“Nope.”
I slide down his body, slow as honey, letting my hair trail over his chest and stomach, just to watch him twitch. Cam’s skin is gold and hot to the touch, his hands opening and closing where I’ve pinned them. I plant kisses down his treasure trail, stopping at his engorged dick. I know he’s clean; we’ve already had a talk.
I play him, slow and mean, relishing the tension in his arms, the way he tries to buck up and I just tighten my grip, holding him fast and helpless, which is wild, because Cam has never been that for anyone, as far as I can tell. It’s such a turn-on, this big man brought to a shuddering, arching mess just by the way I taste him, squeeze him, and roll my tongue in promises until his voice changes from words to desperate, animal sounds.
Finally, I take him into my mouth in one slow, greedy swallow, my tongue swirling the tip just enough to drive him crazy. Cam’s hips stutter, but I grip the base of his cock to keep him still, glancing up so he can see the glossy, spit-slicked shape of my lipsaround him. He makes a strangled noise, a sound I am suddenly hungry for, and dig my nails into his wrists just to bring it out again.
“Enough.”
He flips me over, holding my wrists like I did his, teasing me with his dick, sliding it between my breasts. “You’re going to regret playing with me.”
“I don’t think so.” I smile wickedly as his mouth moves to my pussy.
He licks my center, his tongue flicking my clit. My whole body jolts.
“Don’t be too sure, my prickly girl.”
His tongue is hot and stubborn, holding me open, holding me still. Cam knows exactly how to break me down, and it’s unfair the way he learns so quickly, how he can make a simple flick feel like lightning. I bite back a whimper, suddenly furious at how far gone I already am.
He pulls back, just for a second, to watch the way my mouth goes slack and my breath stammers, and then he flattens his tongue and circles my clit so slow and deliberate, I feel my eyes roll back in my head.
He grabs a condom from somewhere and rolls it on while bask in my orgasm. “You ready for me?”
“So ready.”
He takes his time, sliding inside me low, deep, like he wants to savor the first stretch and slide. I brace on his shoulders, digging my fingers into the slabs of muscle as he fills me, slowly, then faster, his hips picking up a steady, perfect rhythm that leaves me gasping.
My knees press into his waist, and he hauls me closer, the roughness of his hands skating up my spine as he fucks me, hard and hungry. Every thrust shakes my bones, the headboard biting into the wall with a a continuous, insistent thud.
“You feel so damn good, Mallory.”
He kisses me as he comes, shuddering hard, his hips slowing to a stop. Then, he bends down, his tongue circling my clit, and I come a second time.
I don’t know how much time passes before he shifts beside me, pressing his lips to my temple.
“Stay right there.”
I watch him pull on his boxer briefs and pad barefoot to the living room, returning with his guitar. He settles back against the headboard beside me, close enough that his shoulder is warm against mine, and sets the guitar across his lap like it belongs there. Like this is the most natural thing — a man in his own bed with a woman he just wrecked and rebuilt, picking up an instrument to play for her.
I pull the duvet up and wait.
He doesn’t look at me when he starts to play the familiar chords by the river. The song is rich now, more solid , the notes blending together. When his voice comes in low and unhurried, Walker James’s voice from Boots on the Lake fills the room. It’s the same voice I heard from that festival front row, the one I tried so hard not to react to, and now here it is, unhurried and private, meant only for me.
She don’t need the spotlight
She don’t need the noise
She just needs somebody who appreciates her thorns
I ain’t scared of prickly, I ain’t scared of dark
Guess dark and prickly might be just my kind
But I’ve been half a man
Giving her a name that ain’t mine
If you knew the whole truth of me, darlin’
