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“I can’t believe you did that. ” Cam wasn’t thinking now, she could feel it. Testosterone filled the air, lust oozed from his pores, as he jerked her into his arms and, rather than moving for the couch, headed for the bedroom.
When he tossed her to the bed, she didn’t have time to bounce before he was tearing his clothes off. Within seconds he was covering her, pushing her legs apart, and filling her.
Alone. Staring into her eyes, the bleak shadows that had once filled his gaze had eased, and now, desperate hunger filled his eyes. Emotion. Satisfaction and lust.
“I love you,” she whispered, framing his face with her hands and staring up at him as she felt his cock flex inside her. “With everything I am, Cameron Falladay, I love you. ”
He grimaced, and when he would have bu
ried his head against her shoulder, she pushed him back.
“Watch me,” she almost sobbed, “like I watch you. Every second, every emotion. Just like this Cam. Just us. ”
“Just us,” he groaned, moving against her slowly, his cock easing out, then working inside her—filling her, stretching her, taking more than just the lust that rose between them.
“You’re always a part of me,” she moaned, staring into his eyes, feeling that emotion storming through him, seeing it as his expression tightened, his eyes darkened.
“You’ve always been a part of me,” he told her then, his strokes increasing, pleasure blooming, tightening, taking them higher now, than they had gone before.
The wicked eroticism of the ménages was nice, but this, this deep intensity, the feel of him touching her, hands stroking her . . . his head lowered, his lips engulfing hers, his gaze slumberous, heavy-lidded, as he held hers. This was what it was meant to be. This was what she needed.
Each stroke became harder, faster, until he lifted her legs, pushed them back, and drove into her. And still he watched her. And she held onto him.
“I love you. ” His face contorted as she felt herself tightening, felt her release nearing. “Always, Jaci. Always fucking loved you. ”
Harder, deeper, flying inside her, until Jaci felt not just the physical eruptions of release tear through her, but the emotional. As though their souls had merged. As though they had been drawn inside each other even more firmly than before.
Cam drove into her repeatedly, groaning her name, repeating it like a talisman, until, with one last, hard stroke, he buried full length into the gripping depths of her body and filled her with himself. His seed shot inside her, but his eyes never left hers, and she saw the brief moistening of his gaze, the emotion that ripped through them.
In his arms, she would always be safe. But in hers, so would he be.
And when it was over, when the last shudders echoed through her, he didn’t move from the bed, he didn’t leave her to go to the couch. He pulled her into his arms, tugged the blanket around them, and, exhausted, he held her until his eyes closed, hers closed, and they slept together.
28
Cam was asleep in the bed, curled around her, his heavy breathing at her ear, his heart beating against her back. The sun was just peeking through the shades pulled over the tall, wide window behind the bed. Spears of light washed over the room. And Cam had slept with her.
She turned her head slowly to stare at him. In sleep, his features were more relaxed, but still tough and hard.
Smiling, she eased from the bed, holding back a wince at the soreness between her thighs. He hadn’t taken her just once through the night, but several times. As she paused at the side of the bed, she turned back to stare at him, love welling inside her, dampening her eyes, and it had her thanking God that she had found him again.
He was arrogant and demanding, dominant and so certain of his own decisions that she was sure there would be times he would make her completely insane.
But he was hers.
Pulling on her robe, she belted it tight, determined not to awaken him. If there was one thing she knew, it was that Cam didn’t always sleep well. There wasn’t a chance she was waking him up.
Moving quietly from the bedroom, she went to the bathroom, showered and brushed her teeth in record time, then, pulling one of Cam’s T-shirts from the walk-in closet, she padded back into the main room.
She was almost to the kitchen island when she saw Chase. He was sitting on the couch silently, dressed only in jeans, his head bent, his hands covering his face.
His shoulders were scratched, his hair mussed, and he looked like a man ready to break from the weight on his shoulders.
She moved silently around the couch, her gaze catching on the whisky that still sat on the table, directly in front of Chase.
His hands lowered from his face and he stared at the bottle as well.
“He’s not drank straight whisky since he was eighteen years old,” Chase said. “And I’ve not had a brother since he was fifteen. ”
