Chapter 36
JACOB
T he next morning, I buried my tongue in Camille’s pussy, the taste of her sharp and sweet, like salt and honey. We were back at her bungalow, the air damp through the open window, the porch swing creaking outside like it was keeping time with her breath.
She lay sprawled on the kitchen counter, her thighs open, one heel hooked on the edge of the old oak table, the other dangling over my shoulder.
The counter was cool under my palms, a contrast to the heat of her skin, and I pressed my face deeper, chasing the pulse of her, the way her hips twitched when I flicked my tongue just right.
The room smelled of sex, the faint hum of the fridge a low counterpoint to her soft gasps.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling hard, not guiding but demanding. “Jacob,” she breathed, her voice frayed, the French lilt turning my name into something sacred.
I licked slow, deliberate, tracing the seam of her with the flat of my tongue, then teasing her clit with quick, featherlight flicks that made her arch off the counter.
Her other hand gripped the edge, knuckles white, a mug teetering dangerously near her elbow. I caught it with one hand, setting it on the floor without breaking my rhythm, and she laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated against my mouth.
“Don’t break my dishes,” she murmured, her voice hitching as I sucked gently, pulling her clit between my lips.
Her thighs trembled, her heel digging into my back, urging me closer.
I obliged, sliding one hand under her ass, lifting her higher, opening her wider.
The counter creaked under her weight, and I grinned against her, loving the way she surrendered to the moment, her usual control fraying at the edges.
I shifted, dragging my tongue lower, tasting the slick heat of her entrance, then back up, circling her clit with a pressure that made her curse in French, her voice a mix of reverence and desperation.
The kitchen was small, intimate, the morning light casting soft shadows across her skin, highlighting the curve of her hip, the dip of her navel.
I reached for the bottle of olive oil on the counter, its glass cool against my fingers, and drizzled a thin stream over her inner thigh, watching it glint in the light.
She gasped as I licked it off, the oil mingling with her taste, earthy and rich, a flavor I’d never get enough of.
“Jacob, you’re—” She cut off, her breath catching as I slid two fingers inside her, curling them against the spot that made her hips buck.
I worked her slow, then fast, matching the rhythm of my tongue, her body a map I was learning by heart. Her hand left my hair, scrabbling for something to hold, knocking over a stack of mail that fluttered to the floor like leaves.
I didn’t care. Neither did she. The world was this—her heat, her pulse, the way she clenched around my fingers, her voice breaking on my name.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, her face flushed, her brown hair spilling over the counter, her eyes half-lidded but locked on mine.
“Look at you,” I said, my voice rough. “Fucking perfect.”
She laughed, breathless, and reached for me, her fingers brushing my jaw. “Don’t stop,” she said, her voice a command wrapped in a plea.
I didn’t.
I dove back in, my tongue relentless, my fingers pumping in time with her hips.
She was close, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in sharp, jagged bursts.
I pressed my thumb to her clit, circling hard, and she broke, her body arching, a cry tearing from her throat that echoed off the bungalow’s walls.
I worked her through it, gentle now, coaxing every shudder, every pulse, until she went limp, her chest heaving, her hand slack in my hair.
I kissed the inside of her thigh, soft, reverent, then climbed up her body, my lips grazing her stomach, her ribs, the curve of her breast. She tugged me up, her mouth finding mine, kissing me deep, tasting herself on my tongue.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured against my lips, her hands sliding under my shirt, nails scraping my back.
“Always,” I said, grinning, and lifted her off the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist.
The kitchen floor was cool under my bare feet as I carried her to the living room, the worn rug soft against my toes.
I set her on the arm of the sofa, her body still trembling, and she pulled me down, her fingers fumbling with my belt.
I helped, shoving my jeans and boxers down, my cock springing free, hard and aching.
She wrapped her hand around me, her grip firm, her thumb brushing the tip, and I groaned, my head tipping back.
“Camille,” I said, my voice a growl, and she laughed, low and wicked, guiding me to the sofa.
She pushed me down, straddling my hips, her knees sinking into the cushions. The living room was dim, the only light from a crack in the curtain and a single lamp in the corner, casting her in a soft glow, her skin golden, her hair a cascade.
She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear, her breath hot. “My turn,” she whispered, and sank onto me, slow, deliberate, her heat enveloping me inch by inch.
I cursed, my hands gripping her hips, her body a perfect fit, tight and slick.
She moved, slow at first, her hips rolling in a rhythm that made my vision blur.
The sofa creaked, the springs protesting.
She braced her hands on my chest, her nails digging in, leaving half-moons I’d feel tomorrow.
I thrust up to meet her, hard, deep, and she gasped, her head tipping back, her throat exposed.
I leaned up, kissing the hollow of her neck, tasting salt and sweat, my hands sliding to her ass, guiding her faster.
“Like that,” she said, her voice breathless, her eyes locked on mine. I flipped us, pinning her to the sofa, her legs hooking over my shoulders. The angle was brutal, perfect, and I drove into her, each thrust pulling a sound from her that was half-moan, half-prayer.
I reached for a throw pillow, sliding it under her hips, lifting her higher, and she laughed, wild and free, her hands grabbing my face, pulling me down for a kiss that was all hunger.
The lamp flickered, the bulb stuttering like it couldn’t keep up. I slowed, teasing, dragging out each thrust until she squirmed, her nails raking my back.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, her voice sharp, and I grinned, picking up the pace, my thumb finding her clit, circling until her breath hitched and she broke again, her body clenching around me, pulling me over the edge with her.
I came hard, my vision whiting out, my groan muffled against her shoulder as I buried myself deep, her name a litany on my lips.
We collapsed, tangled, the sofa too small for us but perfect, anyway. I shifted, lying with my head on her stomach, her skin warm and soft under my cheek. The lamp’s glow caught the curve of her ribs, the faint sheen of sweat, and I thought this was it—the most perfect position in the world.
Her fingers carded through my hair, lazy and gentle, the bungalow quiet except for the creak of the porch swing outside and the distant hum of early morning traffic.
She surprised me, her voice soft but clear. “Will you be mad when I get fat?”
I blinked, caught off guard, my brain still foggy from her. “What?” I mumbled, lifting my head slightly.
She rolled her eyes, her hand still in my hair. “When I have our babies, Jacob. Will you still want me then?”
I sat up, looking down at her, her face open, vulnerable in a way that hit me harder than her body had.
I took her hand, guiding it to my cock, still half-hard, and wrapped her fingers around me.
She laughed, the sound bright, cutting through the quiet.
“As long as you look at me like this,” I said, my voice low, steady, “and as long as you hold me like this, I’m not going anywhere. ”
She squeezed gently, her grin wicked. “That easy, huh?”
I lay back down, my head on her stomach again, my new favorite spot. “I don’t know,” I said, honest. “There’s a lot to work out. Dominion Hall, the Charleston Danes, all of it. It’s a mess. But you and me … yeah, it’s that easy.”
She tilted her head, her fingers pausing in my hair. “What about your other brothers? Do I get to meet them?”
“Of course,” I said, a grin tugging at my mouth. “I can’t wait to show you off. But it’ll take time. Marcus, Ryker, Atlas, and Caleb—they’re bringing them in one by one. Said it’s the only way to keep the Montana Dane knuckleheadedness from screwing things up. Can’t say I disagree.”
She sniffed, her hand resuming its slow stroke through my hair. “I’ll never understand men and their scheming.”
I laughed, the sound rough but warm. “And I’ll never understand female drama, especially teenage girls.”
Her fingers moved to my face, soothing, tracing the line of my jaw. “Poor baby,” she said, teasing. “Did a drama queen break your heart?”
“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Erica Johannson. Dumped me for the captain of the hockey team because she thought he was going to the NHL. Left me high and dry before prom.”
Camille laughed, her stomach shaking under my cheek. “I promise I won’t leave you for a professional athlete,” she said, her voice warm, playful.
I chuckled, but a shadow crossed my mind—the man in the gray suit from the Navy meeting. “Hey,” I said, my tone shifting. “You know anything about that guy in the gray suit? The guy with Admiral Langford?”
She frowned, her fingers stilling. “No. I thought he was some political appointee, sent to watch the Navy. Why?”
“I asked Langford about him,” I said, my voice low. “He told me not to ask. Said he was one of those people.”
“Those people?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Untouchables,” I said. “The kind who go where they want, make world-changing calls, move chess pieces like it’s nothing. But this guy … he felt different. Like he was watching me . I can’t shake it.”
She studied me, her eyes searching. “You should ask Marcus. Or Caleb.”
“I will,” I said, but the thought didn’t settle. The gray suit was a loose end, like a threat I couldn’t name, and it gnawed at me like the Dane revelation had.
Camille sat up, her hand on my cheek, pulling me out of the brooding. “Shower,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “Then food. I’m starving.”
I grinned, rubbing her stomach gently. “Maybe you’re pregnant already.”
Her eyes widened, and I almost apologized, the words too big, too soon. But she touched my face, her fingers soft, her smile softer. “Soon,” she said. “We’ll make that happen soon.”
Just like that, the gray suit, Dominion Hall, my brothers—all of it washed away. She pulled me off the sofa, her body a magnet, her laugh a tether.
We stumbled toward the bathroom, her hand in mine, and I thought I could live a thousand years and never get over how beautiful she was—body and soul.
The shower hissed to life, steam curling around us, and I followed her in, ready to drown in her all over again.