13. Cameron
Cameron
When Cam woke up, it was light outside. He squinted his eyes open.
He was naked and splayed on the bed, as if he’d been in some sort of ritual sacrifice.
He had. With a sorceress. Elizabeth. Velvet brown eyes.
Curves to die for. Breasts he would never stop dreaming out.
A tight, wet, hot pussy that he would definitely not forget.
He lifted his head. A sheet just about covered the bottom half of his body.
He actually felt a little tender. Had he ever had so much sex in one night?
They’d been insatiable. Even now just thinking about it was making him twitch.
And thinking about how she’d looked riding him, with his hands on her hips so he could pump up and into her … he was more than twitching now.
He couldn’t hear any sounds. Then he came up on one elbow. He noticed her clothes that had been strewn on the floor were gone. She’d gone? He felt a lurch, when, ordinarily, after a night with a woman, Cam was only too happy to wake alone.
He jerked back the sheet and sat up. He felt hungover, but it wasn’t from drink. He stood up, noticing the time – he’d slept a lot later than he was used to. Luckily his keynote address wasn’t due to take place at the conference until that afternoon.
He pulled on a robe, quickly checking that the suite was indeed empty.
It was. That disappointed feeling again.
He reasoned that she must have had work to go to.
But, he wouldn’t have minded waking up with a handful of her curves.
She’d been easy to talk to. To spend time with.
To make love to. He scowled at himself – since when did he class sex as making love?
He didn’t have a reputation as a bachelor playboy for nothing. Not something he’d ever cultivated, it had just sprung up around him as his profile and wealth had grown, and as he’d been more of a fixture on the social scene and it had become apparent that he didn’t do relationships.
Why would he after his experiences? Moving around so much he’d got whiplash as a kid.
Being let down by almost every single person who’d ever had guardianship of him.
It had been a teacher in juvie who’d seen his potential and who had taken him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that he’d had a choice – make something of his brains and get off the track he’d been on, which would have only led to petty crime and worse.
Some self-preserving instinct had kicked in.
Cam had listened and put his head down and worked.
Hard. And had only looked up when he’d won a scholarship to college.
A fancy college where rich people went. Not people like him.
But he’d gone and made his place, and had staked his claim on a future that he should never have had.
And he was proud of himself – he had to be, no one else was going to pat him on the back.
But at no point during all that time had he seen sex as anything other than a diversionary pleasure.
Elizabeth’s big brown eyes flashed into his head. The compassion he’d seen, and felt. He never usually encouraged such intimacies with women. But this had been different. He rubbed a hand against his chest, an unconscious gesture to ease the sense of an ache.
He’d never see her again. Didn’t even know her name. Didn’t want to, he told himself now. At that moment he caught sight of a piece of paper resting against a mirror on a cabinet. He went over and picked it up. Feminine writing. Big loops.
Last night was fun, thank you.
A dark weight filled Cam’s chest before he could stop it. Fun? It had been more than fun, it had been … astounding. But it was over and this was what he wanted. It couldn’t have been a more perfect hook-up, it wasn’t even on his turf. So why was it a sense of regret he felt instead of relief?