Page 88 of Fault Lines
My shirt and bra followed, and he didn’t waste a second before his mouth closed over my skin, teeth scraping my nipple, his hands rough but careful. I shivered at the sensation, letting myself sink into it.
I eased myself onto him, slowly at first, getting used to him—a little shorter maybe, but thicker, and I had to adjust. Nate’s hands never stopped moving, stroking my arms, cupping my breasts, guiding my movements as I started to ride him.
I lost myself in it. The world faded out except for the pleasure and the heat and the way his voice rasped against my ear, rough and needy. “You feel so good, baby. I could stay inside you forever.”
That pushed me closer, grinding harder, not caring about the movie whispering in the background or even the sound I was making. When he pinched my clit with his fingers, the pleasure washed over me in a burning wave, all-consuming. I cried out, shuddering against him, my whole body sparking.
He just grinned, wild and proud. “It’s not over yet.”
He scooped me up and laid me flat on the plush couch, covering me with his body. His cock slid back inside, and he started to thrust, hard and precise, as my legs locked aroundhim. His thumb was relentless at my clit, sending aftershocks through me until I thought I might break apart.
He didn’t let up, not when I arched under him, not as sweat beaded on his chest and dripped onto my skin. If anything, the way I clung to him seemed to drive him further. He gave me everything until he was shaking, and finished with a raw groan, pulsing deep inside me as I shattered again.
He collapsed onto me, all heat and sweat and heavy satisfaction. I wrapped my arms around his back, letting the thumping of his heartbeat steady us both. We stayed like that for long, silent moments, until he finally lifted his head and looked at me.
“Hey. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Tears had slipped out without me noticing. I shook my head. “No, I’m just… overwhelmed.”
Which was the truth. It was so good, but it was also the first time I’d ever really crossed the line. For a second, it was dizzying—the space between me and Cam felt like a yawning chasm, too wide to fix. Would he even want to fix it, after this?
Nate eased out of me and pulled me to his chest. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know. Or—I want to know. I’m just sorry. You deserve better than someone crying after sex. I really did enjoy it.”
He wiped my cheeks, kissing my hair. “Hey, it’s fine. I know you’re going through a lot. I just want you to feel safe here. What do you need?”
I burrowed deeper into his neck. “Just hold me. Can we stay here a while?”
“Of course,” he said immediately, standing with me still in his arms. He surprised me with his strength, and I laughed softly as he carried me to his bedroom, tucking me beneath the sheets.
He left for the bathroom, and I admired the view. He really did have a great ass.
He returned, sliding into bed behind me, arms wrapping tight. “Set an alarm, just in case we crash,” he murmured.
“I wish I could stay all night,” I whispered, half hoping he’d ask me to.
“Me too, Livi. Me too.”
And we lay there in the quiet, letting the world outside wait a little longer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, my feet found their way to the kitchen with the familiar rhythms of habit, and as I stood before the shiny espresso machine—the recent gift that always made me smile—I thought about Nate and all that had happened the night before. Strangely, the old pulse of guilt wasn’t there, not the way I had expected. There was just a residual warmth, a sense of defiance. I had made it home ahead of Cam, already tucked beneath the sheets when he arrived, trailing a thick haze of perfume through the dark. He’d hardly said anything, just looked a little surprised to find me up. Usually, I’d be dead asleep on Thursday nights, but thanks to my earlier nap at Nate’s, I’d been wide awake. Not that Cam needed to know the reason.
So I’d perched on the bed, a book open and unread in my lap while my thoughts tumbled in a noisy, persistent loop: Would he be able to tell what I’d done? Could he sense there was something different about me? Was it even betrayal? I hadn’t broken a single rule; in fact, I’d done exactly as agreed. Just because Cam thought I wouldn’t take him at his word didn’t make it forbidden. He couldn’t expect me to watch him do as he liked, and then lock me up in glass. If anything, I was still playing fair, still sticking to the lines he’d drawn, even when he hadn’t.
But Cam hadn’t said a word, hadn’t noticed a thing. He’d showered, climbed into bed, and given a quick kiss beforeswitching off his light. Typical. He didn’t see me. Not really. He probably never would.
I’d lain awake for a long time after, reliving every detail of the evening—the heat, the shock, the way I came apart for Nate. It was all so sharp and vivid compared to the dull ache of life at home.
Now, I poured fresh milk into my morning espresso, watching as the dark and light spun together in perfect little ribbons. I was pretty proud of how good I’d gotten at making specialty coffee. I laughed quietly to myself, remembering how Nate teased me for needing sugar, how he took his coffee with too much cream but always so bitter, and how I could never quite match his taste for the darkness.
Just then, Cam came in, closing the front door behind him with a solid thud. He stopped in the kitchen, chest heaving from his run, shiny beads of sweat marking his temples. He reached for the mug I’d poured for him, black and plain.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” he observed before taking a long drink.
I glanced up with a placid shrug. “It’s a beautiful morning.”
