I swallowed, turning back to the stove to pull the bag from my tea and lifting it to my lips. I blew on the hot liquid, the steam warming my cold nose. "Reese drove me."
"Reese," he repeated, tone flat.
I nodded. "Yes, you remember him, right? From dinner at my parents'?"
"I know who he is, yes. Was he sober?"
I shrugged. "Sober enough."
Cameron smacked his hand against the wall, snapping my attention back to him. "Damn it, Charlie. Stop being nonchalant about this. It's almost two in the morning and you don't seem the least bit apologetic about the fact that I've been worrying about you all night. And then you tell me that Reese drove you home, and not even completely sober?" He shook his head. "I told you to call me if you needed a ride."
"You were working," I reminded him, abandoning my steaming tea on the counter as the anger and defensiveness steaming up from inside me took precedence. "And the phone works two ways. If you were so worried, why didn't you check in?"
My blood was boiling, and in the back of my mind, I realized this was what I'd wanted - a fight. I wanted a reaction out of Cameron - any kind of reaction. He was finally noticing me, finally looking at me and feeling something after so long of feeling nothing at all. But now that I had it, that reaction I'd been so desperately seeking, I didn't even care.
I was indifferent to how I'd made him feel tonight. Maybe because he'd been indifferent to how I'd felt since we lost our sons.
///
Guilt flooded me as I toiled with the thought that, perhaps, I didn't care because someone else had given me attention. Someone else had looked at me first, had asked me how I felt, had wanted to make the hurt disappear.
Reese had beat him to it, and now, Cameron's attention didn't feel warranted.
"I'm tired," I said when Cameron didn't have anything else to say. I dumped my untouched tea into the sink, but when I went to move past Cameron, his arm shot out to block the door frame.
"We're not finished."
"I want to go to bed," I threw back, louder, my eyes finding his. "It's late."
He scoffed. "Oh, now it's late."
"Whatever. Goodnight." I ducked under his arm, but before I could reach the stairs, one strong hand wrapped around my forearm and ripped me backward. I opened my mouth to protest, to scream, to cry, but nothing came.
Because in the next instant, Cameron's mouth covered my own - hot and angry and needy.
I pushed against him, my hands pressed into the middle of his chest as I tried to break free, but he only wrapped me in his arms tighter. His mouth opened and without hesitation, mine opened, too - letting him in, letting him taste, and in that instant, I was his again.
In that instant, everything I'd wanted for so long came to fruition, and all the confusion and anger melted away.
He possessed me with that kiss, one I hadn't felt from his lips in years. He'd kissed me, sure. We'd had sex, yes. But the passion had been absent - the want, the need, the look in his eyes that he finally had again, one that said he couldn't live another second without his hands on me.
He wanted me. My husband still wanted me.
I sighed, melting into him, my hands wrapping around him and sliding up to grip his messy hair. I tugged on it as his fingers yanked my blouse and tank top from my jeans. Cameron broke our kiss long enough to strip them over my head, letting them fall to our feet as his mouth found mine again, his hands squeezing my exposed breasts with enough force to make me wince.
He kissed me so hard I thought he might draw blood, or leave a bruise in his wake, but I didn't care. Maybe a part of me wanted him to mark me, to remind me I was his, to obliterate any other feelings I thought I'd had earlier in the night in the arms of another man.
I ripped at his cotton t-shirt, pushing it up over his ribs with my hands before he reached behind his neck to pull it the rest of the way off. He lifted me then, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he moved us up the stairs as his mouth devoured the skin of my neck, my collarbone, my breasts.
It was all consuming, the way he kissed me, like he'd sat on his hands for years watching me and unable to touch me. It was as if access had been granted for the first time, even though he'd had me for years. I closed my eyes and saw the man who'd taken me on our wedding night, felt the man who'd stolen my heart on our very first date. As his passion mixed with the alcohol floating through my system, he was all I could see, all I could feel, all I could care about.
And even still, I couldn't feel him close enough, couldn't see all that I wanted, couldn't ever tire of hearing the way he groaned in appreciation as his hands roamed my body. It had been untouched for so long, but with every kiss and squeeze and moan, it came to life at his command.
Our moans echoed off the walls as he carried me through the hall to our bedroom, and before I registered what was happening, my back hit the down comforter of our bed, the soft gray fabric puffing up around me.
Shakily, I pushed up on my elbows, watching with appreciation as Cameron yanked his pants and briefs to the floor in one fell swoop. He sprang forward, hard and ready, and I bit my lip at the sight.
His eyes were hooded and dark, his jaw set with the intention to bring me back to him. The want rolling off him in that moment was the most intoxicating drug, one I'd craved for so long. And though it was the same drug, it was a new high, one much more powerful than I remembered.
He tugged on my jeans next, pulling me to the edge of the bed, and then his hands flew over the button and zipper. The denim I wore was so tight, almost like it had been painted on me, yet Cameron was able to peel it off of me as if his hands were liquid heat and the denim was butter. My simple nude panties came off next, the lift of my hips the only help he needed.
And there was no body worship, no soft kisses on my thighs or at my core, no time spent working me up to his touch. That was how he touched me on our wedding night, how he made love to me the night we'd moved into our new home. But tonight, he was claiming me.
///
So once I was naked beneath him, Cameron gripped my hips with passionate force and yanked until my hips hung slightly off the edge of the bed. He positioned my ankles on his shoulders, himself at my entrance, and with his eyes hot and needy on mine, he flexed his hips with a groan, filling me to the brim.
I arched off the bed, the thickness of him stretching me all at once after so long of being empty. I was overcome with a searing pain that faded quickly into an electrifying pleasure as he pumped in and out of me, fast and quick, taking what was his. My hands gripped his strong forearms, nails digging into the skin, and he bit the tender hollow of my ankle before kissing that same spot.
There were no words. There never were with Cameron.
It was only his lips on my skin, his eyes capturing mine, his hands tightening around where he held me, as if one loosened grip would let me slip right through his fingers like sand. I lived inside that moment with everything I desired. My husband wanted me, he loved me, I was his and he was mine.
For that hot moment of passion, I was the woman I once was, and Cameron was the man I remembered.
I hoped we'd both stay.
Cameron bit the skin at my ankle, snapping my attention back to him as he used both hands to spread my legs wide. His fingertips trailed down the inside of my ankles, calves, knees, thighs, until one hand wrapped around my hip and the other moved to work my clit. He wasn't easy, wasn't slow. No, he worked my clit like he hated it, like he hated me, and my orgasm didn't build like a slow tide but like an earthquake.
I arched up off the bed, reaching for his neck and pulling him down into me as he bent to fill me even deeper. I climbed him like a tree, and he never stopped moving, never stopped flexing, pushing my climax to last longer than it ever had before.
"Oh God, Cam," I moaned, biting his neck to keep from screaming. He growled at the sensation, and just as my orgasm receded, he found his own, pumping into me with force before stilling completely. Cameron held me there in his arms, our bodies hot and slick and stuck together as he moaned. I felt him emptying inside me as I kissed all over him - his neck, his chest, his jaw - before finally claiming his mouth with my own.
When he was finished, he trembled, falling to the bed with me still in his arms, with him still inside me. We both panted until our breathing evened out, his hand sweeping through my hair, my fingertips tracing the soft hair in the middle of his chest.