Chapter Eighteen #2
He’s quiet for a second. Then he reaches out and brushes a curl away from my cheek.
His thumb grazes the corner of my mouth, soft and sure.
“Dot, everyone’s broken somehow. You think I don’t have my own cracks?
You think I kept all this because I like hoarding paper scraps?
” He nods toward the box. “It’s because every one of those things reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That I had you.”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “I don’t know how to do this right.”
“Then we’ll do it wrong together.”
That line knocks the air right out of me. I want to laugh and sob at the same time.
The lamplight filters through the doorway, casting us in a soft, golden cocoon. I can smell him—soap and heat and something that’s just Camden. The world outside feels impossibly far away, like we’re the only two people who exist.
“I’ve loved you for so long,” he says, voice low and reverent. “You don’t have to say it back. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”
The words slip right into the space behind my ribs and lodge there, glowing. I don’t deserve him, but I want him anyway.
He waits, searching my face for permission.
My pulse roars in my ears. Every fear I’ve ever had—of losing people, of not being enough, of ruining good things—collides with the undeniable truth that he’s it for me.
“Camden,” I whisper. “Please.”
His eyes dismantle me. “Please, what?”
“Kiss me.”
His lips taste like cinnamon and something new and endless. I fist my hands in his shirt, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between us.
Whatever comes next, I know this much: This is the point of no return.
I crawl into his lap because I need him, need the weight of his hands, the smell of his skin, the strength of his gaze. My knees straddle his thighs, and I sink down until our chests touch. He’s warm, solid, and all the noise in my head dims as soon as his arms come around me.
His heartbeat thunders against my ear. I press my cheek harder to his chest just to feel it. It’s like proof: he’s real, I’m real, this moment is real.
“Dot…” he whispers, voice breaking a little. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” My fingers find his jaw, tilting his face toward mine. “But I want to.” The words catch in my throat. “Even if we fuck this up. Even if we’re not okay tomorrow—I need to feel you tonight.”
Our mouths meet, and the kiss starts soft, trembling. Then his hands slide up my back, and everything inside me breaks open. All the grief, the fear, the years of holding myself tight—it all pours out into the way I kiss him.
I shift closer, rocking against him until I can feel how hard he is under me, the heat of him pressing into me through our clothes. His eyes flutter closed, and I catch his lower lip between my teeth, needing to see his face, needing him to look at me. “Camden,” I sigh. “Look at me.”
He does. God help me, he does, and the look in his eyes almost undoes me more than his touch. It’s not hunger. It’s not pity. It’s that steady, aching kind of love that terrifies me because it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
He looks like he’s falling apart—like one more second without me might ruin him. Maybe that’s what I want. For us to be ruined together.
I tug my dress over my head, toss it aside, then guide his hands to my skin. “Please,” I whisper, forehead to forehead. “I want to feel you.”
He strokes his thumbs over my ribs, then dips his head to kiss the place where my neck meets my shoulder. I wriggle against him, fumbling with his shirt until it’s off, and then there’s nothing between us but skin and heat. My hips roll almost of their own accord, seeking him, needing him closer.
“Dot…” His voice is a low, rough sound against my ear.
“Shh.” I kiss him again, deeper, until I can taste the sound of his heartbeat on his tongue. “I want you. I want this.”
He sucks in a breath, lifts me a little so he can tug his sweats down. It’s easy to lift the skirt of my sundress and push my thong out of the way. I reach between us, guide him to me.
He drags his cock through my slickness and pauses. “I don’t have a condom on me.”
I meet his eyes. “I know.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “I could grab one from my nightstand.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You could get pregnant.”
“No.” I bite my lip. “I’m on something. To regulate my cycles.”
He groans, jaw clenched, fighting for control. “You’ll let me take you like that?”
“Yes. I want to feel everything.”
That’s what breaks him. He pushes in, slow and thick and bare, and I cry out as he fills me, inch by inch, like he’s carving a new home inside me.
Once his pubic bone hits mine, I jolt. The stretch, the heat, the rawness of it—it’s almost too much. I gasp, clinging to his shoulders, cracked open by the sensation and the trust. I keep my eyes on his. I need to see him. I need him to see me.
Every thrust feels like a goodbye I’m not ready for.
I try to slow it down, try to savor him, but my hips move on instinct—needy, urgent, aching for more.
I rock down against him, chest to chest, our foreheads touching, his hands cradling my hips like he’s afraid I’ll break.
Gasping his name, I bury my face against his neck, then lift my head again because I can’t stand to look away.
“I’m here.” His thumb brushes the tears off my cheeks. “I’m right here.”
I kiss him hard, hips rolling faster, the sound of our breathing filling the tiny golden space of the master closet.
He whispers my name, and I answer with a soft sob, clutching at his shoulders as pleasure and relief blur together.
I cry out his name, the sound torn from somewhere deep.
The orgasm hits sharp and bright, like the moment before a fall—terrifying, unstoppable.
My body clenches around him, a rush of heat and light, and I hold his gaze through it all, tears and all, until I’m shaking and he’s whispering, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He shudders inside me, silent but shaking, and I feel every pulse, every tremor, every piece of him pouring into me.
I want to believe it’s enough. That love can fix the cracks in us.
But all I know is right now, I don’t want to let him go.