Page 28 of Worth the Wait
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of my collarbone, down to my breast. “Every part of you.”
When his mouth follows the path his hands have taken, I gasp and arch beneath him, my fingers tangling in his hair. This is what I’ve been missing, what I’ve been denying myself—this feeling of being completely wanted, completely seen.
“Cam,” I whisper his name like a prayer as his lips find the sensitive spot just below my ear that he somehow still remembers.
“I’m here,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’m right here.”
When he kisses me again, I can taste forever on his lips. The years we spent apart, the years we lost because we were too young and immature. But that all melts away as Cameron kissesme again, and I lose myself in the sensation of his mouth against mine, his hands on my body.
His T-shirt joins mine on the carpet, and then we’re skin against skin, nothing between us but years of regret and the promise of this moment.
I let him continue to explore my body like it’s brand-new, his hands mapping every curve, his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin. It’s perfect, and I know that I’ll never get enough of him even when I know it’s just for tonight. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
When his hand slides between my legs, I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he strokes me gently, deliberately, his thumb finding my clit as he drives me closer to the edge.
“Fuck, Cam,” I moan as I come against his hand, waves of pleasure washing over me in a rush that leaves me breathless and aching for more.
“God, you’re amazing,” he murmurs as he shifts above me, sliding a condom over his cock with practiced ease.
I reach between us to stroke him, feeling him harden against my palm. He’s big and thick and perfect, and when he finally pushes inside me, I gasp, arching against him as he fills me completely.
We find a rhythm, his hips driving against mine as I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. It’s perfect, and I realize that I don’t want this moment to end. That I could spend forever wrapped up in his arms, safe and warm and loved.
Cameron’s breathing grows ragged as he thrusts into me faster, harder, and I know he’s close. But I also know that he won’tfinish without me, that he wants me to come with him, and that knowledge pushes me over the edge.
I come with a cry, my fingers digging into his back as pleasure rushes through me like a storm. Cameron follows me over the edge, his face pressed against my shoulder as he comes with a shuddering gasp, his body going rigid and then still.
We lay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the world outside a distant memory. Eventually, he rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom, disposing of the condom. Returning to the bed, he pulls me back to him, his hands skimming down my body as if he can’t bear to lose contact with me.
“That was...” I start, then stop, because there aren’t words for what this felt like.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his arms tightening around me. “It was.”
Outside, the storm continues to rage, but inside our rose-colored sanctuary, everything feels calm and right and exactly as it should be.
For the first time in four years, I fall asleep feeling completely safe, completely wanted, completely home.
10
I waketo sunlight streaming through the honeymoon suite’s floor-to-ceiling windows and an empty bed beside me. The sheets where Lianne slept are still warm, but she’s gone.
For a moment, I lie still, processing the absence and what it might mean. Last night was everything I’d remembered and more—tender, passionate, real in ways that made four years of separation feel like a lifetime of mistakes. But waking up alone sends a familiar chill through me.
I pull on yesterday’s clothes and head downstairs, following the scent of coffee and the sound of quiet conversation from the hotel’s breakfast area.
I find her at a corner table, already dressed in yesterday’s navy dress, her hair pulled back in a neat bun that suggests she’s been up for a while. She’s nursing a cup of coffee and checking emails on her phone with the focused intensity of someone trying very hard to look busy.
“Good morning,” I say, settling into the chair across from her.
She looks up, and I catch a fleeting softness in her expression before her professional mask slides into place. “Good morning. You were sleeping so peacefully I couldn’t bear to wake you.” Her cheeks flush pink as she looks away. “I thought I’d grab us some coffee and check the road conditions.”
There’s something vulnerable about the admission, about the fact that she watched me sleep, that she cared enough about my rest to let me be. But before I can respond to that tenderness, she’s already shifting back to business.
“The highway patrol cleared the accidents overnight,” she continues, her voice taking on that crisp, professional tone I’ve learned to recognize as her armor. “Traffic should be manageable now. I have client meetings this afternoon, so we should probably head back to LA soon.”
Client meetings. Right back to the careful distance, as if last night never happened.
“Of course,” I say, accepting the coffee she pushes across the table. “Whatever works best for your schedule.”
