Page 100 of Staying for You

Scott’s officially in prison for life. After his mom had a tearful confession, because he told her every single thing he’d been up to, everything moved quickly. She also was charged with obstruction of justice and a few other things. Basically, if she would have told someone what her son had been up to rather than trying to protect him, her life would be a heck of a lot easier right now. But, once a helicopter parent always a helicopter parent, it seems, and until she was pushed to her limit, she held fast to her stories that tagged him as a decent person.

I climb the stairs to our apartment, I open the door to see Cami on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, hands to the keyboard typing away. I shake my head at her and leave her to it. She didn’t even raise her eyes to me, so I know she’s in the middle of writing something she won’t want to quit.

I grab a cold beer from the fridge and pop the cap off, tossing it in the trash, then I lift my shirt to wipe my brow with the hem of it. I’m just taking my first big swig when I feel her eyes on me. I lower the bottle slowly but not my shirt. I’m not an idiot. She loves my stomach and the work I put into keeping it in the shape that it’s in. I’ll spend hours every day working to keep this body up if it means she’ll continue to look at me the way she does.

I smirk when she licks her lips, not even realizing yet that she’s been caught staring. Though, neither of us shy away from it when we get caught. Which we both do. Often.

I let my shirt slide down and take another swig of my beer then carry it into the bathroom so I can wash my face and hands.

I’m leaning over the sink, hands full of water when I hear the door open. Trying to keep the smile off my face because I know she’s trying to be sneaky, I keep doing what I’m doing as if I don’t hear a thing. She slips in behind me and my arms shoot back, wet hands gripping her forearms as I tug her around and adjust my hold on her, setting her on the counter. She immediately opens her legs for me, letting me slide between them.

“You knew exactly what you were doing out there just now,” she says breathlessly when I immediately attack her neck with my mouth. There’s rarely a day that goes by that we don’t have sex of some form. We’re still just as hungry for each other as we were in the beginning when we were foolishly committed to only being friends with benefits. What a joke that was.

“And?” I prompt, daring her to say she doesn’t love it.

“Nothing. Just… if you’re going to put your body on display like that, you need to be prepared for the consequences.”

“Best punishment ever, then.”

“Right,” she croaks out when I tip her back, lift her shirt, and suck lightly on her hard nipple. Her hands slip beneath the cotton of my t-shirt and glide over my stomach, around to my ass where she squeezes and then back to the front.

Yanking her off the counter, she yelps in surprise when I spin her around again so she’s facing the mirror. I grind myself against her ass and she moans, whispering my name. Together we work at removing her jean shorts and underwear, both completely worked up to the point where nothing else matters right now but me being inside her. I tip her head back with my hand under her chin, my thumb against her lips. She opens her mouth and sucks on my thumb, nipping at the tip of it and giving me goose bumps. She reaches around and starts to work on my jeans and that’s where everything stops.

Her mouth opens and I slide my thumb out, letting it make a trail down her throat. “What’s this?”

I still, not wanting to move a muscle. “Nothing.”

“Owen? What’s in your pants?”

“You know exactly what’s in my pants,” I try to deflect by pointing out what she was originally going for, rather than finding what I was stupid enough to keep “hidden” in my jeans pocket.

“Owen?” Her hand has stopped moving now and she’s staring at me through the mirror, tears building in her beautiful eyes.

I drop my forehead, resting it between her shoulder blades and take a deep breath.

“Sweetheart,” I mutter, knowing damn good and well that I’m caught and suddenly nervous about it. She’ll either be all about it or think I’m crazy.

“Owen,” she mutters in return and turns around to face me.

“This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” she asks but I can tell she knows. Standing in front of me in her shirt with no bra, me with not one but two bulges in my pants, I make a decision.

Nothing about our relationship has been perfect from the start and look where we are now.

Slowly, I drop to my knee and just like I knew they would, her eyes fill with tears and her hands move to cover her mouth.

Looking up at her, I smirk. “Usually when I’m down here and you don’t have pants on, I have other plans.”

A giggle bursts out of her and she slaps my shoulder. “Owen!”

“Sorry. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Maybe I should have you put on some pants, though. This is incredibly distracting.”

“Maybe you should show me what you’re hiding in your pocket before I lose my mind then maybe after I receive whatever’s in that pocket you’ll be glad I’m not wearing any pants.”

“Point taken.”

I dig into my front pocket and pull out the small velvet box and she gasps.

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