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40
Willow
Deep, embedded ridges span a couple of centimeters along Camdyn’s muscular shoulder. I suck in air, much like he did while telling me he’d crush my flower a couple of hours ago. The dominating force broke me, and I’ve broken a little sliver of him too. After eating breakfast, we’d dozed off, limbs tangled, bound as one. Now, I examine his pain. But whereas I whimpered when he stroked my abused pussy, he smiles. I brush my fingertips over the broken skin, high off the sex swirling around us as I tell him how I wish I had branded him to the same magnitude he’d branded me.
Camdyn pulls the blunt from his mouth, delicious eyebrow lifted, he asks, “You got a contact high?”
“I’m not high.” I find myself shaking my head and giggling. “This isn’t a black-and-white movie. We simply mustn’t use terms like deflowered.”
Laughing, he sucks at a Scottish aristocratic tone. “I said I crushed your flower, lassie.” He gestures toward my mouth, holding smoke in his mouth for me to breathe in.
“No.” My head rattles around again.
He nods but holds the weed deep in his throat, then crawls down my legs to blow softly at my sex. “Hello, pussy, you ready for me?”
“Mmm, feels so good,” I moan. “You fuck hard, Camdyn. A couple of hours of sleep, and you’re already to pounce again. Anyway, if I don’t get fed soon, I’m gonna sprout teeth down there.”
Camdyn climbs back up me as I cackle. “You’re so fucking high.”
“I’m not high. I’m hangry. You cooked breakfast. That was ages ago.” With a silly grin, I roll my eyes, calling bullshit. Camdyn brought me leftover food his stay-at-home mom made this morning. The scrambled eggs were fluffy, and bacon crisped to perfection. He made the toast, I’m sure.
Camdyn runs a hand over his light strawberry tresses. “Yeah, but school let out, Willow.”
“Hmmm, you’re inferring I’m only allowed to be here if I’m locked away in here? Watch all this ass sneak out.” I turn onto my knees to climb to the window framing his bed. “See you when I see ya.”
“Nah.” Camdyn loops an arm around me, standing me up on the side of the bed. “I’ll feed you.”
“Should I stay here? Hide?”
“Hold that thought.” Camdyn steps to his dresser, pulling out a pair of compression pants. My head cocks to the side.
“Ain’t no way.”
“They’ll fit. Here.” He hands over a shirt.
“Luck of the Irish?” I pull off the tag.
“Kieran, he’s half a paddy. Gave us all shirts one year just to be a dick.”
“Paddy sounds mean.”
He shrugs.
A few minutes later, I’m dressed. The pants feel like a second skin, but the vacation shirt skims my knees.
Camdyn stops me from tying one side of the shirt as we slink into a huge, homey kitchen.
“Lo, what do you have a taste for?”
“Pop-tart, hot pocket. Frozen waffle.” I hold in a laugh. “What’s your specialty?”
“My brother can cook anything!” a squeaky, arrogant voice says. I glance over my shoulder then whip around. A little, green-eyed kid grins up at me. He’s in fifth, sixth grade, maybe.
“Dammit, you little shit. You’re sneaking up on my, ahem, Willow.” Camdyn saves himself from an awkward blunder.
“Yes, I’m his Willow.” I shoot a glare over my shoulder, but the guy I’m falling for disappears into what I assume is the pantry. Smiling, I ask, “Who might you be.”
“Rory.” His mouth shoots up at the edges as more voices near. “Are you allergic to anything?”
