Page 27 of Curious
“Don’t be,” I say, breathless.
“No, Shelby,” Cam says. “I listened to you yesterday. Let’s just … not.”
I will not roll my eyes. I will not sigh in exasperation. I will stay strong. I will be grateful he’s doing what I asked. My mind will quit spinning off on tangents about what I’d like to do with my husband if things were different between us.
“Thanks,” I force out, then berate myself. Because I could maybe have had some morning somethin’-somethin’ with my handsome husband, but because of myprinciplesand myself-worth, I’m going to deprive myself.
No nookie for me. Even if I want it.
Cam gives me a shy smile. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “What time—” My phone alarm sounds, and we both groan. I fumble to turn it off, and Cam reluctantly lets me.
I sit up. “I’m sorry for the mixed messages. Obviously, I don’t know what I want. Or rather, I know what Ishouldwant, which is different than what Idowant.”
“S’okay. No need to figure everything out this second. We can go at your pace. Or not at all.”
“It doesn’t matter right now, because we need to get ready,” I say. “Or we’ll be late to your doctor’s appointment.”
Cam grumbles, “I know.” He gives me a little smile. “Sorry. I guess I just wanted to not have real life break in.”
“How about you go take a quick shower, and I’ll do the same, and then I’ll make us breakfast and we can go to the doctor’s office.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He smiles and kisses me, then gets off me gingerly. His dick is a solid pole in his boxers, and I want it so bad—in me, anywhere. Or at least to touch it and make him feel good.
But. I have rules.
No straight experiments. Or straight-ish experiments. (Anymore.)
He shrugs on his shirt and throws his sweats over his shoulder before using his crutches to get out of my bedroom. I watch his tight ass go and groan loudly again when the door closes behind him.
* * *
I take the fastest shower I can, then figure Cam needs help getting dressed. And yes, I’m both ignoring the fact that he’s managed to dress himself the past few daysandhoping to catch him partially dressed.
He’s my husband. Sue me.
I round the corner to his bedroom, which is one of the very few rooms in his house that has drywall, and knock on the door. “Hey, Cam,” I say. “Do you need any help?”
“Ugh. Maybe. Come in.”
I do, and holy shit, he’s standing there wearing only a sage green towel.
Everything that was on display in my bed is here waiting for me, again. His muscular chest. His trim waist, and that tidy happy trail down from his belly button. A bulge in the front of his towel. Those damned barbells in his nipples.
I want him.
But then I notice how swollen Cam’s ankle looks, and I remember what we’re actually doing. He tries to hobble to his dresser, and I dart into the room. “No,” I say, pushing gently on his chest.
He’smuscular. I suppress a whimper.
“Let me get it. What do you want to wear?” I open the first drawer and luck out, since it’s full of folded socks and underwear.
“Um, those,” he says, pointing to a pair of white boxer briefs.
I hold them out for him so he can step into first one leg hole and then the other, and then I slide the briefs up his hairy thighs. He smells like body wash and aftershave and deodorant, and oh god, he’s mouthwatering.
It’s not lost on me that if I bent down just a little more and moved his towel, I could get his dick in my mouth, and he groans. “Don’t look at me like that, Shelby.”
“I don’t mean to tease. I did want to see you, because you’re handsome as hell, but I genuinely wanted to help you get dressed.”
