4. Camille #2
But my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.
My skin feels too tight. My pulse is doing something erratic.
And there’s a warmth building low in my belly that I haven’t felt in months - longer, if I’m honest. Jared stopped touching me like he meant it sometime around our third anniversary, and I’d convinced myself I just wasn’t that interested in sex anymore.
Apparently, I was just not that interested in sex with Jared.
We take the food to the living room and sit on opposite ends of the couch, and I try to focus on my carton of lo mein instead of on the way Nathan’s thigh muscles bunch when he shifts position.
The way his throat moves when he swallows his beer.
The way he keeps glancing at me with those gray eyes like he’s cataloging every micro-expression on my face.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks eventually.
“No.”
“Okay.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s weighted. Expectant. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
“Why are you really here, Nathan?”
He sets down his plate and turns to face me, and there’s something in his expression that makes my breath catch.
“Because you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with those intense eyes.
“No,” he admits finally. “It’s not.”
“Then tell me.” I shift toward him on the couch, close enough to see the flecks of blue in his gray irises. “Tell me the real reason.”
“Camille-”
“I’ve spent five years keeping my distance from you.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “Five years being polite and friendly and never letting myself get too close. Do you know why?”
His jaw tightens. “Why?”
“Because something about you scared me.” I hold his gaze, letting him see the truth. “Not scared like I thought you’d hurt me. Scared like... like standing too close to a fire. Like I knew if I let myself look too long, I’d get burned.”
Nathan goes very still.
“I was a good wife,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t let myself think about other men. I didn’t let myself wonder what if. But you...” I shake my head. “You made not thinking really fucking hard, Nathan. And I never understood why until right now.”
“What changed right now?”
“I’m not his anymore.” The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning. “And I’m finally letting myself see what I couldn’t let myself see before.”
“And what do you see?”
I let my eyes travel over him, slowly, deliberately, not hiding my appreciation for the first time ever. The broad chest. The strong arms. The big hands resting on his thighs. The way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous all at once.
“I see a man I should have noticed a long time ago.”
Nathan’s control visibly wavers. His hands clench. A muscle jumps in his jaw. But he doesn’t move toward me, even though I can see how badly he wants to.
“You just found out your husband was cheating on you a week ago,” he says, his voice strained. “You’re hurt and angry and vulnerable-”
“I’m not fragile, Nathan.”
“I know you’re not. But if something happens between us right now, you might regret it tomorrow. You might decide I took advantage. You might-”
“Are you seriously trying to talk yourself out of this?”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.” His eyes blaze into mine.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?
How many times I’ve had to stop myself from staring at you across dinner tables?
How many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about what it would be like to-” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Camille. But you were his. And I don’t poach.”
The confession hits me like a shockwave.
“You never said anything.”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, buddy, I think I’m falling for your wife’?” He laughs bitterly. “I was the best man at your wedding. I stood next to him and watched him promise to love you forever, and the whole time I was thinking-” He stops. Shakes his head.
“Thinking what?”
“That he didn’t deserve you. That he would never appreciate what he had. That if you were mine, I would never let you go.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Nathan...”
“I’m not going to make a move on you tonight.
” He holds up a hand when I start to protest. “Not because I don’t want to - Christ, I want to so badly I can barely think straight.
But because when I finally get to touch you, I want it to be because you want me.
Not because you’re trying to hurt him. Not because you’re looking for a distraction from the pain.
I want you to choose me because you want me, not because he broke you. ”
“And if I told you I want you right now? That this isn’t about him at all?”
His eyes darken. “Then I’d say you need to be sure. Because once I start, Camille, I’m not going to be able to stop. And I’m not interested in being a rebound or a revenge fuck or a one-night stand you regret in the morning.”
“What are you interested in?”
He leans closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that his breath ghosts across my lips when he speaks.
“Everything.” The word is a growl that I feel in my core.
“I want everything, Camille. I want lazy Sunday mornings and fights about whose turn it is to do dishes. I want to know what you look like when you first wake up. I want to be the one you call when your day goes to shit. I want to make you come so hard you forget your own name, and then I want to hold you afterward while you fall asleep in my arms.”
I’m trembling. Actually trembling.
“I’ve waited five years,” he continues, his voice dropping even lower. “I can wait a little longer. But I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
He reaches out, his thumb tracing along my jaw, and the touch sends electricity sparking through my entire body.
“I’m done pretending I don’t feel this. I’m done watching from the sidelines. The moment you’re ready - the moment you’re sure - I’m going to make up for every single second of the last five years.” His eyes bore into mine. “And I’m going to take my fucking time doing it.”
He pulls back, leaving me breathless and aching.
“I should go.”
“Nathan-”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He stands, and I can see the evidence of his arousal straining against his jeans, can see how much it’s costing him to walk away. “And the day after that. And the day after that. However long it takes, Camille. I’m not going anywhere.”
He leaves before I can argue.
I sit there in my empty living room, my heart racing, my skin flushed, my whole body humming with want, and I realize something that terrifies me and thrills me in equal measure.
I don’t want to wait.
Not a little longer. Not until I’m sure. Not until some arbitrary amount of time has passed that makes this acceptable.
I want him now. Tonight. Five minutes ago.
My phone buzzes. A text from Nathan.
I meant every word. And for the record, walking away from you just now was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But you’re worth doing this right.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I type three different responses and delete all of them.
Finally, I settle on the truth.
What if I don’t want to do this right? What if I just want to do this?
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Then tell me that when you’ve had more than a week to process everything. Tell me that when you’ve slept and eaten and had time to think. If you still feel the same way then, if you’re still sure, I’ll be at your door before you can finish the sentence.
I stare at his response for a long time.
Then I pour myself another glass of wine and try very, very hard not to think about what Nathan Cole would look like spread out in my bed, those gray eyes dark with want, those big hands gripping my hips, that low voice telling me all the filthy things he’s been imagining for five years.
I fail spectacularly.