I can see Cam’s nostrils flare as he takes his next breath. “No.”
“No, you’re not happy?”
“No—I don’t have what I want,” he says.
He tosses the book onto my bed and reaches for my waist.
Chapter Thirty
He doesn’t even have to pull me in.
My chest is drawn, magnetized, right to his. My hand snakes up Cam’s shoulder and curves around his neck, touching the feathery ends of his hair. His fingers flex and curl as they knead into my shirt. The touch is surprisingly gentle. But there’s so much tension in the restraint. I can feel how hard he’s working not to crush his body immediately against mine.
The spaces left between us are going to make me explode.
His eyes go heavy as they slip down my cheeks, landing on the center of my mouth. I raise my other hand and cut his jawline with my thumb. He inhales sharply, lips parting.
I cannot believe I’m going to do this.
Again.
I swallow and tilt my head to one side.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
His breathing is thick and strained. I move the tiniest bit closer, until I feel his breath over my skin. I repeat the question.
“What do you—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish.
I catch his bottom lip, savoring the exact flavor of him. Not even a specific brand of lip balm or a leftover fruity taste from some sports drink. There’s just Cam—warm and spiced.
I’m aware that now would be a great time to close my eyes, but for some reason, I can’t. I’ve spent too much time in this room, twisting under my covers late at night and imagining this scenario playing out in my head. Because the truth is, Ihavewanted Cam so badly. Wanted to have him wantme, like this, so badly. I have to at least try to capture every detail of this moment in my memory.
I catch a glimpse of the ceiling through the curls in Cam’s hair as our lips pull away and come back together, and I know I’ll never see my ceiling the same way again. The late-afternoon light spills in through the curtains behind him. This is a mirage. It’s a dream. It’s blurring the line holding fantasy back from reality. Cam’s hands move down my hips, and I feel high and giddy and half asleep. I realize this moment is so surreal that I might, in fact, be dreaming. But if I am, I’m in no hurry to wake up.
The light from the setting sun gets stronger. It pulls Cam in until he’s a silhouette across from me. He tips his forehead against mine. It’s so easy to lean into him, to have the two of us meld into one figure, one statue, as if we were always destined to come together this way. The light gets brighter, and I finally close my eyes, sinking fast into him. There’s only one speed when it comes to kissing Cam, and that speed is quick, hungry, hurried.
My mouth presses hard into his, and it’s like falling down a rabbit hole.
And down.
And down.
And down.
As I fall, the scent of his mouth, his neck, his arms, grows sharper. The more I kiss him, the more I start to smell something else too.
Fresh-cut grass. Damp earth. Rain somewhere in the distance.
I open my eyes.
Cam’s lying in the meadow, across from me.
Pale shadows are scattered over us from the canopy of trees way up high.
A shovel at Cam’s feet.
