37. Amie
thirty-seven
Amie
M ost of Maisy’s Christmases have been spent with my mum, Katy, Ruth, and Paloma; a girls’ affair with plenty of turkey, stuffing and apple juice in lieu of wine. But this year, she has Cam. This year, we have Cam. My heart is still in overdrive. I can’t quite believe that the events of New York happened. I can’t believe I get to reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him just because he’s mine, and it blows my mind that he would want me.
After presents, Maisy plays while we watch a movie, and after lunch—with enough food to rival the Thanksgiving feast from last month—we move out to the backyard. It’s a little cooler than it was at Thanksgiving, but it’s still plenty warm, and I sit on the porch with a glass of lemonade while Maisy chases Cam around with Roger clutched close to her chest.
“So, the two of you…” Carla takes the seat next to me, gesturing with her own glass in her hand.
“We… I’m not sure yet,” I say carefully. Beyond our pillow talk confessions, we haven’t discussed the status of our relationship. But he touches me any chance he gets, whether it’s a hand on my shoulder or holding me in his arms. He kisses me constantly .
And I want him. Sure, we’ve only spent a grand total of three and a half weeks together, but we’ve talked on the phone every night. We’ve shared just about everything, including our bodies and a baby. And in spite of it all, he still looks at me the way Maisy looks at him: like I hung the moon.
“We’re just gonna see what happens,” I finish lamely.
“He’s crazy about you,” Carla presses on. Her eyes are firmly fixed on her son and granddaughter, but when she looks over at me, I see the soft smile in her eyes—the same smile I’m pretty sure I wear when I look at Cam and Maisy. “He’s never brought a girl home before. Granted, he never had a baby with anyone before, either, but I’ve never heard him talk about anyone the way he talks about you. Even before he knew about Maisy.”
I suck in a deep breath. My lungs feel like they’re filled with porridge.
“And I’ve never seen him this happy,” she continues.
“He makes me happy too,” I say. It comes out in a whisper, but from the way her eyes soften even further, I know Carla heard me. “I couldn’t have asked for a better dad for Maisy.”
“That little girl is so good for him,” Carla says. “But so are you. I see it in him, and I see it in you, too. Don’t be afraid of it, Amie. This kind of love, it’s rare. But it’s yours to take, right now.”
It’s mine for the taking.
I put my glass down on the table and push up from my seat.
“Thanks, Carla,” I say. I have somewhere to be. I move with purpose, navigating the porch steps and slipping around the sun loungers with ease, finding Cam and Maisy hiding under the jungle gym. They’re both lying on their bellies, feet in the air and chins resting in their hands. I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but Cam jumps to his feet when I approach, and I launch myself into his arms, wrapping my thighs around his hips and kissing him hard. He laughs against my lips, a low rumble that sets my skin alight, and as I drop back to my feet, I kiss him once more, a quick press of my lips to his.
He brushes an errant curl from my face and tucks it behind my ear.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says with a grin, “but where did that come from?”
“It’s always been you,” I tell him. I reach down to scoop Maisy into my arms and settle her on my hip. “And now it’s the three of us.”
“Forever,” he whispers, his forehead against mine. Maisy pushes her face between ours and giggles, and at the same time, Cam and I kiss her cheeks. She squeals in delight, and I wish I could stop time right here. I want to bottle it up and stay in this moment. My sweet girl, pure and untouched by the world’s horrors. Cam, his hair freshly cut a little too short and his stubble a little too long, eyes sparkling like the sun on the ocean, his arms wrapped around us. In this moment, I’ve never felt safer, happier or more loved.
Loved.
That’s it. He makes me feel loved.
Later, I hold Maisy in my arms as Cam transforms the sofa into a bed and adds the sheets and pillows. She was asleep in his arms before we even left his parents’ house earlier in the evening, utterly exhausted from a day of love, family, food and presents.
“Hey, I got her.” Cam reaches out to take her from me, and together, we put her down on the bed. I take off her socks and gently untangle the bows from her curls. I don’t bother with her pyjamas. She’ll be fine sleeping in her sundress for one night. Cam tucks Roger beneath her arm and kisses her forehead sweetly, before I do the same and pull the blanket over her little body.
I step back into Cam’s arms, looking at our little girl’s sleeping form.
“She’s so perfect,” he whispers. His breath tickles my ear and his hands come around to rest on my ribs. I tip my head back against his shoulder and his lips touch the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “You’re perfect.”
“Cam,” I whisper his name as my eyes fall closed. Warmth spreads through me like the burn of whiskey; I feel drunk though I haven’t touched a drop. My belly flutters and moisture pools between my thighs.
“Can you be quiet for me, beautiful?” One hand slides beneath the fabric of my t-shirt, fingers ghosting over my ribs and into the soft cotton of my bra. He pinches my nipple and I nod quickly, a quiet squeak leaving my lips. Without relinquishing his hold on me, he walks us across his tiny studio to the bed, before using his free hand to pull my t-shirt over my head and doing the same with his own.
“Good girl,” he says lowly, a quiet rumble I feel in every nerve ending.
My body is alight from the way he looks at me. He flicks open the clasp of my bra and lets it fall away from my skin, freeing my breasts, and he bends to take one in his mouth. I gasp again, a sharp, silent intake of breath as I shiver involuntarily. The mouth on this man—it makes me wet without even touching me.
With Maisy sleeping on the sofa a few feet away, I know we’re tempting fate with every gasp, every curse, every creak of the bedframe. But hell nor high water can stop me when this man skims his hands up and down my ribs, pressing open-mouthed kisses into my skin. I’m desperate for it, and I’m powerless to resist his tongue.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers. He sits on the edge of the bed beside me and pulls me into him, shifting me until I’m straddling his thighs. I tip my head forward and seal my lips to his.
“I want you, Cam,” I whisper against his mouth. “Make love to me.”
He breaks the kiss and lifts me into his arms, bridal style, spinning and placing me in the middle of the bed before crawling up to hover above me. He pulls my leggings and underwear down over my hips and pushes them to my ankles lifting each one in turn to remove every scrap of clothing. As he hovers over me, I pop the button of his jeans and push them down his hips, along with his boxers. His cock springs free, thick and hard, and he takes it in his hand as he settles between my thighs.
“Amie,” he whispers. “It’s always been you, Amie.”
And then he pushes into me, one smooth movement until our hips meet and he’s fully seated, and I gasp.
“Oh— oh, fuck.”
We move slowly. He wraps me in his arms as he rocks his hips, thrusting slowly in and out. I reach up to kiss him, slow and languid, and it feels like an exploration, a hello, a new beginning. It feels like it could be the start of forever.
“So beautiful,” he whispers; the reverence in his tone makes my eyes sting with tears. “So perfect. Look how beautiful you look with me inside you, Amie.”
He kisses me again, and I look down to the point where our bodies are joined. When I look back, the tears are threatening to spill over, and I squeeze his shoulders with my fingertips, lifting my legs to lock my ankles around his waist. The new angle pushes him even deeper and he hits the most magnificent spot. My entire body bursts with the sensation, humming with a need more intense than anything I’ve ever known.
“Fuck, Cam,” I whisper. “Holy fuck.”
Nothing has felt like this. Not in Singapore. Not even in New York.
Cam increases his pace, bucking his hips against mine, and I meet every movement, crying out a quiet gasp with every thrust. He swallows my cries with his lips, moaning against me, and we quicken together until my legs begin to tremble and quake around him.
“Cam,” I gasp. “I need—”
He reaches down with one hand, leaving the other tangled in my hair and cradling my head, holding my face to his.
“I’ve got you, beautiful,” he whispers against my lips, and circles a finger against my clit. I come apart immediately, squeezing him all the way to his own orgasm. He comes inside me with a low, stifled groan, his body stiffening and then relaxing against mine as he spills inside me.
“I love you,” he says with an exhale as his breathing begins to slow. “I’ve loved you for four years, and I’ll love you forever more.”
I never imagined myself worthy of Cam’s kind of love. The tender, reverent kind. The fierce, possessive, all-consuming kind. The kind that uplifts. The kind that set us on a predestined course four years ago, orbiting but never quite colliding, until now. And if I had to collide with anyone, there’s no one else in the world I’d want it to be. The tears that formed earlier spill over, soaking my lashes and tracking down to my jaw. I open my mouth to respond, but he puts a finger to my lips. I kiss it.
“Don’t say anything, baby,” he says softly. “I don’t need you to say it back. Say it when you’re ready. Just know I’m already there.”
He loves me.