33. Away From the Table #3
Then leans close enough that her lips brush my ear. “Good boy.”
Fuck.
I groan.
Her whole body practically lights up. “Oh my God.”
“You're abusing science now.”
“This is incredible.”
“Happy to support your research.”
She sits back.
Looks at me.
And there's a moment where the joke fades.
“I really like this.”
My chest tightens.
Because of the way she says it.
Like she's surprised.
“I noticed.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean—”
She looks down at where she's sitting over me.
At my hands exactly where she put them.
Her fingers trace my chest. “I like telling you what to do.”
“Deeply shocking development.”
She pinches me.
“Ow.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She smiles again.
Then, quieter, she adds, “I don't think I'm experimenting anymore.”
There it is.
I look at her. “No?”
She shakes her head. “I think I actually want this sometimes.”
“Dollface.”
“What?”
“Character class unlocked.”
She stares.
Then smacks my chest.
I laugh so hard I almost ruin everything.
Almost.
“I'm having a moment.”
“I know.”
“You're an asshole.”
“I also know that.”
She leans down.
Kisses me.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine. “I think the switch thing is real.”
My heart does something embarrassingly soft in the middle of all the nakedness. “Yeah.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because Ronan would appear from the walls and give me a lecture about assigning other people's identities.”
That makes her laugh. “Accurate.”
“Also, you should get to figure your own shit out.”
She studies me for a second.
Then kisses me again. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
Her hand closes around my jaw. “Now stop talking.”
My dick reacts immediately.
Cami smiles.
“There he is.”
She keeps control.
Mostly.
Not because I couldn't change it.
Because I don't want to.
Every time she tells me where to put my hands, I put them there.
Every time she praises me for listening, it hits harder.
She spends an unreasonable amount of time appreciating the piercings she apparently missed almost as much as my face, as she grinds on me.
I complain.
She tells me to be grateful.
I say, “Yes, ma'am.”
She nearly loses her composure laughing.
Eventually, her playfulness sharpens into something more focused.
She knows exactly what she wants from me.
That's the part that gets me.
Not the words.
Not even the control.
The certainty.
Cami has spent so much of our relationship learning how to ask for things.
Tonight she doesn't ask.
She tells me.
And I fucking love giving them to her.
When she finally comes apart above me, she is still the one setting the pace.
Still the one deciding where my hands go.
Still praising me between broken breaths like I did something heroic by following instructions while naked.
I am apparently extremely talented.
Then she looks down at me.
Breathing hard.
Hair everywhere.
Absolutely wrecked.
And somehow still in charge. “My turn to take care of you.”
Fuck.
“Dollface—”
“Nope.”
I close my mouth.
She smiles. “Good.”
She rides me like I don’t think she ever has before.
I feel like she got a boost to her stamina while I was gone.
My orgasm hits harder than it has any business hitting after four weeks of hotel rooms, phone sex, and enough pent-up longing to qualify as a medical condition.
I swear.
Cami laughs.
Then praises me right through it.
Which is unfair.
Probably illegal.
Possibly addictive.
When I can think again, she's collapsed against my chest.
I stare at the ceiling. “Well.”
She laughs weakly. “Well.”
“I leave town for four weeks and come home to a tiny dictator.”
She lifts her head. “Careful.”
“Threat?”
“Promise.”
My dick shows signs of renewed interest.
Traitor.
Cami notices.
Her eyebrows rise.
I laugh.
Then I move.
Fast enough to make her squeak.
I roll us.
Cami lands beneath me, hair spread across the pillow.
Her eyes go wide for half a second.
Then narrow.
“Dex.”
I catch both sides of her face.
And kiss her.
That's it.
No power move.
No reversal.
No my turn.
Just me kissing her until both of us are breathless again.
When I finally pull back, I keep my forehead against hers. “I fucking missed you too.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
She wraps both arms around my neck.
Pulls me down.
For a while, we just stay there.
Me over her.
Her holding me.
No one in charge of anything.
Eventually she whispers, “You're really home?”
Something aches behind my ribs. “Yeah.”
“For how long?”
There it is.
The question I would've panicked over five weeks ago.
I think about Austin.
The writing rooms.
The demos I'm supposed to send.
The new names in my phone.
The song that might end up on an album heard by millions of people.
I think about Micah's hand in mine on the drive home.
Cami under me.
Ronan's coffee setup downstairs.
Griffin probably asleep already because some people have responsible careers.
I smile. “Until I go somewhere again.”
Cami studies me.
Then smiles back.
“Good answer.”
I kiss her nose.
“Yeah.”
It is.
Because going somewhere isn't the same thing as leaving.
Turns out I had to leave for four weeks to finally figure that out.