ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟠
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The moment Cameron locks the door behind us, his lips are locked onto mine.
It wasn't any different in the car too. The amount of times I told him to focus on the road instead of my lips was insane.
He places one hand on my jawline, the other resting near my waist. The man genuinely couldn't wait- we weren't even out of these dresses and suits yet.
My arms wrap around his neck as we embrace the kiss even further. I run my hands through his hair. Something I haven't done in a long time.
It's just as familiar as I remember. His waves slide through my fingers effortlessly, and for a second I wonder why I ever stopped doing this. It felt really nice.
Suddenly, he picks me up by my thighs, and I let out a short gasp in response. He smiles against my lips before trotting upstairs.
I bite the space near his neck, making him shudder. He doesn't drop me or let me go. And I can hear him giggle against me. I wasn't the most professional at this- it was more Cameron's style. And every time he did it, my knees buckled. I wonder if he did too.
"Dixie," he whispers, still chuckling. "I don't think.."
He doesn't finish whatever he's about to say when I kiss harder.
"You're not the best at this, baby." He finishes, breathing heavily.
He lets my feet touch the floor, wrapping his hands around my waist. "I can do it."
I say. I don't know why I was trying to impress him. Cameron certainly had all the lead when it got to things like this.
He arches a brow, the playfulness in his eyes overshadowed by a dark intensity that makes my breath hitch.
"Go ahead." He steps back just enough to create a sliver of space between us, his hands sliding from my waist to my hips.
I'd spent months convincing myself that I was better off without, and that I didn't crave the way he looked at me. Though the second he steps back, the absence of his heat feels like an ache. Turmoil to my body.
I reach out, my fingers trembling slightly as I cup his face. I like to take my time with it.
I trace the line of his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, feeling the stubble prickle against my skin. I see his pupils dilate. His composure was slipping up badly, and I could tell.
My hands drifted down from his face to his collar, my thumbs tracing the pulse point at the base of his throat. It was thumping heavily. Like a dog waiting for its treat.
"Amateur." He says softly, laughing quietly.
He shifts, closing the small space I had foolishly created.
He doesn't wait for me to continue my clumsy exploration. Instead, he takes my hands, pulling them down to rest firmly on his shoulders, grounding me as he leans in.
"You're doing a great job at distracting me," he murmurs, his voice rougher than before "although, I think we're past the point of games, don't you?"
He leans down, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin right below my ear, his breath hot and ragged. Every nerve ending in my body ignites.
I try to maintain my composure, to show him I can be the one in control for just a few more seconds, but as his lips trail down to the hollow of my throat, my resolve dissolves into nothingness. My fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt.
I ignore his words, leaning in, but instead of finishing the kiss, I trailed my lips along the line of his jaw, stopping just beneath his ear.
He was a man held together by a fraying thread, and I was the one pulling it.
Before I had the time to pull away, his hands moved with sudden force that sent my senses spinning. He gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I was seated on the edge of the dresser.
He stepped between my knees, effectively trapping me in his space, his gaze locked onto mine with a hunger that made my skin heat up.
"You wanted to show me, remember?" he whispers against my collarbone. "Show me, Dixie."
"You talk a big game," he said, his thumbs tracing deliberate circles over the fabric of my dress, "but you're shaking."
I didn't deny it.
I mean, I really couldn't. "I..I'm just.." I started, but my voice failed me, trailing off.
"Tired of practicing?" he suggested, the corner of his mouth quirked in a goofy grin.
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm and shallow against my skin. I don't remember saying anything except for the sound of heavy breathing.
"Good," he whispered. "I'm not that interested in being polite tonight, and I really don't want you to be either."
When he dipped his head, the pulse at the base of my throat bled warmth into my veins.
I had practiced a thousand varieties of composure, but none of them held up to the way he looked at me now. It made my knees go soft, made the breath leave my chest in eager little sighs.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured, voice rough at the edges.
Words felt like betrayers. Instead, I let my fingers trace the line of his shoulder, mapping the quiet strength there.
He didn't really wait for an answer. He closed the gap, his mouth on mine with a desperate, crushing urgency that left no room for the distance we'd tried so hard to build.
I reached for the buttons of his shirt, my movements less clumsy now, fueled by a singular focus. As the fabric parted, his skin felt like a live wire under my palms.
"Tell me," he muttered against my skin, his voice vibrating through my very bones. "Tell me you've wanted this as much as I have."
I gripped his shoulders, grounding myself as the room seemed to tilt on its axis. I pulled him closer, closing the final, agonizing inch of space, and whispered back, "I think we're way past talking, Cameron."
As his hands slid up to the hem of my shirt, I finally stopped trying. Letting myself drown in the one thing I'd been starving for.
They say time goes by faster when you're having fun.
They were right.
~
The clock on the nightstand read 5:17 AM when I finally blinked back into awareness, my limbs tangled with his, sheets twisted around us like a careless afterthought.
Cameron's breath was slow against my shoulder, one arm slung possessively over my waist, fingers twitching occasionally as if even in sleep, he refused to let me go.
I should've been exhausted. My body certainly felt like it had been put through every possible motion, stretched and tested, and I was sore.
For some reason, I felt energetic.
I don't even remember what happened last night. It was all a blur of party, getting home, and doing some other stuff I don't want to talk about.
To my right, Cameron is shirtless, his arm draped under my head, while his other arm is wrapped around me. He looks very peaceful- like he did nothing to me. The audacity.
I can't remember the last time silence felt this nice. My head has stopped racing with a million thoughts.
Then as sensing me staring, his eyes twitch. His nose scrunching slightly. "Good morning."
"Morning." I say, running my hand down his face, making sure he's actually real.
His skin is warm under my fingertips, a stark contrast to the lingering chill of the air-conditioned room.
He leans into my touch, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his lips before he even fully opens his eyes. He captures my wrist, his thumb brushing over my pulse point.
"What's up?" He asks, gently putting my hand down.
"I didn't mean to touch you." I say, a bit defensive.
He brings my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss on my knuckles. "You can touch me for as long as you want."
I laugh quietly, running my hands through his hair. It's soft and smooth. I'm wondering what he uses to get it that soft, because from what I know, his hair care routine is not the best.
"You use conditioner now?" I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. "That's what you're thinking about right now?"
"Well I'm also touching your hair."
He smiles. "Molly made me switch shampoos. Some Korean brand- can't remember which."
"You should start listening to her more." I tell him, fixing his hair in the areas I messed it up.
"I should, shouldn't I?"
I remove my hands off, placing them on my sides, before shifting back onto my bed so I'm facing the ceiling.
"Last night.." I start.
"...Was last night," he says, finishing my sentence.
"I don't like that answer.."
"It's the only one I've got right now." He rolls onto his side to look at me, propping his head up on his hand.. "Do you need a real answer right now? It's-" he glances toward the window- "early. Really early."
"It's almost 7."
"That's early on a Friday."
"Cameron, stop."
He sighs quietly. "I don't regret it," he says. "If that's what you're asking."
There it was- the answer I wasn't really looking for, but deep down I knew I was.
I turn my head to look at him. Though, he doesn't look away, which is the most Cameron thing about him.
Most people do. They get uncomfortable and find something else to stare at. Cameron doesn't do that though. He was real big on eye contact.
"Don't you have work?" I ask, looking at the clock that reads 7:04 AM.
"I think you forget I'm the head of the department. I can leave whenever I feel like it." He tells me.
He stands, stretching his arms above his head, and reaches for his shirt from the floor — inside out, which means he was in a hurry last night, which means something I choose not to examine too closely right now. He pulls it on anyway, inside out and all.
"Get dressed," he says. "I'll make eggs."
"Have you forgotten the last time you almost burnt this place to the ground because of eggs?"
"Ha, good times."
Good times. He means the times when Jordyn was here.
I see the light in his face dim before he looks back up. He tosses my cardigan from the chair at the foot of the bed. It lands half on my face. "Come on."
I pull it off my head and sit there in bed, holding it. "Cameron."
He stops at the door.
"If those eggs... "
He leans against the doorframe, the morning light catches him just at the right angle and for a moment he looks exactly like the man I married in that large venue in June.
"I'll try not to burn the eggs." he cuts me off.
He disappears into the hallway.
I get up. I find my dress from last night on the floor and shove it into the dresser. At the same time, I grab a jacket and leggings, tugging them over my body.
I catch myself in the mirror above the dresser. My body stayed the same despite my ongoing changes to my diet which consisted of nothing for breakfast, small granola bar at lunch, and oatmeal for dinner.
The mirror certainly doesn't lie, so what could have been happening?
I tug my jacket down and turn sideways, but of course the small sliver of hope that I've changed weight somehow instantly gets crushed.
There's always a nagging feeling of looking perfect everyday, and everyday I want to catch up with it- but it seems farther than it looks.
The smell of coffee drifts in from the kitchen. Then, inevitably, the faint smell of something beginning to burn.
"Cameron!" I groan, already annoyed.
He calls back. "It's under control!"
It is absolutely not under control. Who knew a tough guy like him couldn't make something so simple like breakfast. Pathetic, honestly. I go to help him anyway.