Then, I whisper into the receiver where I’m certain Cassie won’t hear, saying, “You don’t like seeing my hands on her? Does it make you angry, thinking of me giving someone else the same pleasure I’ve fed you?”
Cameron is breathing hard, basically panting as he takes in my words. I canfeelhis rage, his desire, and it’s wonderful.
“Just… walk away from her,” he grits out.
My eyes scan the trees once more. “Then tell me in which direction I should walk to findyou.”
A stuttered gasp comes through the speaker, straight into my ear. I want to shiver, to moan, to stroke myself to the sound of it. But I’m a patient man, so I hold still and wait for his response.
“Turn to the right,” he whispers, and my eyes flicker in the opposite direction in which I came to find Cassie.
“Where?” I push, wanting his exact coordinates if he can manage it.
“You’re looking right at me.” Cameron’s voice is small, tender, full of something that chokes me and makes me far too warm and fuzzy inside.
He says it as if merely my eyes set in his direction are a merciful gift, and he is so,sothankful.
And I finally see him. Hidden halfway behind a tree, his golden hair hidden beneath a baseball cap and his phone pressed firmly to his ear.
“Better run, sweetheart,” I murmur. “I’m coming to get you.”
Then, without another word sent in Cassie’s direction, I run.
And Cameron, the beautiful angel, runs too.
Cameron
23
MY FEET SLAM AGAINSTthe dirt and the leaves, my Vans making far too much noise for my liking.
Atticus ischasingme, hunting me, and it feelsphenomenal. Like he wants me badly enough to run and run for miles, like I’m somethingworthchasing.
I can hear his gaining footsteps behind me, but I don’t relent, only pushing harder. I’m strong, and I spend a lot of time in the gym, but I’m not necessarily the fastest guy. And today, I’m grateful for that.
I’m almost certain Cassie isn’t following him; she was wearing heels and thinks running is below her. But the fear is still settled in me—fear of what she now knows and what she might see if sheisgiving chase.
I may be more comfortable with my preferences, but the idea of others thinking of me differently, of not living up to my father, still hangs heavily over my head.
But enough about that. I’m beingchasedby Atticus fucking Chastain!
“Cam,” he sings, breathless and hot on my trail as I jump over a fallen log.
“Go away!” I shout back, but I’m laughing too, unable to hide my excitement.
“Here now, boy,” Atticus replies, as if he’s calling his favorite hound. “Be good and stop.”
“No way!”
My voice echoes through the trees, and as I see a small creek in the distance, I run straight toward it. No way he’s ruining his nice, expensive running shoes in that muddy water, right?
I can hear Atticus’s breathing as I reach the stream, stumbling into it and spinning around to face him.
We’re both panting as he stops, just a few inches from the ankle-deep water.
“I win,” I cheer, grinning as I peer up at him.
And Atticus is… well, he’s not glaring. In fact, the smile onhisface is quite soft and adoring. It makes me want to cry, to melt, to surrender.
