Page 50 of Full Tilt
Neither of us says anything. We just stay like this. Breathing, linked, and settled in something that feels too big to name. As the last of the tension seeps from my body, I wonder—quiet and breathless—what the hell we’ve just started.
Whatever it is, I don’t want to stop. I just hope, when morning comes, Camden doesn’t start building those walls back up again.
11
Camden
I wakewith my face pressed to warm skin and my arm flung across a solid chest. My leg is tangled with another—his—and there’s a steady thrum of breath against my hair. Brent.
I blink slowly, my eyes adjusting to the soft morning light. It’s quiet. Still. The hum of the city muffled by the thick windows and the stillness between us. I don’t move.
His body is a furnace, his arm a heavy, secure band across my waist. I breathe him in—skin, sweat, something warm and clean beneath it all—and wait for the panic. Wait for the usual thud of regret to settle into my chest.
But it doesn’t come.
Instead, I feel… safe. Grounded, even.
His cock is hard against my thigh, and the thought hits me like a freight train: I want to taste him. The idea itself stuns me. Not the wanting—I’ve wanted him from the moment he shook my hand and smiled like he knew what to do with someone like me—but the impulse, the intimacy, this isn’t who I am. I don’t do overnights. I don’t do sleepy cuddling and soft thoughts about waking someone up with a blow job.
And yet… here I am, clinging to him like I’ve done it a hundred times before.
I’m so lost in my own head I don’t even realise he’s awake until he speaks, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re thinking far too hard this morning.”
I freeze. “Shit, sorry.” I start to pull back, flustered.
But his arm tightens around me, dragging me even closer. “Nope. Stay put,” he murmurs.
And fuck, I melt into him. “Morning,” I croak, my throat dry, heart loud in my ears.
He shifts just enough to find my mouth and presses a kiss to it—soft, lazy, sweet. The kind of kiss that makes my toes curl and my chest go all warm and useless. It’s not hungry. Not demanding. Just… affection, poured straight from him into me.
I’m a puddle of goddamn goo.
“Morning,” he replies against my lips. He kisses me again—soft and unhurried—then rolls back enough to tuck a knuckle beneath my jaw. “What’s the plan today?” he asks, his voice still husky with sleep but laced with curiosity.
I blink slowly, brain sluggish. “Uh… Sunday recovery. No training. You?”
He stretches with a low, satisfied noise. “I’ve got a client this afternoon. Few hours from now.”
“Plenty of time for breakfast,” I murmur, then wince. “Except I have, like, no breakfast food.”
Brent stretches, his stomach letting out a quiet growl. “Okay, how about we go grab some breakfast? There’s a place around the corner I saw yesterday—does a full English. Not sure if it’s any good, though.”
I go still. Out. In public. With him.
The panic is instant—tight and cold, latching on to my ribs before I can stop it. Not because I don’t want to be seen with him, but because I do. And what that might mean. What it might look like.
Brent notices, because of course he does. His smile softens, and he immediately reroutes, casual as anything. “Or,” he says, voice easy, “I can head out, grab something, and bring it back here.”
I blink, caught off-guard by the pivot, and the fact that it came without judgement, without a pause. Just instinct and care.
Before I can speak, he shifts closer and presses a kiss to my temple. “It’s okay,” he says gently. “I get it.”
I glance up at him—at those eyes that always seem to see more than I want to give away. He’s not hurt. Not offended. Just… steady.
And somehow, in the quiet weight of that look, I believe him. He reallydoesget it.
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes on the nightstand. Then again. And again.
