes wide and looked at him, her expression filled with trust. It honored him, that trust. It helped him relax, helped him give in to the lust rising inside him like a tidal wave.
Camden leaned up, looking down where his hand rested on her naked thigh. “A heart,” he said, running his thumb over her birthmark. “It looks like a heart.”
She laughed softly and he raised his head, his lips meeting hers.
He kissed her and it wasn’t tentative, it was wild and warm and wet. Just like those moments spent with her at the stream, everything about it was sweet and right. Her thighs gripped him tightly, bringing their cores closer and the wave rose higher. There was nothing but her, the taste of her on his tongue, the soft scent of her skin. Wildflowers and rain. And God, he wanted to make this good for her too. He wanted this to mean as much to Scarlett as it did to him.
After all, she’d been mistreated as well. She’d been used and lied to. And then abandoned. She deserved to feel cherished.
He’d been taught what was holy and what was not, the idea of unmerciful divinity drummed into him like a gong ringing constantly in his head. Loud. Brutal. But none of those teachings had ever felt true, not in his gut, not in his soul. Because Camden had sat in silence in the shaded woods, listening to the peaceful trickle of water. He’d seen the miraculous unfolding of a brand-new day. He’d held innocent life in his hands and watched as it first floundered, then healed, finally flying away in a rapturous flapping of wings, rising into the open sky. He knew what was holy because his heart had told him, and he had listened to its soft singing.
He felt that holiness now, as this beautiful woman trustingly and wholeheartedly offered him her body—and her heart.
He brought his hand to her breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb until she moaned and arched and breathed his name, his own breath coming ragged and fast. He pulled his mouth from hers, closing his lips around one stiff peak and tugging gently. He was rewarded with a soft cry that made him swell and ache and press against her, seeking relief.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”
She writhed beneath him, pressing upward, inviting. Heat burned in his belly, his loins, her hand moving between their bodies, wrapping around his hardness so that he moaned, gasping out a strangled sound of pleasure.
She stroked him slowly, almost languidly, raising her head so she could see her hand on his flesh. He followed suit, watching as she pleasured him, and it was far too much and not nearly enough. “Scarlett,” he groaned, a tortured laugh moving up his throat as he placed his hand over hers and removed her grasp. “Later,” he gritted.
She blinked at him, and then a knowing smile tilted her lips. “Yes,” she murmured, as she parted her legs and guided him inside.
He sucked in a breath at the first wet grasp of her body, their eyes meeting in the dim light. Her lashes fluttered and they stared at each other, the moment so intimate he didn’t know if he could bear it, and yet never wanted it to end.
He began to move, his body demanded it, gliding in and out of her in long fluid thrusts. His head lowered, moving to her breast where he took a nipple in his mouth and began sucking to the rhythm of his hips. He was drowning in her, drowning a slow, sweet death. Scarlett gasped and he felt the pull of her muscles deep within. He could feel her ragged breaths against his neck, hear her tiny mewls of pleasure.
