What He Doesn't Know(18)

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.