Chapter 22
Riley
Iwasn’t planning on running into Cameron at the festival. I also wasn’t planning on hanging out with him, walking around with hot chocolate, making ornaments, watching the lighting of the town Christmas tree and even listening to carolers. It feels so intimate, so domestic, so…family-like.
A family of stars.
Noah’s words replay in my head as we walk back to the cars, then again when Noah asks (more like begs) Cameron to come over afterwards.
“Noah, honey, I am sure Cameron is tired. We have all had a long day.”
“But you said we could make popcorn balls today,” Noah whines.
Unfortunately, I did say that.
“Popcorn balls?” Cameron asks.
“They’re a bit of a tradition in our home,” I explain. “Every holiday season.”
“They’re covered in melted marshmallow and rolled in peppermint dust and they’re so good!” Noah says. “Any mommy promised we would make them. Tonight.”
“That’s a fun tradition,” Cameron says.
“It’s cheap,” I admit. “Something I could do with him every year to get in the Christmas spirit that wouldn’t break the bank.”
“Well, it sounds delicious,” he smiles.
“So you’ll come over?!” Noah asks.
“Only if your mom says it’s okay,” Cameron answers, looking at me.
“Mommy!”
“Sure,” I agree, feeling cornered.
“Hooray!” Noah gets in the car and buckles himself in. I close the door and turn to Cameron.
“You really don’t have to, you know,” I insist.
“I like popcorn. And I like hanging out with your kid. Not to mention, your sink is still leaking isn’t it?”
“Maybe…” I admit.
Cameron chuckles, a low soft laugh that fills my stomach with butterflies. “That settles it then. I’ll meet you there.”
So we spend the evening rolling hot marshmellowy balls of popcorn in crushed peppermint while Cameron tightens the kitchen faucet.
Apparently it was just a loose screw. It makes me look pretty dumb.
But seeing Cameron’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows makes his forearms look pretty good so I can’t really complain there.
After a little indulgence, Noah’s sugar high crashes and he sleepily slips into his pajamas, insisting that we both tuck him in.
“I want both of you to do it,” Noah says, his eyes half closed.
“I bet your mom is pretty darn good at doing it herself,” Cameron says.
“But that’s the thing,” Noah tells him as he crawls into bed. “Mommy is good at doing everything herself. She needs help.”
My heart swells in my chest and I blink back the tears that are threatening to break through. And so we both tuck him in, making sure he has all his stuffies arranged just right, his pillows perfectly fluffed and his nightlight on before the main light is shut off.
Noah falls asleep within minutes and Cameron and I make our way back out to the living room.
“You really didn’t have to do all of this,” I tell him as I pad my way into the kitchen. I’m still wearing the skirt and red sweater from work but I’ve since kicked off my shoes and am now barefoot.
“I know. You keep telling me that. And I keep saying I don’t mind,” he insists and I swear I can feel his eyes trailing up and down my body from bare feet to my hair that is tied in a neat, professional knot on top of my head.
“Then in that case,” I say as I pop the cork from a bottle of chardonnay. “I’m treating you to a glass of wine.”
“And I’m not going to say no to that,” he says, plopping down on the couch with a content sigh, thanking me as I hand him his glass and join him.
“I still feel like I should thank you,” I say, tucking my feet under me.
“I didn’t do much,” he says, taking a sip.
“You spent all day cooking for fire fighters then made Christmas ornaments with a five year old. And look…” I point at his shirt. “I was right about the glitter. It gets everywhere and never comes off.”
“Where?” he asks, looking down at his shirt. “I don’t have any glitter on me.”
“Yes you do,” I giggle. “Right there.”
Cameron lifts his arms, holding them out to the sides while he inspects himself. “You’re just messing with me. If I had glitter on me, I would kn– damnit.”
The moment he sees it, I start laughing. Cameron sets his wine glass on and grabs the hem of his shirt.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still giggling.
“Taking it off.”
“Because it has glitter on it?” I ask, trying to be quiet. But it’s kind of hard to do while watching him struggle to pull his Henly over his head. He wrestles with it for a moment (he didn’t unbutton it at all) and I continue to laugh until I see his side. My smile fades.
On his ribs is a tattoo.
I knew I felt something there the last time we were…together…but I didn’t know if it was a tattoo or not.
When he finally frees himself of his shit, Cameron tosses it aside and reaches for his wine glass again. Then he looks at my face.
“What?” he asks with a smirk. I know what he’s doing. What he’s trying to do. But right now, despite his abs being on full display, all I can look at is that tattoo.
“What is that?” I ask.
Cameron looks down. “Oh, this?” he asks, raising his arm out of the way. “It’s a tattoo. I got it a while ago…back when I was married.”
I lean in to study the detail of it. It’s a fox, of all things.
“Does it have any meaning?” I ask.
Cameron stares forward, his jaw tensing and untensing and he swallows slowly. It doesn't just have meaning. It has a story. One that he is contemplating sharing.
“It’s…kind of…silly, honestly.”
“Why would a fox be silly?” I ask softly, my eyes still on it. The detail is amazing for how small it is. Intricate with fine lines and intense eyes.
“So don’t make fun of me,” he starts in.
“Why would I make fun of you? I mean you did just rip your shirt off in my living room after finding out it had a smudge of glitter on it but I’m not going to make fun of you.”
He smiles but it fades and I realize whatever this fox’s story is, it’s not one he shares often. “Foxes…male foxes…are responsible for their kits. The babies.”
“Really?” I ask and he nods with a small smile, his thumb tracing around the rim of his wine glass.
“Yep. They hunt for the food for their young and they also teach them to hunt. They teach them to survive in the wild. Those are all things that with most animals are the mom’s job.”
“But not foxes,” I say softly.
“Not foxes,” he repeats.
It’s quiet for a moment and I want to ask him what happened between him and his ex. Why they got divorced. Why they didn’t have kids. It’s obvious that he loves kids. He’s a pediatric doctor. And yet, he doesn’t have any.
But I decide against asking those questions. He seems done with the conversation. As he stares at me, his eyes warm in the soft glow of the table lamp, I think it’s safe to say he’s done talking in general. And as much as I am still curious about the tattoo, I am more curious about the rest of him.
“We shouldn’t should we?” he asks, his voice low.
“Probably not…” I say. “He could wake up.”
“Maybe if we are very quiet…and the door is locked,” he whispers gruffly and I can literally feel my nipples grow hard.
“He does usually sleep like a rock…” I say, biting my lip.
Cameron reaches out and takes my glass from me, setting it on the coffee table.
Then he cups my face in his palm and pulls me close to him.
His mouth covers mine in a slow, warm kiss.
He takes his time, running his tongue along my lip before gently parting my lips and pulling me even deeper.
I moan into his mouth, climbing onto his lap.
“God you are incredible, you know that?” he asks.
I shake my head, our lips still locked.
“You are,” he tells me. “It’s not a question.
We continue to kiss for long moments, our hands wandering. I run my fingers over his abs and he grips my hips in his palms, hiking my skirt up as I grind into him.
Then my finger tips run up and down the muscles of his sides, finding the tattoo again. Soft, saturated, raised…
I stop.
My brain is running back in time. But not to the other night at the hotel.
It goes further back. Back to a night I try not to think about anymore.
A night I’d rather just pretend never happened but I can’t.
For one, it was one of the hottest nights of my life.
Tipsy sex with a stranger locked on the rooftop of a hotel.
But also, it was the night I conceived Noah.
A man I couldn’t really see thanks to the lack of daylight.
But I remember the way he felt. Hard abs, strong lips, flecks of gray in his hair that peeked out from under his Santa cap, shining like silver in the moonlight. A tattoo on his ribs…
Surely not.
I mean…there’s no way.
Is there?
My attention is yanked back into the moment thanks to his hand which has wandered its way under my skirt and straight inside my panties.
“Oh my god,” I gasp as his fingers run down the length of me, finding my clit and teasing it. “Cameron…we can’t…”
Cameron stops and the sudden lack of stimulation is jarring. “At all or…?”
I look at him, searching his eyes, his mouth, his cheekbones looking for anything, any sign of familiarity. But when I say it was dark out there that night…it was dark out there that night. That and I had an unrecommendable amount of wine.
He can’t be the same guy, I tell myself decidedly.
“Bedroom,” I say and before another word has a chance to leave my lips, Cameron stands up and heads down the hallway with me in his arms.
He sets me down on the bed and then walks back to the door to lock it.
Then he comes back to me, starting with my skirt.
He tugs it off along with my panties, all in one smooth action.
Then, he pulls my sweater up over my head, tossing it aside as well.
He watches as I unhook my bra from the back.
My breasts fall free from the lace and he swallows hard, his eyes locking so heavily on them I swear I can feel the contact.
Then I reach up and untie my hair, letting the layers fall around my shoulders with a swish and I watch in quiet satisfaction as his lips part, his jaw gently unhinging.
“You are stunning,” he whispers, reaching out to cup one of my breasts. Softly his thumb grazes over my nipple, sending a shudder rippling through my body. “Beautiful,” he adds. “Just beautiful.”
My knees fall open and his eyes draw down to me, taking me in before he comes to his knees.
Then, his mouth covers me. He kisses between my legs, leaving heat wherever his lips touch.
Longing and need courses through my thighs and I moan as his tongue finds my clit, suckling for a moment before he stands to unzip his pants.
I watch as he undresses in front of me. The lamp is on, revealing all of him for the first time. The last time we were together wasn’t like this. It was rushed and hungry and primal. Now…it’s slow. Revealing and soft and unbothered.
He crawls back onto the bed, never losing eye contact with me.
It’s something I’ve never known, making love to a man while he stares straight through my soul.
To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
But I don’t want it to be over. So I am thankful that he takes his time, kissing me again while his fingers run up and down my sides, through my hair then back down to my breasts, making me wetter with each touch.
“Cameron…” I moan, knowing full well how desperate I sound.
How vulnerable. But I don’t even care. I need him inside of me.
I need him as close as he can get. And I don’t even have to say that.
He knows. As he slides himself inside me, slowly filling me up with his hard, hot cock, he knows what I need.
And he does know. He knows that right now, as much as the fire is burning white and hot inside me, I want him but I want him slow.
I want to take our time to tangle up in each other.
To get lost at the edges of each other, blurring the lines, making it hard to tell where one of us ends and the other begins.
As he rocks his hips against me, thoughtfully thrusting in and out of me, he kisses me again– my lips, my cheekbones, my forehead, my chin.
“You’re gorgeous,” he says with every dive into me, penetrating me deeper and deeper until something in him meets something in my soul.
“No one has ever said that before,” I tell him, my eyes burning with the threat of tears.
“Clearly no one has ever taken the time to look.”
I tip my chin up, my mouth connecting with his. The kiss goes deep and so do his thrusts, in and out, nearing us closer to the release we need. His hands find mine, our fingers lacing together.
“Cameron…” I moan softly, trying to be quiet but needed to let it out.
“I know,” he groans. He picks up the pace and the moment he does, the orgasm takes both of us in a rushing wave, crashing around us hard. I bite my lips to keep myself from crying out and he buries his face in my neck as we quietly come undone together.