Campfires and Desires (The Havenwood #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Liam

As we moved together, his mouth was a warm, wet heaven around me, his tongue and lips working in perfect syncopation to drive me closer to the edge.

I felt his hands on my skin, tracing lines of fire down my thighs, cupping my ass and pulling me deeper into his mouth.

I couldn’t remember when my hands had moved there, but they were wrapped around his head, holding him tight as I arched to meet him.

The sensation was intense, a building pressure that threatened to consume me whole.

I could feel the heat of his body radiating against mine, his skin slick with sweat as he worked to get me off.

His mouth was skilled, taking me deep before pulling back to play with my head with gentle licks and sucks.

I felt myself slipping into the sensation, my focus narrowing to this moment, this impending release. The world around us melted away, leaving only the sound of our heavy breathing and the feel of his mouth on me.

I groaned, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Careful,” I warned, breath catching. “I’m close.”

He didn’t slow down.

My hips bucked slightly, instinctive, desperate. “Fuck! Seriously. I’m gonna cum.”

He glanced up for half a second, lips stretched around the base of my cock.

Through ragged breath, I managed to ask as I was trying to hold off the orgasm, “Where? Your mouth?”

He gave a low, guttural mhm, the sound vibrating around me, his mouth still full, eager, and insistent.

And then, in a flash of pleasure throughout my body, it was over.

I felt myself stiffen as I came, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm.

He took it all, swallowing every last drop as I pulsed into his mouth.

The feeling was almost overwhelming, and for a moment I stood frozen, caught in the aftershock.

The rough edge of the wooden desk bit into my ass as I exhaled, the distinct smell of sweat, sex, and whiskey hung in the air, mingling with the faint musk of cologne and the ever-present aroma of aged oak from the barstools just outside my office door.

The space was still warm from our frenzied, reckless energy.

The damp heat of exertion was already cooling on my skin, the moment fading into memory.

I could still feel the heat of Dylan… shit, was it Devin?

No, Derek. Details stick better when there’s a reason to remember them.

I could still feel the heat of DEREK against me, the ghost of his hands lingering, a phantom touch that would disappear by the time he stepped out into the night.

As I slowly came back to reality, I felt him pull away from me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up beside the desk.

He gave me a brief smile before turning to grab his clothes and get dressed.

My body relaxed before my brain caught up.

The air had settled into a satisfied quiet.

The one that came when both people got exactly what they wanted.

No promises. No expectations. Just fun. I leaned there for a moment longer before finally getting up and reaching for my own clothes.

Just another hookup. Just another night. Over and done with.

Across the room, Derek (yeah, definitely Derek) was buttoning his jeans, his mouth curved into a lazy grin, still a little breathless.

His navy-blue shirt was untucked and wrinkled, the fabric creased from where I’d yanked it over his head earlier, my fingers grabbing it to pull him closer.

His dark hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in chaotic tufts, further proof of where my hands had been.

His lips were still swollen from how I’d kissed him hard, unfiltered, and without hesitation.

A damn good look on him. He caught me watching and smiled, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off the lingering haze.

“That was… damn! You really know what you’re doing.

” He ran a hand through his hair to push it somewhat back in place, still riding that afterglow.

I huffed out a laugh, grabbing my t-shirt from where it had been tossed onto the office chair, my movements unhurried. “I get that a lot. I aim to please.”

His smile stretched wider. “Damn right you do.”

I chuckled and said, “I should be thanking you. You did all the work.”

Derek lingered by the desk, fingers tapping absently against the old wood, his stance soft but not quite relaxed.

Here it comes. That slight hesitation. The unspoken question hanging between us.

Maybe this time it’d be different. Maybe I’d ask him to stay.

But Derek wasn’t dumb. He’d met me on Rogue, the app designed for guys who wanted a good time without the morning-after mess.

We both knew the score. He’d hit me up for a blowjob.

No strings or expectations for reciprocation.

Still, his gaze lingered on me. His feet shifted like maybe he wasn’t sure how this was supposed to end.

I’d seen it before. That glimmer of hope. The quiet what if?

I pulled my shirt over my head and stepped forward, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re fun. We should do this again sometime.”

His lips twitched, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders disappeared. He wasn’t looking for forever either. He just didn’t want to feel disposable. And he wasn’t.

“Yeah?” he asked, arching a brow.

I smirked. ‘Sure. That is, if you can handle a repeat performance.’

Derek snorted, shaking his head. “Cocky bastard.”

“Accurate.” I grabbed his jacket from the chair and tossed it to him. “The side door leads to the back alley. It’s a straight shot to the main street.”

He nodded, sliding into his coat, but before stepping out, he hesitated again, eyeing me with something half-curious, half-amused. “Do you ever get tired of this?”

It wasn’t a challenge. Just a question. A stray thought tossed out like a dart, not really aiming to hit anything, but still landing.

I leaned back against my desk, arms crossed, lips turning into a slow, wolfish sneer. “I get tired of bad whiskey and idiots starting fights over stupid shit in my bar. But this?” I tilted my head. “Nah. Why mess with a good thing?”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough. See you around, Liam.”

I tipped an imaginary hat. “Later, man.”

I watched the door swing shut behind him and waited for the soft click of the lock before sighing. Good hookup. Good energy. No weirdness. Exactly how I liked things. Just two people simply getting what they needed and moving on.

Silence settled over the room. The air still carried the lingering heat of our bodies, but the moment itself had already cooled, fading into memory.

I ran a hand through my damp hair then reached for the bottom drawer of my desk, pulling out the bottle of bourbon I kept stashed there.

Just for me. A small ritual to end the night.

Endings go better when I control them. I poured a short glass and took a drink, letting the smooth burn settle deep in my chest.

Outside my office, Stag ) Looking forward to seeing you micromanage Elliott’s grilling.

Jules: Screw you, bitch. See you Saturday.

I smiled again, setting the phone back down. Some things never changed.

Jules and I had been tight since before either of us had two nickels to rub together, back when life was a little wilder and we thought we had it all figured out.

He was my person. Not in a romantic way.

God, no. Never had been. But in that rare, unshakable way where you knew someone had your back, no matter what.

Elliott Brooks, a high school history teacher, walking embodiment of dad energy, and secret softie with a dangerously good emotional radar.

Solid guy. Patient as hell. Which, honestly, was a requirement if you were gonna date Jules.

If he was happy, I was happy. And if Elliott ever stopped making him happy, well… he’d have me to answer to.

I tipped back the rest of my bourbon, the warmth seeping into my chest, grounding me in the quiet hum of the night.

The shift had run smoothly. The hookup had been quick and uncomplicated.

And the cookout? That will be fine. More than fine.

Jules would be his usual chaotic self, Elliott would be patient as ever, and I’d bring the booze and watch the night unfold.

I ran a final glance around my office. Desk cluttered but organized. Paperwork stacked neatly in trays. My bar. My rules. My life. And that was enough.

I shook off the last of my exhaustion with a stretch, grabbed my keys and leather jacket, and flipped off the light before I stepped into the main bar.

I crossed the room and flicked off the Stag & Lantern sign in the front window, casting the bar into a deeper hush as the last bit of light disappeared.

I locked the door behind me and stepped onto Havenwood’s quiet downtown streets, the stillness stretched around me like an old, familiar song. A few dim street lights buzzed, their glow reflecting off the wet pavement.

The scent of rain lingered. Fresh and clean, like the night had been waiting to start over. A car rolled by in the distance, its headlights slicing through the dark, but otherwise, the world was still.

I breathed in deeply, letting the crisp air wake me up a little. This was home. The bar. The late nights. The quiet charm of a town that never really changed. The comfort of routine and the satisfaction of knowing I’d built something real.

That was how I liked things.