I let out a hoarse chuckle, kissing the soft spot behind her ear.
I wish I could just tell her that I love her.
That she’s it.
The only person who’s ever made me feel this way—alive, grounded, like my entire life before her was nothing but noise.
But then I remember—the distance, the hesitation. I won’t allow this moment to end.
So instead, I press one last kiss to her temple and say, “I am yours.”
Cam freezes beneath me. “Reece, I—”
I hear the shift in her tone. And it stings.
So before she can say anything else—before she can ruin this with something that might break me—I push up onto my elbows, giving her a wicked grin.
“Oh, no, you don’t get to talk with that naughty mouth after what you just did,” I tease, my voice husky, raw, but light enough that she relaxes.
Her lips twitch, but she’s watching me carefully.
I reach for a scrunchie still on my wrist, twist it into my hair, and pull my bangs into a ridiculous unicorn horn.
She stares in disbelief. Then bursts out laughing so hard she nearly chokes.
“You won’t think it’s so funny, when you see how much trouble your pussy is in.”
Her laughter turns to a gasp when I flip our bodies so she’s on top of me. Her eyes go molten in an instant.
I wave my hand over the sensor, and the bed begins its slow, steady rotation. She clutches my shoulders, steadying herself as my palms slide down her smooth, exposed thighs. I grip her firmly, pulling her onto my chest, her clit pressing against me.
“Now, be a good girl and come sit on my face.”
With a wicked smile, Cam obeys.
And as she lowers herself to my eager mouth, I think—no, I know—this woman is mine. Whethersheknows it or not. I need to make her see it.
Because I love her.
And I’m not letting her go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAM
HNRFFF-zzzthbt.Mmmrrph.Hhhnkshhpoo…Snkxxkchh!
I turn my head on the pillow and bite my lip, shaking with silent laughter. Reece snores like a broken symphony—a chorus of clogged kazoos with chainsaw overtones, each breath ending in a high-pitched wheeze(is that a whale mating call?). And yet, somehow, it’s adorable. As in, I could happily listen to this wrecked accordion for the rest of my life.
Holy hell, I’m downbadfor him.
Last night he wrecked me in the best, walking-today-will-be-a-problem way. The man has stamina. And an oral fixation. And a surprising ability to make me forget the limits of my flexibility.
Muscles I didn’t know I had are screaming in sweet protest. My thighs burn. My lips feel puffy and tender. And the spot between my legs? Let’s just say I’m going to request one of those inflatable donuts for our Jeep tour today.
Worth. Every. Ache.
I reposition myself on the rumpled sheets, inhaling the intoxicating cocktail of scents that surrounds us—his spicy ginger cologne mixed with my coconut shampoo, plus the faint musk of sex. My gaze falls to the floor, where the scrunchies lie scattered like leftover party favors.
