Page 60 of What Should Have Been Ours

I shift on his lap, pressing closer into him. And damn, it feels so good, so familiar. It feels like the past. Like the reckless, head-over-heels, no regard way we used to love each other.

I smile against his lips. “Are you trying to take me back down another memory lane, Cam?”

Cam laughs, lips brushing against my jaw. “When I do…I promise it will be nothing like you remember.”

I arch a brow, teasing. “Oh yeah?”

He grins, trailing kisses down my neck before pulling back just slightly. “Yeah, but I’m not rushing this.”

I lean my forehead against his, trying to steady my breathing. When I do, I notice his skin is burning up.

I pull back, frowning. “Cam…are you feeling okay?”

He blinks like he’s trying to shake off the haze he was just in. “What?”

“You feel like you have a fever.”

He exhales through his nose, gaining his composure. “I’ve been feeling okay. Maybe a little off, but not in a sick kind of way. Probably just exhaustion from work.”

I cup his cheek, feeling the heat radiating off him. “You sure?”

He smirks lazily. “What, are you offering to take care of me if I am?”

I roll my eyes. “If you start feeling worse, yes.”

Cam hums, eyes flicking to my lips again. “Mmm, I might have to play sick just to have an excuse for you to role-play as my personal nurse. It would check off at least two of the many fantasies I’ve imagined you in.”

I smack his arm lightly. “Cam.”

He chuckles, holding me tighter, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m okay, Gab. I’ll get some rest on my day off and see if it goes away.”

I sigh but nod, still unconvinced.

* * *

When we finally untangle ourselves from each other later in the night, Cam tells me he needs to go home, take a shower, and get some sleep before his next shift at the hospital.

“You know…you could always stay the night if you wanted. I’ve always hated how empty the bed feels sleeping all alone in it,” I tell him dramatically.

Cam laughs, bringing his hand up to cup my face, “Gabrielle. You’re not making the not rushing this part easy right now with that invitation.”

He pulls me in, and I can feel just how much he’s fighting for control—every bit of that restraint pressed firmly against me.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly. My fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his stomach. “I think twelve years counts as not rushing, Cam.”

He lets out a long exhale, his grip on my waist tightening. “Gabrielle,” he warns, but his voice is strained like he’s already close to showing how little restraint he has left.

I press a little closer, my lips grazing just under his jaw. “Come on, Dr. Hayes,” I whisper, letting my fingers trail lower to the waistband of his scrubs. “Show me how good your bedside manners are.”

He groans, dropping his head back for half a second like he’s about to give in, then he grips my wrists, stopping me. His chest rises and falls heavily.

“You mean too much for me to do any part of this casually.”

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering against his touch. “And what if I don’t want to wait?”

He chuckles, but it’s rough, pained like he’s barely holding himself together. “Then you better find a way to distract yourself, because I’m not messing this up.”

I groan, dropping my head against his chest. “You’re so unfair.”