Page 86

"Fuck," I gasped when she bit down on my lower lip hard enough to sting.

She made a sound low in her throat, something primal and desperate, and her mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, my neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough that I knew that tomorrow, I'd see evidence of this and remember exactly how out of control she'd been.

"Cam," I gasped, but it came out like a plea, like encouragement, like everything she needed to hear to lose even more control.

Her hands were everywhere, sliding down my sides, gripping my hips, my ass, pulling me harder against her. One hand slid up under the hem of my shirt just enough to find bare skin at my waist, and I arched into the touch, desperate for more.

She lifted me onto the counter so fast that I barely registered the movement. One second, I was standing, and the next, I was sitting on the counter with her body fitting between my legs, her hands gripping my thighs and pulling me to the edge so our bodies were flush together.

I wrapped my legs around her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, and she ground against me with enough force to make me see stars. I could sense how wet I was, how hopeless, how much I needed her.

"Harper," she groaned against my neck. "You feel—god, you feel—"

Her hands slid higher on my thighs, thumbs pressing dangerously close to where I needed her most. I rolled my hips against her, seeking friction, seeking anything that would ease this ache.

She cupped me through my jeans—just pressed her whole enormous hand against me through the denim—and I actually cried out before she covered my mouth with hers again, swallowing the sound.

"Shh," she breathed against my lips. "We have to be quiet."

"Then stop touching me like that."

"I can't. I've wanted to touch you like this since—fuck, I don't even know. Since the moment we met. I can't stop."

She pressed harder, and I bit down on her shoulder to keep from making noise. My hips were moving against her hand without my permission, urgent and shameless, chasing the pressure she was giving me.

Her other hand found my breast through my shirt, squeezing, her thumb finding my nipple through the layers of fabric. It wasn't enough. I needed her skin on mine, needed her hands under my clothes.

"I need—" she started, her breath ragged. "I need to touch you. Actually touch you. Need to feel you. Need everything."

"Yes," I gasped against her mouth. "Yes, please—"

Her hand moved from my breast to the button of my jeans. She popped it open with ease and started sliding the zipper down.

And that sound, that small metallic sound of my zipper lowering, cut through the haze of desperation like a knife.

Reality crashed back in.

We were in Isla's kitchen. Our friends were twenty feet away. Cam's hand was on my zipper. Another few seconds, and she'd have her hand inside my jeans. Another minute and she'd be touching me skin-to-skin, those rough, calloused fingers on my soaking wet, needy pussy, while people we knew were in the next room.

"Wait," I gasped, my hand shooting down to cover hers on my zipper. "Wait. Stop."

She froze immediately, her hand stilling. Her chest was heaving against mine, her eyes wild and dark, her lips swollen and wet.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and her tone was so worried it nearly broke me. "Did I hurt you? Did I—"

"No. God, no." I was trying to catch my breath, trying to think through the fog of want. "We can't. Cam, we can't do this."

The realization hit her like a physical blow. I watched it happen, watched her eyes clear, watched understanding dawn, watched her realize where we were and what we'd almost done.

"Fuck," she breathed, stepping back slightly. But her hand was still on my zipper, like she couldn't quite make herself let go. "You're right. I'm sorry. I lost control. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," I said, but my voice was shaking. "I wanted—I want—"

"I know." She finally moved her hand away from my zipper, and the loss of contact hurt more than it had any right to, even though it was what I'd asked for. "I know."

She stepped back slowly, like it physically stung to put distance between us. Her hands fell to her sides and immediately clenched into fists; she was forcing herself not to reach for me again.

We stared at each other, both of us breathing hard, both of us clearly in pain. My jeans were still unbuttoned, my lips were swollen, my neck was definitely marked up. Cam looked absolutely ravished, her hair wild from my hands, her lips swollen, her eyes still dark with want.