Page 86 of Things We Fake
“I can’t be a gentleman tonight.”
“Good. That’s the last thing I want.”
There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. Then he cursed under his breath and lowered his mouth to mine.
I gasped, but he swallowed the sound, his hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head as he took control. The kiss was deep and consuming, a slow-burn ignition that roared into flames. His mouth was warm, insistent, his tongue stroking against mine in a way that sent lava surging through my veins. I never wanted to come up for air.
By the time the car pulled up to our building, I was breathless.
We barely made it inside my apartment before he had me pressed against the door, his hot breath in my ear, his hands mapping out every curve of my body. I clutched at his shirt, needing more, needing him closer. His mouth slid down my neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin as his hands explored, sliding beneath my sweater, fingers skimming over bare flesh. My breath hitched when he reached the clasp of my bra, hesitating for just a second—asking without words.
“Yes,” I whispered, threading my fingers through his hair. “I want this. I want you.”
His breath came hard, his forehead dropping to mine. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, strained with restraint. “I didn’t touch you before because I didn’t want you to feel pressured or confused by the situation we’re in.” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip. “But you should know I’ve wanted you for a damn long time, since the very first time I saw you.”
I swallowed, my pulse hammering at the raw confession in his voice. “Then take what you want.”
A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he crashed his lips to mine again, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers tangled in his hair as he carried me to the bedroom.
The soft glow of the city lights drifted through my window, painting our bodies in gold and shadow. By the time we reached the bed, my head buzzed with excitement, my skin tingled, so sensitive that every touch sent ribbons of pleasure into my nerve endings.
He set me down next to the bed and peeled off my jacket. I followed suit, slipping the leather off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Our mouths never parted, our tongues tangling, tasting, teasing, every kiss more urgent, every touch setting fire to my skin.
He sat on the bed and drew me between his knees, his avid gaze caressing my body. His hands slipped under my sweater, rough palms skimming over my waist before pushing the fabric up and over my head. He drew a sharp breath as he stared at my breasts, the roundedtops arching out of a black laced bra, begging for his kisses.
“You’re so damn gorgeous.” His voice was thick with hunger.
Warmth pooled low in my belly, my breath catching as his fingertips trailed over the lace of my bra. He cupped my breasts, thumbs circling over the sensitive peaks, teasing me through the fabric. When he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over my nipple, I gasped, my back arching into his touch.
“Cam…” My voice was barely a breath.
A deep, satisfied sound rumbled from his throat as he slid his hands to my hips, making quick work of my jeans. I kicked them off, shivering as the cool air kissed my heated skin. I tugged his sweater over his head, my breath catching at the sight of him—broad shoulders, sculpted abs, every muscle tight with restraint.
His skin was fluid caramel under the soft city lights, dusted with dark hair that arrowed down from a sharply cut chest. His body wasn’t overdone gym perfection and steroids. It was the graceful athletic strength that comes from good genes and discipline—the result of real strength, real tension, forged in the kind of body that knew how to move. He wasn’t doing all his work in an office, for sure.
Lean lines carved across his abdomen, taut and symmetrical. My fingers itched to trace every ridge, every defined dip at his hips where his jeans rode low. The veins along his forearms caught the light as he stood and reached for me again, his touch firm and confident.
I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the hard planes under my fingertips, skimming the warm skinand the slight rasp of hair that disappeared below his waistband. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and slid them down, watching as he stepped out of them, leaving him in nothing but dark boxers that did little to hide how much he wanted me.
A shiver of anticipation coursed through me as he pushed his boxers down, standing before me in all his breathtaking perfection. And hewasperfect—everywhere, built like a fantasy sculpted by someone who understood female thirst.
He reached for a condom in his jeans’ pocket, his hands steady as he rolled it on. Every inch of him made my mouth water. Then he lowered me onto the bed, covering my body with his, the delicious weight of him making my breath catch.
His mouth found mine again, slow and teasing, as his hands explored every curve of my body. The heat of his touch, the soft scrape of his stubble against my skin—it was all consuming, dizzying my senses. By the time he slid off my lacy panties, I was trembling with need.
He settled between my thighs, his body fitting against mine in a way that felt impossibly perfect.
His gaze locked onto mine, dark and intense. “Tell me you want this.”
My lips parted, breathless. “I want you.”
His control shattered. He slid inside me slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely. A gasp caught in my chest as a delicious pressure built deep within me. My body stretched for him, feverish with the need for more, for all of him.
He groaned against my neck, his breath hot, his voice wrecked. “Damn, you’re so perfect.”
“You, too,” I whispered, gliding my palms down his back to cup his hard, round ass.
He moved, slow and deliberate at first, like he was savoring every second, memorizing the way I fit around him. Every thrust sent pleasure rippling through me, winding me tighter, driving me closer to the edge. I wrapped my legs around his waist, lost in the delicious, filling friction.
