Page 77

I hold him tighter, breathing in the scent of his hair. Cameron is becoming my entire world. Every thought, every plan, every moment revolves around him. I want to give him everything. I want to make him happy. I want to keep him safe and satisfied and mine.

The intensity of it feels right. It’s that important.

“What about Liam?” I ask after a moment. “Think he’d come to the Lowcountry? I mean, it’s meant to be fun. He might like it.”

Cameron hesitates. “I’ll talk to him.”

“How is he?” I press. “With us, I mean. Really?”

Cameron shifts slightly, thinking. “He’s…better with it now. He came around.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cameron’s voice is soft. “He told me he can see that I’m happier. That I’m different. In a good way.” He pauses. “He said that matters to him.”

“He’s a good friend,” I say.

“He is.” Cameron nods against my chest. “He doesn’t understand it—us—but he’s trying. He sees that you make me happy, and that’s enough for him.”

I stroke Cameron’s back, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. “I want to make you happy, Cam. That’s all I want.”

And it’s true. Every word.

“You do,” Cameron whispers. “That day in the river…Lucien.”

I continue to stroke his back.

“You were there…like a guardian angel…to save me. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t done that, Lucien.” Cameron looks up at me with a stoic expression.

“I’m happy to be your guardian angel, baby.” I kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the way his lips part for me.

His breath stutters when I deepen the kiss, my tongue pulsing against his, taking as much of him as I can. He rolls under me, and I adjust my body, pressing him into the mattress.

His hands come up to grip my shoulders, fingers digging into my skin. I break the kiss and drag my eyes over him. His face is flushed, rosy color creeping down his neck and across his chest. His pink lips are parted and glistening. His brown eyes are glazed over.

Fuck, look at him. It’s getting late, and I really do need to get going. It takes a strength I didn’t know I possessed, that I didn’t know I needed, to tell him.

“I have to go,” I say, even though every part of me wants to stay.

His hand drops from my shoulder, and he grips my wrist when I pull away.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I look down at his hand wrapped firmly around my wrist.

I grin.

“Or maybe I’ll stay,” I murmur.

I climb over him, my forearms resting on either side of his head, caging him in.

His chest rises and falls beneath me, his breath coming faster now.

I lean down and kiss him. My tongue glides against his, tasting him, salty and sweet. He pushes back with greedy insistence, needing me as much as I need him. I want to be the only thing he thinks about when he closes his eyes. He’s all I ever think about.

He moans into my mouth and arches against me, his body seeking friction, seeking me. The sound he makes goes straight through me, settles in my body with a searing, pleasurable heat. I want to devour every sound he makes and replay it when I’m alone, when I need him.

I cuff the back of his neck with my palm, fingers pulling through his hair to tilt his head back, opening him for me. Every angle of this kiss is calculated to make him feel worshipped. Because that’s what this is: reverence wrapped in need.

My other hand slides down his side, feeling the warmth of his skin through his sleep shirt. I want to tear it off, want him completely bare and exposed before me, but I’m enjoying the anticipation. He’s mine to unwrap.