Chapter Twenty-Three
I made it home just minutes before Cam, walking into a quiet house where nothing vibrated with guilt or anticipation.
If he’d arrived before me, the questions would’ve started and I wasn’t ready to talk about where I’d been.
Especially when I hadn’t technically done anything wrong, but Cam would sure have an opinion about me spending the night with Nate.
Which was funny, considering what I knew, but he didn’t realize I was aware of his own rule-breaking.
And now I had a new problem: do I call him out or just act like everything’s fine? Would it even matter? He’d broken my trust—the one thing I thought he’d never do—and nothing he said would make me believe him the same way again.
The front door opened, and there was Cam with his black suitcase, his face bright and open. “Hey baby,” he said, all smiles, “I missed you so much.”
My heart twisted. He missed me? That’s what he wanted me to believe?
He kissed me, and I let myself fall for a second.
I couldn’t help it. Cam was home; Cam had always been home for me.
I ached for him even though I knew deep down where he’d been and who he was with.
My love for him pounded through me, heavy and relentless.
Whatever mistakes he made, he was still the man I’d built my life around.
Maybe a stronger woman would have walked away a long time ago.
Maybe I was just weak, or maybe I was lovesick, or addicted to the version of us that didn’t hurt this way.
All I knew was that I was stuck between two equally terrifying paths: leaving to save myself, or staying to hold onto the man I fell for years ago.
It all came down to this: Cam could still turn it around. He could come back to who he was, who we were, if I just waited a little longer.
But what if he didn’t? What if this was all there was now?
“I missed you too,” I said, eyes sliding away from his.
Had he flown home with Lacey? Probably. They lived in the same city, after all.
Had they played at being a couple even after the work trip, with one last airport kiss?
Did he see her all the way home, just to make sure she was safe?
The way he used to do for me? I didn’t want to imagine it, but the images came anyway.
I took his suitcase, rolling it to the laundry room so he could start unpacking. Something to keep my hands busy.
“I’ll do that,” he said, reaching for the handle.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”
He tugged the suitcase back towards him, then wrapped his arms around me, steering us toward the stairs. “I’ll do it later. Right now, I want to make love to my wife.”
I should have argued, but when his lips grazed my neck, heat overwhelmed everything else. I gave in, floating on a tide of hormones and need. I wanted to hate him, but in that moment, I only wanted him.
He carried me the rest of the way to the bedroom, and I leaned into him, my hands slipping over his shirt buttons. My mouth lingered on his warm skin, and a heady note of perfume drifted into my nose. Floral, fruity, unfamiliar. My fingers froze.
“What’s that smell?” I asked, voice low but steady. I knew before he answered.
He acted surprised, sniffing his own shirt. “I sat next to Lacey on the plane. Her perfume is strong, I guess it got into my clothes.”
How could he lie so easily?
“Lacey was with you?” I asked, pretending not to care.
He shrugged. “She’s my assistant. It’s normal for her to come on work trips.”
I held his gaze, searching for the truth. It was plain as day on his face, even if he didn’t notice. My Cam had never lied to me before; now, guilt glistened in his eyes and he just kept talking like nothing changed.
“Nothing happened, Livi. We agreed. I haven’t touched her.”
“Haven’t you?” I said, voice flat, almost bored.
His jaw tightened. “No. I did what you asked. I’ve followed the rules for you. Why would I break them? Lacey works for me. That’s all.”
I just watched him, silent, while the lies stacked up with each breath.
The urge to shout about what Rachel saw, to tell him I knew about them at the hotel, burned in my chest—but what would it do?
He’d deny it, or tell me to move on, and eventually, stupidly, I would.
Because I couldn’t help loving him, not even now.
“I’m taking a shower,” I said, turning away.
He followed, undressing. “I’ll join you.”
“I want to be alone,” I replied.
He bristled. “Why? So you can sit here and make up stories in your head? You’ve got to stop with the jealous streak, Livi. It’s not attractive.”
The anger burst out. “Fuck you, Cam. Who are you to talk?”
He scowled. “You agreed to this.”
“I didn’t agree to you screwing your secretary!”
His eyes narrowed, voice hard. “Stop it, Livi. Stop blaming her. If you’re mad, be mad at me.”
“Fine, then! I hate you! I hate what you’re doing, what you’ve done, what you keep doing. I hate that you won’t stop, and I hate her for being a part of it! Maybe that’s childish, maybe it’s slut-shaming, but she’s sleeping with my husband. And you know damn well you do not have my blessing.”
“I haven’t slept with her. She was there for work. And I told you to back off her. She did nothing wrong.”
“Why do you always defend her?”
He sighed, leaning naked against the sink, tired but unyielding. “I’m not. I just don’t want you blaming her for my mistakes.”
He was right. I was furious with him, not her. But the lie was sitting right there between us, undeniable. My throat ached; I swiped at a tear and pulled open the shower door.
“I hate you. Please, just go.”
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water crash over me, hoping it would burn the knots of emotion from my chest. Anger, love, pain—all swirling together, impossible to separate.
I wanted my Cam back. My real Cam.
The door slid open, and Cam stepped in, steam fogging the glass behind him.
“Leave me alone,” I begged.
He shook his head, arms wrapping warm and heavy around me, lips pressing into my neck. “No. If I leave, you’ll just get lost in your head and start resenting me.”
“I already do,” I said, quieter now. “Every time you leave, every time you come back smelling like her, I hate you a little more.”
He didn’t flinch. I spun, pushing him with both fists; it wasn’t enough to hurt, just enough to feel the impact, to let some of the fury escape.
“I hate you!” I screamed, again and again, pushing him until he hit the tile wall.
He took it, every shove and every word, until the anger drained away and my arms hung limp, tears streaming hot down my face, mixing with the water.
When I finally stopped, he caught me, arms strong and sure.
“You don’t hate me,” he said, soft as rain.
“I do,” I managed.
“You love me. That’s why this hurts so much. You love me more than anything, so you put up with me. None of this comes from hate.”
“No,” I protested, but even I heard the weakness in my voice.
He kissed my jaw, my neck, unrelenting. “I love you, Livi. Let me show you.”
“No,” I said, but when he dropped to his knees, hands gentle on my thighs, my body betrayed me.
“Stop,” I whispered, but I didn’t mean it anymore.
He lifted my leg, propping it on the built-in shelf, his hands steady and warm. And then his tongue traced fire through my folds, and my mind went blank.
Every thought, every worry melted under the heat of his mouth. My hands twisted in his damp hair, dragging him closer. I needed the pleasure like oxygen—a way to feel alive, to feel something that wasn’t confusion or pain.
He moaned into me, and the sensation rolled up my legs, every nerve ending sparking. His big finger pressed inside, perfect and insistent, curling in just the way I loved, fingers and tongue working together until I shattered, pleasure ripping through me, bright and undeniable.
He stroked me through the aftershocks, licking every last drop, and when I opened my eyes, he was already rising, cock hard and urgent, pressing me against the wall.
He lifted me, hands locked under my thighs, and slid into me in one long thrust. He gave me no room to breathe, slamming into me with a wild, desperate energy. I let it swallow me; I wanted to be taken, owned, reminded that I was still his and he was still mine, even if everything else was a lie.
Our mouths crashed together, tongues tangling, his teeth biting at my neck, marking me until pain and pleasure blurred together. The angle let him go so deep I saw stars; his body ground against my clit with every thrust, and I felt myself unraveling all over again.
“I love you, Livi. Say you love me,” he murmured in my ear.
I tried to hold out, but he only pounded harder, fingers clamping on my nipple, making me gasp.
“Say it, Livi. Tell me you still love me.”
He didn’t stop, not until I broke: “I love you, Cam,” I cried out, shaking around him. “I fucking love you.”
He grunted, coming hard, voice gritty and raw. “I know you do. I know.”
And for a moment, with the water crashing down and his arms pinning me in place, I almost believed in us again.