Page 60 of You're So Vine
“No,” says Cam, the mind reader. “I’m not taking you up against a tree. It’s too damn cold.”
Is it? I’m quite warm myself. But I guess there is a chill in the air.
“Come on,” he says, like I haven’t been repeating thoseexactwords for the last hundred years.
Another century later, we arrive at his workshop. He fishes the door key out of his pocket—not the same one he keeps the dried corn in—and lets us in.
Instead of rushing upstairs as soon as the front door clicks shut, like I would, he walks into the kitchen area, pulls two tumblers from the shelf, and fills them with water.
“Important to hydrate,” he says, handing me one.
Fortunately, I decide against making a joke about how moist I am already. Too crass. And it involves the word “moist”.
After we’ve drunk our water, he says, “Need the bathroom?”
“Cam,” I warn.
“Means we won’t be unnecessarily interrupted,” he says.
I go to the bathroom. When I come back into the main house, Cam’s leaning against the counter, smiling.
“Do I need to floss, too?” I ask.
He pretends to hesitate, and I begin to mock beat him. “Go! Up! Now!”
“Okay, okay!”
He’s laughing now. And, because he wants to remain alive, he’s moving up the stairs with me following with both hands pressed against his rear. I work out that if he stopped, I couldn’t budge him—so much for my fireman’s lift fantasy. But I’ve got more fantasies where that came from, and I intend to live some out right now.
As I start taking off my clothes, I realize I’ve left the overnight bag I brought from home in Shelby and Nate’s kitchen. But they’d know better than to bring it over? Right?
“Did you lock the door?”
Cam’s unbuttoning his shirt. “Uh-huh.”
I can tell from how dark his eyes are that he’s not fully focused on my question. But now that his shirt is off, and his naked torso is on full display, I’ll have to trust him. No way I’m wasting good hot make-up sex time running downstairs to check.
Off come his jeans. Then his boxer briefs. And there he is—one hundred percent in the buff. Muscled, golden,veryready, and all mine. Shit, better finish getting my clothes off. I got distracted.
Now, we’re both naked, standing about a foot apart, taking each other in. Of course, I make the first move, but before I can get my hands on him, he says, “Wait.”
“What?” I say. “No! Why?”
“I…” He’s finding the words. “I thought I’d fucked up so bad I’d lost you and … I’d just like us to lie on the bed and … take our time.”
My current fantasy was him lifting me up and carrying me around, like they do in raunchy romantic movies. But I can adapt. Taking our time sounds good. Though I’m guessing I might have to adjust my idea of how much time, to fit Cam’s and not call it after twenty seconds.
We lie on top of the covers, side by side, face to face. Cam traces his finger around my cheek, over my lips, my jawline, my neck, the dip in my shoulder blade. It’s way more intense than I expect, like his fingertip is electrically charged, creating a trail of tingling heat. It’s all I can do not to shiver; I don’t want him to stop because he thinks I don’t like it. I love it, but it’s also agony. Every inch of skin he touches releases a hot surge of desire. I’machingfor him, desperate for him to enter me, fill me up, fuck me. I could wrap my leg over his right now, slip his hardness into me and end this torture.
Cam’s finger starts heading south, down my arm, skimming the curve of my breast. I can’t help it, I grind myself against him, and he catches my hip, stills my movement.
“Soon,” he says.
How soon? I want to yell. Soon is not soon enough!
Breathe, Ava. Be in the moment. Not everything has to happen at a million miles an hour.
Gently, Cam pushes my hip, coaxes me onto my back. I pull my leg up, seeking some friction, some release, and he catches that, too, runs his palm up my thigh, slowly, lightly, almost hovering above my skin. I can feel goosebumps lifting, seeking out the heat. His hand glides over my belly and up toward my breasts. Nowtwoareas of my body are competing for his touch. My breasts crave for him to cup them, run his thumb around my nipples, and put his mouth into action, too. My southern region demands the same attention, from his hands, his mouth. It’s pulsing down there, hot and frantic, like it’s on the verge of orgasm, and I don’t think I can take much more. I mean, how long has it been? An hour? The length of the Cretaceous period?
