Chapter 25
Scott would have liked to say he was feeling calm and collected as he knocked on Cam’s hotel door.
That would have been a lie. His heart had been pounding for the last twenty minutes.
By the time he stepped out of the elevator, his palms were damp, his stomach was in knots, and every nerve ending in his body seemed alight, excitement, anticipation, and fear tangling together into something so intense it made him feel physically sick.
He paused in the hallway, staring at the room number. For a moment, he considered turning around.
What exactly was he doing here? Seeing Cam again wasn’t going to solve anything.
The reasons they had stopped seeing each other still existed.
The photographs still existed. The Daily Mail article still existed.
Cam was still fighting for a world championship and couldn’t afford a scandal—or distractions. None of that had changed.
And yet here Scott was. The second Cam had texted him, every bit of carefully cultivated distance he’d spent the last month building had collapsed like a house of cards.
God, it was so pathetic. Scott had spent weeks telling himself he was doing the right thing by cooling their relationship down, weeks reminding himself that Cam had made his choice.
He’d tried so hard to adjust to a world where Cameron Richter wasn’t the first person he could tell things to.
But one text message had shattered everything.
I need to see you.
And suddenly none of his hard-earned self-restraint seemed worth a damn. Cam needed him, and Scott folded like a cheap lounge chair.
Scott laughed quietly under his breath. God.
Maybe this was how recovering addicts felt when they were offered their favorite drug.
More than a month clean. A month telling himself he was fine without Cam in his life—only to discover that the craving had never actually gone away, that it had been too deep under his skin to truly eradicate.
He stared at the hotel room door.
Just on the other side of it was the man who had occupied an embarrassing percentage of his thoughts for months. The man he’d spent the last month trying—and failing—to get over.
Scott knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, and Scott’s breath caught in his throat.
It had only been six weeks since he’d last seen Cam. He shouldn’t feel this starved for the sight of him. His fingers shouldn’t literally tremble with the urge to reach out and trace the line of Cam’s stubbled jaw.
Objectively, Cam looked the same—broad-shouldered, athletic, and mouthwateringly handsome—but there was a tautness about him that hadn’t been there before. Shadows lingered beneath his eyes, and his hair looked very disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly.
And the way he was looking at Scott… It was so fucking intense, his dark eyes roaming all over Scott’s face, almost… Almost hungry.
Scott swallowed. “Hey,” he said at last.
Cam’s expression shifted minutely. “Hey.” After a brief hesitation, Cam stepped aside to let him enter.
The door clicked shut behind Scott, sealing them inside a silent room.
Trying to regain some composure, Scott looked around, but the suite was spacious and impersonal in the way luxury hotels always were, so his gaze helplessly returned to Cam and locked with his again.
For a moment, they simply stood there, looking at each other.
“So,” Scott said.
Cam huffed a laugh. “So.”
The awkwardness was almost comical, considering how well they knew each other.
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “The crash in Brazil was pretty bad. How are you feeling about this race weekend?”
Cam stared at him. “Really? We haven’t seen each other in six weeks, but you’re talking to me like some fucking reporter?”
Six weeks.
So Cam had been counting too.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Scott shrugged. “You have a better idea?”
Cam’s jaw clenched, something like frustration flickering over his face. He took a step forward. “So you did watch my race.”
Scott inhaled shakily, eyeing the shrinking distance between them. “Of course,” he said belatedly. “I’m a fan of the sport. I didn’t start watching it for you, you know.”
Their eyes locked again.
A beat passed, then another, the tension crackling between them like static. Cam’s gaze dropped downward. To Scott’s lips.
Scott licked them and watched Cam’s pupils blow. Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell, seriously.
“Seriously?” Scott said with a laugh. “Wow.”
Cam’s jaw worked. He was still staring at Scott’s mouth, like a starved wolf at a very juicy piece of meat.
It was fucking unfair how much his tense, aggressive posture was turning Scott on.
Scott had never been into excessive testosterone bullshit, but something about the tension in Cam’s strong, hard body was stroking his hindbrain, making arousal pool low in his belly.
And it made him so angry—at himself, and at Cam.
How dare he look at him like he was starved for him when it was Cam who had chosen to distance himself for the sake of his career, which was—fair enough, but Cam had still made the choice.
So he had no business looking at Scott that way.
And Scott’s stupid body had no business reacting like a needy slut, either.
“Is this what you needed me here for?” Scott said harshly. He took a step back. “Not happening, dude.”
A muscle jumped in Cam’s cheek. “Don’t call me that,” he bit off, taking a step forward.
Scott chuckled, taking another step until his back pressed against the door. “Why? Do you prefer mate?”
Cam put his hands on either side of Scott’s face, looking at him intently.
“Scotty,” he whispered, his voice tight and strange, before suddenly burying his face in Scott’s neck.
Scott went still, shuddering as Cam’s scruffy face rubbed against his skin.
Oh god.
God, give him strength.
“Tell me the Laurent thing is fake,” Cam ground out, mouthing at his neck.
Shivering, Scott swallowed a whimper. Christ, Cam’s scent, the feel of him. He’d missed him so much. His hands were trembling with the urge to sink into Cam’s back like claws and never let go. “It’s none of your business,” he managed, his mouth dry.
Cam bit him, his hands gripping Scott’s hips. “I know it’s fake,” he gritted out, shoving a hip between Scott’s thighs and grinding hard.
Scott gasped, his eyes practically crossing. “What are you—”
“Tell me no one touched you since me,” Cam demanded.
Christ, he sounded absolutely unhinged. It shouldn’t have turned him on so much.
Scott buried his fingers in Cam’s hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Are you fucking with me?” he hissed. “You have no right to play the possessive boyfriend—we were just friends, remember? And you’re the one who ended it.”
Cam was practically vibrating with frustration, his eyes so very dark as they shifted between Scott’s mouth and his eyes. “I don’t want anyone else to touch you,” he said in a clipped voice.
Scott blinked slowly. He’d thought Cam would realize how ridiculous and unfair he was being instead of doubling down. “Tough luck,” he said, his smile all teeth. “I’ve already been fucked by five men since you. Or wait, was it six? Don’t remember—”
Cam slammed their mouths together.
It felt like being crushed by a tornado.
Cam was kissing him like he was trying to drink his soul through his mouth.
Scott knew he should push him away. This was pointless.
They had no future together. But he was weak for him, so he kissed back, all the frustration and longing and craving that had accumulated during their separation finally finding an outlet.
The kiss felt more like a fight, all teeth and tongues, their mouths too rough and greedy and desperate for each other.
When Cam tore his lips away, Scott whined and dragged him back into another kiss, clinging to him with all his strength, irrationally afraid of letting go. God, the feel of him, the scent of him—Scott couldn’t get enough. He’d never wanted any other man this badly.
At last, Cam rested his forehead against Scott’s, breathing unevenly. “No one touched you since me,” he rasped out, his arms tightening around Scott almost to the point of pain. “Say it.”
“Fuck you,” Scott slurred out.
“No one can touch you,” Cam said, pressing hot kisses across his face and down his neck. “No one else.” Cam sucked hard on his neck, probably leaving an ugly hickey where everyone could see it. Like a brand.
The thought made Scott painfully, achingly hard.
“This is pointless,” Scott whispered, tugging at Cam’s shirt. He wanted skin. Wanted them to be skin to skin, with nothing separating them. Hell, he would climb under Cam’s skin if he could.
“Bed,” Cam said hoarsely, unbuttoning Scott’s shirt and greedily squeezing his pecs.
“No,” Scott tried, but he didn’t sound convincing at all. When Cam leaned down and latched onto his tit, Scott lost the battle with himself, whimpering and pulling him closer.
What happened after that… was a little hazy. It was a blur of kisses and wandering, impatient hands as they undressed each other.
Scott moaned in relief when Cam’s naked, hard body finally covered his. He felt feverish with want, only vaguely aware that he’d spread his legs like a whore. He didn’t care. He’d missed this. Missed him.
One finger, two… Cam’s mouth sucking and kissing his tits… Scott couldn’t think anymore. He just wanted him.
When Cam finally pushed into him after far too little prep, both of them too impatient to wait, tears sprang to Scott’s eyes.
He’d have liked to say that it was from pain, but it wasn’t.
While the stretch was definitely uncomfortable, it wasn’t painful.
It just felt too much and too intense and somehow too little after so long.
He moaned, hooking his legs around Cam’s waist. They’d barely started but he was already close to coming. “God, I’d forgotten how big you are. It feels like I can feel you against my heart.”