Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
The next day, Camilla and Marlon picked up the new living room couch. Camilla had chosen a fabric-upholstered sofa with clean lines and slim wooden feet that nodded to the traditional elements of the home while giving the room a more contemporary feel. It was a neutral cream color that complemented the walls and the beautiful antique rug they’d found for a song at one of the stores the day before.
When all the plastic had been removed and the couch was in place, Camilla slumped down onto it and beamed at Marlon. “What do you think?”
He pursed his lips and nodded, then took a seat next to her. “Doesn’t even feel like the same room. I like it.”
She stretched her legs out onto the coffee table—they’d kept the same table he had before, since it matched the rest of the decor and was in good shape—and admired their work. They still had some styling to do, throw pillows to arrange, and lighting to position, but the room was turning out to be beautiful.
It felt like a home. Like her home.
Maybe…
But no. She wouldn’t allow herself to think past the first weekend of December. She’d already had enough distractions. Even redecorating this room had been an indulgence, never mind the fact that she’d done it with Marlon.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa behind her. The weight of his arm felt comforting, the tips of his fingers brushing her shoulder.
She turned her head to look at him. “Thanks for doing this with me. I think I needed it.”
Holding his gaze for a long moment, it looked like Marlon wanted to say something. Instead, he curled his arm and dragged her closer. She offered no resistance, letting him scoop her into the crook of his elbow as she settled against his chest. Marlon’s free hand was warm and calloused as he cupped her cheek, brushing frizzy tendrils of hair away from her temple.
“You’re so beautiful, Camilla.”
Her heart gave a powerful thump. She looked down at her paint-splattered clothing. “I don’t think I look so hot right now.”
Marlon’s lips kicked. “I beg to differ.” His thumb made a slow sweep over her cheekbone, and a deep, yawning hunger opened in the pit of Camilla’s stomach.
The past two weeks had created an insistent yearning for Marlon that never really went away. After her meeting with Frankie on Friday, spending the weekend with Marlon had been like a balm for her soul. She felt safe here. Cherished.
Now, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, craving came back with a vengeance. Body taut as she pressed it against his, she felt like she could give in to any temptation, indulge in every carnal desire.
She’d survived the problems at the bakery, and come Monday, she’d be back there, trying to come up with the money Frankie was extorting. Her life was one problem after another, and she would deal with them. But…didn’t she deserve a bit of affection? Couldn’t she give in to temptation? Why was she resisting this?
“You’re trembling,” Marlon said in a soft, low rumble.
She huffed, staring at the beard that hugged his jaw. She brought her fingers up to trace the line of it on his cheek all the way down to his lips. The only thing left to say was the truth: “I want you so badly I can’t think straight.”
The sound that came from Marlon’s throat sounded like it was ripped from him. He pulled her closer with the arm around her back while he slid his other to hold the back of her neck. Then he kissed her, deep and long and thorough, until she whimpered against him.
His hand slid down her spine and gripped her butt. He squeezed, tracing the middle seam of her jeans up and down the cleft of her ass until she panted against his lips, mindless with lust. Her fingers had curled into his shirt at some point, and her knee was thrown over both of his spread legs.
Lifting Camilla with one strong arm, Marlon deposited her on his lap so she straddled him. His hands roamed over her body, running over her hips, her waist, her breasts. She was wearing too many clothes. They both were.
Clawing at his top, she pulled it off over his head and then let her hands trace the solid lines of his chest. He had coarse, dark chest hair and a thick pack of muscles. His abdomen was dense and solid, shifting beneath his skin as he reached to tear her shirt off in return.
When he’d removed her top, his hands slid up to trace the line of her bra where it met the soft flesh of her breasts. The bra was nothing special: plain and black, designed to be worn under T-shirts. But Marlon looked at it like it had been made to tempt him.
“You have the most beautiful tits I’ve ever seen.” He grabbed them both and buried his face in her cleavage.
Camilla laughed, breathless, heat arrowing down to her core. She twisted her fingers into his hair and whimpered when he drew his tongue over her breast then flicked the clasp on the back of her bra to rip it off her body. He tossed it aside and lavished attention on her pebbled, oversensitive nipples.
A part of her thought she should stop this. Maybe she was just feeling lonely and stressed, and Marlon had offered her a bed and a shoulder to lean on. She should back off, take stock, be rational.
But being rational was hard when a big beast of a man had her breast in his mouth, sucking and nipping and tonguing like he never wanted to come up for air. It was hard when her other nipple was pinched and rolled between his fingers. Her body had turned molten under his attentions, and Camilla was powerless to resist.
“That feels so good,” she panted, arching her back to give him full access. His hands cupped both her breasts while he rubbed his cheek against her skin, rough beard abrading her sensitive flesh. He teased both nipples at once. She panted, each sensation winching her lust to a tighter knot in the pit of her stomach.
He licked her, tasted her, groaned against her. His hands were warm and rough as they shaped her breasts, worshipping. She loved being touched like this. She loved giving herself over to him, letting go. A rough squeeze sent a fresh wave of heat tumbling through Camilla’s veins.
Two weeks of lust compounded and compacted within her. She held his head to her breast and ground her hips against him. She gasped. Lost herself. Found him.
Then, as if he were as overcome as she was, Marlon bit the underside of Camilla’s right breast while he pinched her left nipple, a low groan slipping through his lips—and Camilla came. She came from him only touching her breasts, an orgasm that blazed bright and fast, leaving her wanting more.
Hands still shaping her, Marlon glanced up, half-dazed, half-thunderstruck. “Did you…?”
She nodded, blinking rapidly. “I think so. Yes.”
He groaned, leaning his head on the back of the sofa as his eyes drifted shut. “I need a second.” His voice sounded like it was full of gravel. It made Camilla feel like she was burning up to hear it.
Grasping at any wisp of lucidity, Camilla put her hands on the back cushions of the couch and said, “We haven’t even had this couch for three hours and we’re turning it into a sex couch.”
Through slitted eyes, Marlon watched her—and grinned. “We haven’t had sex yet.”
“What do you call this, then?”
His hands slid up her thighs and rested on her hips. A big boulder shoulder lifted in a casual shrug. “A warm-up.”
Camilla snorted, but she didn’t have time to respond because Marlon was flipping her onto her back and flicking open the button of her jeans.
“We’re breaking our own rules,” Camilla protested, but she wiggled to help him tug her jeans down her legs. Her hands were frantic, her heart hammering. She lay on the couch in nothing but a pair of plain cotton undies, and she’d never felt sexier. The curves that sometimes made her self-conscious felt beautiful beneath Marlon’s gaze.
Marlon ran his hand up her thigh and touched the edge of her underwear. “We haven’t broken anything yet.”
She arched a brow, curling a hand behind her head. Her body was on full display, and she liked it. She had soft bits and jiggly bits and big bits, and Marlon caressed every one of them with his hands and his eyes. He leaned over her and kissed her mouth, his chest pressing against hers, his hand trailing sparks down her side as he stroked her.
He let out a long, shaky exhalation, then kissed her again. “I know you’re a good girl, Camilla,” Marlon said against her lips. “A rule follower. You told me so yourself. So I won’t make you break any today.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You undressed me, teased me, and now you’re going to leave me here like this?”
“Maybe I like knowing you’re needy for me.” His grin was predatory and a little bit evil.
That turned Camilla on almost as much as the way he’d played with her breasts. Whatever was going on right now felt dangerous and dirty and fun. She liked being tortured like this, because she could tell how badly Marlon wanted her in return. He was her safe harbor, and he made her want to take risks.
Marlon must have seen something in her face because he let out a slow breath as his gaze darkened. He shucked off his pants, standing beside the sofa in a pair of black boxer-briefs. His hand squeezed his cock through the fabric, and Camilla felt an answering spasm between her legs.
But his eyes held hers, and Camilla knew in that moment that they wouldn’t have sex today. They’d tease each other. Torture each other. Stoke each other’s lust until they were mindless with it.
The thought made heat spear through her, and she didn’t have the capacity to question it.
They’d opened the door to this game two weeks ago when they’d made their new house rule. They’d tested each other’s interest in the kitchen when Camilla had had an orgasm with her clothes on. And now, they would take it one step further.
The craving was the point .
When Marlon hooked his thumbs into his underwear and shoved them down to the floor, Camilla’s breath caught. She watched him grip himself in a tight fist and let her own hand slide beneath her underwear.
“Are you wet?”
Camilla nodded.
“Show me.”
Her heart gave a leap. She pulled her panties to the side so he could see her, relished the way his eyelids grew heavy, gratified when he stroked himself faster at the sight. Her own hand dipped between her legs to satisfy the ache building there.
She wanted him inside her so badly she was sick with it. She wondered, distantly, if sex had ever been like this before. Had she ever felt a connection to a man without even having to touch him? Had she ever been intimate with someone when the desire itself was the goal, instead of the orgasm?
The answer was obvious: No. Never. She’d never felt this heady buzz before in her life.
Marlon reached down and—without even his fingertip touching her skin—grabbed her underwear and tugged it down her legs. Instead of tossing the fabric away like she expected him to do, Marlon wrapped her pleasure-damp panties around his cock and started stroking himself with them.
When Camilla’s lips parted on a sigh, Marlon’s mouth curled into a smile. “You like being a little dirty, don’t you Camilla?”
“Apparently.” She tried to sound sardonic, but it came out breathless.
“Look at you,” he said almost to himself. “So pretty. But my little rule follower needs to come.” He moved to kneel between her legs on the couch and watched her pleasure herself like he’d never seen anything so mesmerizing in his life. All the while, he jerked off with her panties in his fist. “You need an orgasm to make you feel better.”
Camilla nodded. She did need it. Badly. Every day since she’d entered the front door for the first time, she’d been desperate for release.
“Make yourself come, sweetheart.” Marlon’s voice was quiet, but his muscles were stark as he worked his cock. “Make yourself feel good for me.”
“I want you.” The words slipped out before Camilla could stop them, but they were true. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone.
“I know you do,” he whispered, his hand sliding over her thigh. His palm against her skin was a brand. “You want my dick deep inside you, but you’re not going to get it today.”
Why did that make her orgasm? Camilla would wonder about it later. In that moment, all she could do was ride the ecstasy that took her body, crying out Marlon’s name as she arched off the sofa, clenching on emptiness. She heard him let out a rough grunt, felt his hand tighten on her thigh.
He swore as he joined her at the peak, fumbling to use her underwear to catch his orgasm. A line of it landed across Camilla’s stomach, and a fresh wave of lust sent a gentler rush spiraling through her core. She gasped through it, mind hazy, no longer capable of wondering why these things were turning her on.
It was because of him. Because of Marlon.
Marlon wiped her off with her own defiled underwear, then tossed the rag aside before draping his body on top of hers. He kissed her, framing her face with his hands, and Camilla decided not to point out that he was trembling.
After all, she was shaking too.