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This was the bathroom of my dreams.

I shook myself and stole a swig of the green mouthwash near his sink, swishing it while relieving my bladder. Afterward, raised male voices drifted up the stairs, too muffled to make out anything beyond shared anger.

Uh oh.

I slipped back into Cam’s bed and, a couple of minutes later, light footsteps trod quickly up the stairs.

Cam reappeared in the doorway, gracing me with a smile. “You up for breakfast?” he asked as if that interruption hadn’t happened.

I rose to my elbows. “Does he know I’m here?”

Cam shrugged. “He didn’t ask, but he’s also not stupid, so…”

“Cam, what are you doing? If he finds out⁠—”

“—then nothing.” He entered the room and stood at the end of the bed, his day-old beard gleaming gold at his jaw, proving he was just as human as the rest of us. “He called you a whore, Shay. That’s not something I’ll easily forgive, and now he knows it. Besides, I’m tired of pretending I’m the perfect son. I can’t control what he does. I can only control what I do, and what I want to do is you.”

A smile tugged at my mouth. “You already did me. Multiple times, if I remember correctly. That wasn’t enough?”

His eyebrows lifted, and he shook his head fondly. “Shay, honey. There is no enough when it comes to you.”

“I come with a lot of strings, you know? I wasn’t really sure you’d still—you know.”

“What? Want you?”

I sank deeper into the bed. “Well, yeah.”

A beat of silence passed. He lifted his knee onto the bed, then the other, slowly crawling toward me. “What exactly would I have to do to prove that my love isn’t conditional?”

I didn’t really know. The problem wasn’t his, after all. It was mine. He could say the pretty, adoring words, could back them up with loving, loyal actions, but deep in my soul I’d still know I didn’t deserve him. Or maybe that he deserved better. Or maybe both.

Or maybe I needed therapy.

He crawled until his body caged mine, legs on either side of my hips and hands pressing into the bed beside my shoulders.

I looked into his face, earnest and open. “I think I’ll need time to get used to it.”

“I’ll give you all the time in the world. Just tell me what you want, and it’s yours. But do me a favor?”

“What?” I whispered.

He grasped my face in a gentle hold. “Believe me when I say that you aren’t a fling or a one-night stand.”

Ack, this man!

He grinned. “I’m going to brush my teeth because you deserve better than morning breath.”

I laughed, and when he returned to the bed, he made love to me slowly, our bodies entwined so tightly, I was certain a part of my very self fastened deep inside him. Was it sad that I made it to twenty-seven before I realized how good sex could actually feel? I’d been with men, yes, and even climaxed with them—though it took me a couple of years to learn how to find that release with someone other than myself—but this was something different. This existed on a higher plane, where the connection of our bodies let our souls weave together and communicate.

God, was this how transcendental it always was when love got involved?

“It’s never been like this for me,” I whispered when it was over, our arms and legs still wrapped tightly together.

He kissed my neck. “Me either. But I’m not surprised.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.” He fell to my side, his hand cupping my cheek. “I feel like I’ve been bleeding since we were kids, just waiting for you to give back the pieces you stole. I knew there’d be nothing like you, and no coming back from you either.”