Chapter 18 Cam
CAM
Nothing ever could, ever will, make any of this okay.
We both know that.
My lie to her, my betrayal of Drew, all of it lives in that realm of this will never be okay…
There aren’t enough apologies or acts that could make up for it, but I meant what I said to her with every fiber of my being.
I may have failed her at every opportunity to do the right thing in the past, but I will be here for her now.
For the future. For whatever she needs. Any time, any place, any thing, for as long as she lets me. Even if she continues to hate me.
And I can do this for her now, give her what she needs, even if it destroys me in the process.
I stare up at her, the water sluicing over her swollen breasts and stomach, then sliding down her legs to the tiles where I still kneel—a man ready and willing to worship the only person who has ever truly deserved it.
Ivy’s meltdown wasn’t about shaving.
She’s suffered so much over the last several months, and everything has compounded until she reached this breaking point. Last night was a step in this direction, and I somehow managed to hold her together long enough to get here.
But there isn’t any way to roll it back and pretend none of it happened.
There isn’t enough water to wash away the look she’s giving me or to quench the thirst I have for her.
So, I will do what she wants, even if it’s going to hurt me brutally in the end.
I slide my hands up the inside of her thighs slowly, giving her every chance to end this, to close herself off to me in every way, but instead of doing that, she trembles under my touch, goosebumps breaking out on her skin, despite the hot water and the steam in the air.
Her gaze stays locked with mine as I caress her flesh, relishing the way it moves under my touch, how responsive she is to every scrape of my callouses and sweep of my fingertips.
No matter how badly things have ended up between us, no matter how big the chasm that separates us and makes what I really want impossible, there’s no denying an electric current still sparks between us.
So real. So physical. So alive, despite every reason it should have died when she learned the truth.
It ripples through me now as I caress her skin, and Ivy pulls her bottom lip under her teeth, biting down as her hands splay against the tiles in anticipation.
And I can’t make her wait any longer.
Wrapping my hands around her thighs to hold her steady, I dip my head and drag my tongue through her core.
Fuuuuuck.
She groans, her head dropping to the tile with a soft thunk. And I can’t help the rumble of satisfaction that rattles through my chest at the taste of her arousal, at the taste of her coating my tongue and sliding down my throat.
I’ve missed it so fucking much.
I’ve dreamed about it and craved this so badly that it became abundantly clear that Ivy truly is a drug to me.
Since the moment I got my first taste of her that night in the garden, I was violently addicted.
Willing to do anything to get my next fix.
Unable to shake the driving need to taste color again and let it infect my world.
Kissing her lips tasted like red, and licking her cunt is like having the entire fucking rainbow flashing across my eyes for the first time since I was a child.
My achingly hard cock strains against my zipper, throbbing and pulsing because it would be impossible not to want to be inside her right now.
With my face buried between her thighs and my tongue deep in her cunt, the memory of driving into her, of having her come apart around me, is almost too much to bear.
But I will never make this about me.
Never again.
It’s about what Ivy needs.
Release.
From all those things that forced her into that bed last night, that compelled her to seek my arms, that made her fall apart over a damn razor, that demanded she ask for this.
I glide my tongue up across her clit, making her jerk in my hold. My fingers dig into her fleshy thighs, and she slaps her left hand against the tile, her right burying in my hair.
She grips it tightly and holds me in place, grinding her hips to my face, seeking control over something when she lacks it in every other aspect of her life right now.
Releasing another groan of approval, I bury my tongue inside her as deeply as I can, needing to fill her, to complete her, to consume her.
Her strangled gasp makes my heart falter, and she tugs on my hair, trying to direct me, but she doesn’t have to because I know what she wants.
I understand it.
She needs it quick and hard.
This isn’t a game, like she accused me of playing that night she learned the truth and walked away.
This isn’t about toying with her or taking my own pleasure from devouring her endlessly.
That would be something the old Camden would do.
The one who made too many mistakes to count because he was a self-centered asshole who only cared about one thing—getting what he wanted.
I made a promise to myself that day in the doctor’s office that I would never make a selfish decision again, especially not when it comes to this woman or this baby.
I’ve already cost them too much.
Cost everyone too much.
And I’m done making them pay the price for my failures.
I’m done making her wait.
I glide my hand up her thigh and slip a finger inside her as my tongue flicks across her clit ruthlessly. She gasps, her pussy contracting around me, my cock aching in the same rhythm I pump up in her.
Her hips start moving against my face more frantically as I slide another finger into her, stretching her wider.
A satisfied moan echoes off the tile, urging me onward, and I continue to attack that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs relentlessly as I thrust up into her, curling my fingertips into that soft spot, deep inside her that I know will send her chasing down her release.
Ivy tips her head back and to the side, partially allowing me to see her around her belly. With her lips slightly parted, short, breathless pants slipping from between them, she looks so fucking stunning that all I can see is how it would look on a canvas.
Frozen forever in time.
All I want to do is make her come and capture the moment in my head so I can paint it, so she can see how stunning she is, even in her despair, even when it feels like her world is falling apart.
Her grip on my hair tightens the harder I thrust my fingers into her and the faster my tongue moves across her engorged clit.
The water beating down on us has nothing on the rush of arousal dripping from her cunt and into my greedy mouth.
And I swallow it down. Savoring every drop.
As desperate for it as she is for her release.
My free hand grips her hips as they buck and roll, fucking my face so wildly that I can barely breathe, completely smothered by her desire. But this woman can use me any way she wants, for as long as she wants, even if it kills me.
I deserve everything coming my way, and the way she moves against me, grinding down almost violently on my mouth and tongue and fingers, it wouldn’t surprise me if she has every intent to suffocate me with her cunt.
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, needy and seeking more, and I push a third one into her, spreading her even wider.
A sharp gasp fills the shower, bouncing off the tile surrounding us, and the sound makes my hips jerk forward, the memory of her making it as I entered her enough to almost make me come on the spot.
I nip at her wet flesh and suck her clit between my lips in a pulsing rhythm that matches my thrusts into her, and she finally explodes.
The cry that rips from deep in her chest vibrates through me as her body jerks in my hold. Her hips roll, riding the wave of pleasure that courses through her. I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her steady through the ride, continuing to pump into her and drag the orgasm out as long as I can.
She seems to ride it forever.
Tears leak from my eyes as I watch her.
Because this will be the last time I ever get to see it.
Because she’ll come to her senses.
Once this euphoria wears off, she’ll realize what a mistake she made by allowing me to touch her like this.
She’ll regret it, the same way she regrets every moment we ever spent together.
And when that happens, I’ll be left with nothing more than these fleeting memories and moments of beauty to get me through the dark and lonely nights.
So, I’ll relish every second of it, savor every drop that coats my tongue and throat, and take as much of her in as I can before she pushes me away.
Her grip on my hair finally loosens, and she sags into me, forcing me to pull my face back. But I am nowhere near done with her. I dip my head to lick off the arousal from her inner thighs, needing every drop of it, every last taste.
She sags, trembling violently with her leg still braced up on the bench, and I tighten my hold on her, keeping her upright as my tongue glides across her skin. Time ticks by slowly as I clean her thoroughly, but eventually, I have to pull my fingers from inside her.
Hooded, lust-hazed eyes follow as I lift them to my mouth and lick them, then ease her foot down to the tile.
Her eyes slide closed, and Ivy wavers slightly, hand still buried in my hair, the other slapped against the wall like she needed that to ground her so she wouldn’t fly away.
Her chest heaves with each ragged breath, and the hot water beats down on my shoulders as I examine every inch of her.
All those changes the pregnancy has made to her body that have made her even more stunning.
I’d give anything to be able to witness the color of her skin, to watch the pinks and reds spread across it rather than merely being able to see the slight variations of gray.
I know it would be breathtaking.
Because everything about her is.
She finally lifts her head again, and her eyes flutter open to meet mine.
The stormy gaze isn’t filled with the hate I expect to see, but now, I know it wasn’t just water trailing down her cheeks, because tears shimmer and trickle from the corner of her eyes as she stares down at me.
I stay on my knees before her, the only place I belong, because this woman deserves to be worshipped.
She deserved Drew and everything he gave her.
What she doesn’t deserve is a fuck-up like me, yet I can’t seem to stay away.
And neither can she, even when she doesn’t want it.
Finally, her grip on my hair releases, and she pulls her shaking hand back.
It continues to tremble as she presses it over her belly.
I hold her gaze, ensuring she’s with me before I say what she needs to hear, what needs to be said—for both of us.
“Keep hating me, Ivy. You need to. I know you do, and it’s okay.
But I’m going to make you that same promise again.
Anything you want, anything you need, any time. I’ll give it to you.”
A sob rips from her throat, and I want to push to my feet and pull her into my arms, to absorb all her pain and carry that weight so she doesn’t have to anymore.
But I know it isn’t what she wants.
It isn’t what she needs.
She needs to not see Drew’s face and know that it’s all my fault he’s not here.
She needs to pretend I don’t exist, even after what just happened between us.
I push to my feet, keeping my arm wrapped around her since I’m not confident her unsteady legs will keep her upright. Her hand on her belly, now pinned against my soaked shirt, flexes, and I stare down at her, tilting her chin up to make sure she looks at me.
“Anything, Ivy. All you have to do is ask.”
If what just happened doesn’t prove to her that I mean my words, nothing will…
I step back, though it takes every ounce of self-control I possess to do it.
The last thing I want is to leave her like this—or leave her at all. Ever. For the rest of my fucking life, I would stay on my knees and beg for this woman’s forgiveness.
But that isn’t an option.
That isn’t the reality.
I slide open the shower door and step out onto the mat, soaked to the bone, dripping wet, with my heart in my throat and my cock straining in my jeans.
She watches me as I snag a towel from the rack and run it over my hair and face, then unbutton my shirt and tug it off. I wipe down my chest, then wrap the soaked clothes in the towel.
But I don’t dare touch the waistband of my jeans or the zipper, because if I do, I might be tempted to do something with my hard, aching cock, like take it in my hand as I have so many fucking times over the years thinking about this woman.
She needs me to go.
And I need to leave.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to turn away from her, bend down, grab my socks and shoes, and stalk toward the door in my soaked jeans with my cock begging me to go back.
I pause just outside the bathroom door and glance at her—looking seriously well-pleasured and yet somehow distraught, standing in the exact same spot I left her. “Sorry about the water on your floor.”
And so many other things.