Chapter 22 #2
“Food first, Whitman,” I boss, and he obeys so readily my knees consider buckling.
“What can I do?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves.
Forearms. Yum.
“You can pour wine and not be a chef tonight.”
“I’ll do my best,” he says, already assessing my knives. I body-block him from the drawer. He laughs, hands raised. “I’ll be good.”
I make an easy pasta and a colorful lemony salad. We have a loaf of bread that Suzanne left up here, along with brioche bread pudding. I add a butter rum sauce to take our dessert to the next level.
Camden opens the wine like an expert, pours two glasses, takes a sip, and hands me a glass.
I keep pinching myself over the fact that he’s here.
With me. Smiling at me like I’m everything he craves.
The lights and the music are low—Billie Holiday sings through the little speaker, the radiator humming in the same key, and the cafe sounds busier than when I was down there.
Camden leans on the counter and watches me with that soft look that knocks me off-balance.
“You’re glowing,” he says.
“Steam,” I lie.
He just smiles like he can see right through me.
After we set the table, I slide the pasta into bowls, twisting it into cute little nests with tongs.
“Juju, I swear, your food will always be my favorite,” he says after the first bite, his voice reverent.
“Seriously? After all the restaurants you’ve eaten in, all the chefs you’ve worked with…”
“I’ve had delicious food, you’re right.” He nods. “But yours is the best. You have a way of taking the simplest ingredients, and it’s like sorcery, the magic you create.”
He squeezes my knee under the table and leaves his hand there, slowly going higher to rest on my thigh. After that, it’s hard to focus with the meteor shower going wild behind my ribs.
When the timer goes off, I jump up to get the bread pudding out of the oven, and the apartment fills with the smells of vanilla and rum. He groans when he takes the first bite.
“Sorcery,” he moans.
“Wow. That means so much, coming from you. But seriously, Camden, you’re the GOAT.
Come on, you know this, right? I used to watch videos people posted of you…
there were a lot of you in France, but even more from Whitman’s.
I was so jealous that I couldn’t experience your food.
I saw a video of you making a pie crust, which shocked me because you always left the baking to me… ”
“That’s still true…I’ve had the worst luck with pastry chefs, but Virginia is turning things around.” He takes another bite of bread pudding and looks at me with dreamy eyes. “I’d still rather have you,” he says.
He leans over and kisses me and then suddenly pulls away.
“Okay, let’s do these dishes so fast,” he says.
“You’re thinking about dishes right now?” I laugh.
He gives me the side-eye. “Juliana Fair. I know you. Dirty dishes are not in your makeup.”
I laugh harder. “I think I could make an exception!”
“Be honest. If you left those dishes and happened to fall asleep or get distracted or something,” he says with a smirk, “you’re telling me you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night and come in here to finish them?”
I sigh. “You do know me.”
He grins with satisfaction and stands, pulling me up. He gives me another kiss once I’m upright, and when we part, he motions for me to go first and then gives my backside a little slap. I jump and laugh.
“I’m moving, I’m moving.”
“I really just wanted to see this view of you in that dress.”
I turn and look at him over my shoulder, and he curses under his breath.
“We’re not in a dingy, freezing motel tonight,” I sing.
He points at the kitchen. “You will not distract me from the dishes!” He laughs at the ridiculousness of that statement and marches to the kitchen, where he fills the dishwasher so fast it’s comical.
“I didn’t know you could move that fast.” I put a few more things in the dishwasher and close it, giving him a flirty look over my shoulder.
He smirks and advances toward me, looking like a man on a mission.
“What would you like to do?” he asks, putting his hands on my waist and moving my hair to the side to kiss the back of my neck.
“I’d like to continue what you started last night,” I say, putting my hand on the back of his head as he nuzzles me.
“There’s nothing I’d love more,” he whispers.
When he straightens, I hold my hand out, and he takes it as we move toward the bedroom. It’s not very late, but it’s dark out already, and when we move to the bedroom, the lamp is low, and the streetlamps outside give off a romantic glow.
I turn around slowly, and he’s right there.
His hands are still on my waist, and I put mine on his broad chest, loving that I can touch him like this now.
The next thing I know, his mouth is on mine, and this kiss is slow and unhurried.
But then he bites my lower lip, and there’s nothing slow about what happens next.
I lean on my tiptoes, and his hands move to my backside, groaning when he feels me.
“I’ve been dying to get my hands on your ass for a long, long time,” he says between kisses.
I reach back and start to unzip my dress, and he takes over the rest. When he slides it over my shoulders and down my hips, he watches the progression, his tongue reaching out to wet his lips like he’s hungry.
“Fuck,” he whispers when my dress drops to the floor. “Juju.”
It’s the reverence in his tone that spurs me on, that and the fact that I want him so much I can hardly think straight.
I unbutton his shirt, my fingers working way better than I thought they would, given my eagerness.
I have his shirt off in seconds and take a deep inhale when I see his chest. I lean forward and glide my tongue down his chest as I work on getting his pants off.
The reward is so great when I do. I take a step back, my body protesting as I move away from him, but I have to see just how gorgeous he really is.
It could be intimidating, how perfect his body is, but I’m emboldened by the way his eyes are raking over every inch of me as if he can’t get enough either.
He tugs off his black boxer briefs, and my knees weaken when I see all of him. My mouth goes dry and I flood between my legs, craving every part of him.
“Your turn,” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips. When his hand grips his cock and he gives it a slow slide up and down, I swallow hard.
“What?” I hear myself say. I sound far away. My eyes are still glued to his cock. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one any bigger or more perfect.
“Let me see you,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, biting my lower lip. “You are so distracting.”
He grins and does a little sweep over his tip that has me feeling jealous of his hand. Then he points at my chest.
“Do you need help getting naked?” he asks.
It brings me out of my daze, and I reach up and undo my bra, letting it drop to the floor.
“Perfect,” he says. “I’ve always thought everything about your body is perfect, you know. Your ass, those legs,” he groans, “and your tits. What I said when we were teenagers was so far from what I thought. When I saw you in a bikini that same summer, I felt so guilty about the way I wanted you.”
“Really?”
“Many times in my life, it’s felt like your body was put in this universe just to drive me mad. Like the untouchable fruit, within sight, but out of my grasp at all times.”
He steps closer and puts his hands on my breasts.
My nipples are hard little points, and he bends down and takes them in his mouth, making me forget any insecurity I ever had about being in the itty bitty titty club.
His hand is so big that when he rests it on my hip, it covers part of my stomach and back.
He bends to his knees, and the sight of him down there threatens to undo me.
His free hand slides my panties down my legs.
He presses a kiss at my center, and then does a slow lick up my slit.
“Camden,” I whisper. “I want you.”
“You’ve got me,” he says, flicking his tongue over my clit.
“I want you inside me.”
In the next moment, he’s on his feet. He puts his hand on my chest, and I step backward as he moves forward.
His eyes are gleaming with promise, and the anticipation is more than I can take.
When the backs of my legs hit the bed, I climb on and stay on my knees.
He gets on, facing me, and when our bodies line up, skin to skin, it’s like electricity sparking.
We kiss…and kiss and kiss…and our hands are feral and greedy. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and lays me back. I reach out and wrap my fist around his cock, squeezing him.
His eyes close and his mouth parts, and when his eyes open again, they’re glazed over.
“I have condoms,” I say. “From Erin,” I add.
His eyebrows lift slightly.
“She gives them to me often, trying to nudge me in the direction of sex.”
He laughs. “Thanks, Erin.”
“And I’m also on the pill.” I lift my shoulder. “And all clear.”
“Me too. Condoms and all clear.” His brows furrow. “Are you saying you want to––”
“I’m saying I’m good with it, if you are.”
“I’m good with it,” he says, eyes wide. “I’ve never…”
“Me either,” I rush.
I pull his face down and kiss him, too impatient to wait any longer.