Page 10 of Second Quarter Comeback
“Oh,” I say, not sure if I should be thrilled or terrified. Two more months of Killion Crawford? Two moredates with him and I might be falling for this guy. And falling hard.
The thought lodges itself in my head as we walk. How do I handle the heartbreak if this ends? Does it have to end? Or am I just too scared to admit that I don’t want it to?
Chapter Seven
Killion
The Art of Falling Apart
Dinner. I invited her to dinner. We ate, we talked, and now . . .
Now we’re kissing.
And this kiss—God, this kiss. It’s not wild, exactly, but it’s not tame either. It’s everything. Breathless, addictive. The kind of kiss that leaves me drunk on her and wondering how I went so long without tasting her lips. When her soft whimper reaches my ears, it’s like a spark igniting every inch of me. Her hands clutch my shirt, and I lose myself in the heat of it, in the way she melts against me like she belongs here.
I don’t want to stop.
Hell, I want to drag her straight to my room and do every sinful thing I’ve imagined with her. But I didn’t invite her here for this. Did I? My willpower is hanging by a thread, and her lips aren’t helping. They’re soft and insistent, and the little noises she makes as our hands explore each other . . . let’s just say my jeans are getting uncomfortably tight.
“Cam.” My voice is rough, barely a whisper against her lips. “Camille.” I pull back slightly, enough to meet her hazy eyes and take a much-needed breath. “This isn’t why I brought you here. I swear.”
“I know.” Her voice is soft, but her arms don’t move. They stay locked around my neck, her fingers grazing the nape of my hair like she’s afraid I’ll pull away entirely. Then she presses the sweetest, most disarming kiss to my chin. “But I want to,” she says, her words delicate but sure. “I really do.”
“You do?” My heart stutters as I search her face.
She nods, biting her bottom lip, and something about the shy way she does it slays me.
“What do you want, Camille?” I ask, my tone firm but coaxing, as if my sanity hinges on her answer.
“I . . .” Her gaze drops, cheeks flushing. She hesitates, then peeks back up at me through her lashes.
“Sweetheart, you have to tell me,” I murmur, my lips brushing her temple before trailing down to her cheek. My voice is low, coaxing, but firm enough to make her pulse quicken. “I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me. What if I just flip you over and fuck you hard and fast, when what you really wanted was to feel me take my time—slow, deep, until you’re trembling for me?”
I pause, letting my lips graze the curve of her neck, breathing her in before whispering, “What if you wanted me to kiss you here . . . suck your nipples while my fingers slid into your tight, wet cunt?” Her sharp gasp makes me smirk, my hands tightening around her waist.
“Imagine wanting that, but not asking for it,” I murmur against her skin, my lips dragging along her jawline. “What if I didn’t do it? What if I left you aching for more, because you couldn’t say the words?”
Her breath hitches, and I swear her blush deepens. It’s adorable, really, the way her cheeks turn that soft pink like she’s never been this close to losing herself.
“Camille,” I whisper, brushing her hair back, my fingers threading gently through the soft strands. Her wide eyes meet mine, and I can see the conflict there—the vulnerability mixed with curiosity. “Tell me. What do you want?”
“I . . . I’m not sure what I want,” she says softly,biting her lip. “I mean, I’ve had sex before, but he didn’t ask me. We just . . . did it, you know?”
I stop. My lips hover against her skin, and I pull back to look at her, a mix of disbelief and protectiveness stirring in my chest.
“Oh, baby,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her neck before letting my mouth trail lower, lingering just enough to tease. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Someone should have shown you how good it can feel when it’s about you. Don’t worry, though,” I add with a grin, slipping my hands under her top and starting to lift it slowly. “We’ll figure it out together. I’ll make sure of it.”
Her eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights. “Together?”
“Yes, together. Step one,” I say, my voice a playful drawl as I ease her shirt over her head, “we start by seeing what makes you melt. Step two? Well, that’s where the real fun begins.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out.
“Tell me something, Camille,” I say, my hands slipping to her waist, fingers brushing her warm skin. “Do you touch yourself, baby?”
Her frown is immediate, and she shakes her head. “No, not really.”
I freeze for a moment, blinking at her. “Not . . . really? Are you telling me you’ve got all this”—I gesture to her body, my tone incredulous—“and youdon’t even know how good you can feel? Oh, sweetheart, we’ve got so much work to do.”
