9. Cami #2
“Logan.” His breath was warm against my lips. “I can make you forget him. By the time I’m done, his name will be erased from your mind. And he will wish he had never learned yours.”
A laugh escaped me. Nervous. Scandalized. Horny, God help me, suddenly so horny I could barely think.
“That’s... that’s quite a promise.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
My hands were on his chest. When had that happened? I could feel his heartbeat under my palms, fast and hard, matching the rhythm of my own.
He was even more attractive up close. It was so unfair. The sharp line of his jaw. The gray of his eyes. The way his lips curved into something that was almost a smile.
“I’d like that.” The words came out before I could stop them. “The forgetting part.”
His smirk widened. He leaned down.
“We need to convince everyone we’re together.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, making me shiver. “Practice makes perfect.”
Then he kissed me.
I wasn’t expecting it. Even with all the buildup, all the tension, all the heat that had been building between us, I wasn’t prepared for the reality of his mouth on mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry and demanding and thorough, his lips claiming mine like he had every right to them. Like I belonged to him and he was just reminding me of the fact.
I should push him away.
I didn’t.
Instead, my hands fisted in his shirt. Pulled him closer. Opened my mouth to let him in.
He groaned against me. The sound vibrated through my whole body, settling somewhere low in my belly. His hands found my hips, gripped hard, and then I was being lifted.
The kitchen table was cold against the backs of my thighs. Papers scattered. Something fell to the floor. Neither of us cared.
I shouldn’t want this.
The thought floated through my mind, distant and unimportant.
We’re supposed to be partners.
His tongue slid against mine and I forgot how to think.
“Sal.” His name escaped on a breath, somewhere between a moan and a prayer.
He kissed me deeper. Harder. His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back, giving him better access.
“Don’t say my name like that.” His voice was a growl against my lips. “Unless you mean it.”
I didn’t answer with words. Just threaded my fingers through his hair and kept him close, kept his mouth on mine, kept kissing him like my life depended on it.
He groaned when I tugged gently. A sound of surrender that made my whole body clench.
My legs wrapped around his waist. Drew him closer. Until I could feel every inch of him pressed against me.
Including the hard length of him. Straining against his pants. Pressed against the thin cotton of my underwear.
“Say stop and I will.” His voice was ragged. His forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard. “Say it and I’ll walk away.”
I didn’t want him to walk away.
I wanted... God, I wanted. More than I’d ever wanted anything.
His fingers hooked in the waistband of my panties. Started to pull them down.
Air hit my bare skin.
Reality came roaring back.
“Wait.” The word came out breathless. Desperate. “We should stop.”
He froze. Immediately. Completely. His hands went still, his whole body going rigid.
“It’s...” I was still breathing hard. Still pressed against him. Still wanting. “It’s too soon. I don’t know you. And I...”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t explain the tangle of emotions in my chest. The want and the fear and the grief and the guilt.
Sal pulled back, not far, just enough to hold my eyes. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but there was something else there too. Something soft.
“I’m a patient man.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle in a way that made my chest ache. “And I understand. Let’s go to sleep, fiore.”
Fiore.
Flower, in Italian.
The nickname caught me off guard. Made warmth bloom in my chest, unwelcome and impossible to stop.
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t comment. Just let him help me off the table, let him lead me back through the quiet hallways, let him open the door to his bedroom like nothing had happened.
Everything had happened.
My body was still wired. Electric. Every nerve ending alive and buzzing with want. Walking into that room, seeing that bed, knowing we were going to lie down in it together after what had just happened in the kitchen...
I cleared my throat.
“I’m going to build a pillow wall.”
Sal stopped in the middle of the room. Turned to look at me. “A what?”
“A pillow wall.” I was already grabbing pillows, stacking them down the center of the mattress. “You know. A barrier. For... precautionary purposes.”
His expression shifted. Offended, almost. “I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“I would never touch you without permission.”
“I know.”
“The pillow wall is unnecessary.”
“Maybe.” I finished arranging the pillows and stepped back to survey my work. “But it makes me feel better.”
He stared at the wall of pillows. Then at me. Then back at the pillows.
“Fine.” The word came out clipped. Annoyed. “If that’s what you need.”
If only he knew.
The wall wasn’t to keep him away from me.
It was to keep me away from him.
I climbed into bed. Pulled the covers up to my chin. Closed my eyes and tried not to think about the kitchen. About his hands on my hips. About the way he’d groaned against my mouth when I tugged his hair.
“Goodnight, Camellia.”
“Goodnight, Sal.”
The pillow wall stayed firmly in place.
For now.