Chapter Twenty-Four #2
He carries me all the way up the stairs to the front door. I can’t stop giggling, half from nerves, half from joy. My heels dangle from my fingers, and his jacket hangs crooked from where I tried to fix his tie in the car. We must look completely unhinged, and I don’t care.
When we reach his door, he shifts me just enough to punch in the code. The door swings open. Soot meows from the cat tree, announcing our arrival.
Cam steps over the threshold, careful not to bump my head, and spins us in a slow circle before setting me down. “There,” he says softly. “Home.”
I glance around the room—the cozy glow of the lamps, the faint scent of his cologne, the evidence of our two lives already tangled together in every corner. “It’s weird,” I whisper. “It already feels like that.”
He brushes his knuckles along my jaw, eyes steady on mine. “That’s because it is.”
God. I spent so long waiting for the other shoe to drop that I never let myself land. But this? Him? This is mine now. Not a fluke. Not a borrowed dream. Mine.
Something flutters in my chest—the same something that started when we were kids at that lemonade stand and never really stopped. “You know, I think I could get used to this.”
Camden’s smile curves slow and certain. “Good. Because next time, I’m not putting you down.”
He kisses me then, deep and sure, and somewhere behind us, Soot lets out a long, unimpressed mrrrrow.
I break the kiss, laughing against his lips. “Even the cat knows we’re disgustingly in love.”
Cam presses his forehead to mine. “Let her judge. I’m keeping you anyway.”
It’s just him and me. Fiancé and fiancée. God, that word makes my chest do somersaults.
He doesn’t let go.
His hands linger at my waist, thumbs brushing slow circles above my hips, eyes locked on mine.
My heels dangle from one hand, the hem of my dress brushing my calves.
I should feel self-conscious—my makeup smudged, hair tousled, breath uneven—but he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“You’re staring.” I swallow around the emotion in my throat.
“I know.”
I laugh, but it comes out shaky. Not nerves—hunger.
It’s the ache in my belly, the pulse between my thighs, the clench that hits every time I remember what he sounds like when he’s inside me.
Tension builds under my skin, sweet and heavy.
That low, aching need that comes from knowing exactly what his hands can do.
He leans in, brushes his lips over mine, once, twice—enough to tease. “Still want that celebratory wine, Mrs. Beck-in-training?”
“You’re stalling,” I whisper against his mouth.
His grin turns wolfish. “You saying you don’t want me to wine and dine you first?”
“I want you to fuck me like I belong to you. Like I’ve got your name in my mouth and your ring on my hand and your cum inside me. Like I said yes for the rest of my life.”
He stills. Just for a second. Then—God. That look. All hunger and reverence and the tiniest bit feral. I feel it between my legs instantly, a pulse of wet heat that has me shifting closer, thighs pressing tight together.
Camden lowers his head and kisses me deeper this time, hand sliding up my spine, over the zipper of my dress.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips until I open for him, and then it’s just heat—his breath, his mouth, the faint rasp of stubble on my chin.
My hands fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring myself to him.
He walks me backward toward the couch, slow and steady. Like he’s not in a rush, even though I’m half a second from begging.
We fall onto the cushions, tangled and breathless, and I laugh into his mouth again, giddy and slightly unhinged. “We’re a mess.”
He pulls back enough to look at me. “The best kind.”
I reach for the buttons of his shirt, fingers clumsy with urgency, but he catches my hands. Brings them to his lips. Kisses my knuckles—my left hand first. The ring sparkles between us.
“Look at you.” His chin drops, and he peeks up at me in awe. “My girl. My fiancée. You’re fucking glowing.”
And maybe I am. Because right now, with his hands on me, his eyes so full of something I don’t have a name for—I’ve never felt more radiant in my life.
He tugs the zipper down. My dress slips off one shoulder. And then we’re tipping into something deeper.
Something inevitable.
Something holy.
I push him back. Not gently.
Camden stumbles onto the couch, eyes wide with surprise and something darker. Something hungrier. I climb into his lap without hesitation, straddling him in the wreckage of our laughter, our dress clothes, our shared past. The moment feels hot and bright and shameless.
“Dot,” he moans, hands already on my hips, gripping tight.
I tug his shirt open, buttons flying, and lean forward until our chests press together. “I meant what I said. I want you to fuck me like you’ll never have to hold back again.”
His groan is low, desperate. “Jesus.”
I rock against him slowly, my bare thighs brushing his pants, his cock already hard beneath me. The friction is maddening. My dress falls in soft folds around us, but I shove the straps down my arms, baring my chest to him fully.
Camden just stares. Like he’s reverent. Like I’m church.
“Touch me,” I whisper. “No more teasing. I’m done being careful.”
He growls and buries his face between my breasts, hands sliding up to palm them like he’s missed this, like he’s starved for me. His tongue flicks across my nipple, and I arch against him, fingers tangling in his hair.
I reach between us, unzip his pants, and free him from the last layer keeping us apart. He’s hot and hard in my hand, and the way he hisses when I stroke him—head falling back against the couch cushion—is going to live in my head forever.
I lift up, angle my hips, and sink onto him in one slow, unbroken motion.
We both moan.
He fills me then—deep, thick, perfect. My body clenches around him, welcoming him in, slick and ready and absolutely overcome with want.
“Fuck, Dot,” he pants, hands shaking as they grip my waist. “You feel so fucking good.”
I ride him slowly at first, rolling my hips, watching the way his mouth falls open, the way he watches me. My body. My ring. My pleasure.
“That’s it. Take what you need. Fuck—you’re so goddamn sexy.” Camden lets out a groan. “Look at you. My girl. My ring. My pussy.” His hands spread my ass, pulling me deeper onto him. “You were made to ride me. So fucking tight, Dot.”
I lean down and kiss him hard. His hands slide up my back, clutching, grounding. I ride him faster, chasing the ache, feeling every inch of him stroke places inside me that make me whimper against his lips.
He whispers my name like it’s the only word that matters.
And right now? It is.
He flips us.
One second I’m riding high on his cock, the next I’m on my back, breath punched out of me in a gasp as he spreads my thighs and buries himself inside me again in one brutal, perfect thrust.
“Cam—”
“I’m gonna fuck you so full you’ll forget your own name.” His fingers grip my hips. “Not stopping until I’m so deep you feel me tomorrow.”
I arch beneath him, nails raking down his back. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Give it to me.”
His mouth crashes into mine, tongue deep, filthy, and full of promise. There’s nothing gentle about this now. His hips piston into me with an urgency that borders on feral. I feel him everywhere—inside me, on me, all around me—like he’s staking his claim in my bones.
“This—” he pants, grabbing my left hand and slamming it to the cushion beside my head, “—this doesn’t come off.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses the ring hard, possessive. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.”
He thrusts again. Deeper. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Camden. I’ve always been yours.”
He groans like that undoes him, and his rhythm stutters. Then he hooks my leg over his shoulder and fucks me deeper. The new angle makes me cry out, my body tightening, shaking. He doesn’t slow.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I do—eyes wide, tears pricking the corners, my whole body laid bare beneath him.
“I’ve dreamed of this.” A vein in his neck pulses. “You. With my ring on. My cock in you. Your body begging for mine.”
I whimper, clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
“Never. I’m gonna fuck you so good, Dot, you’ll be shaking when I carry you to our bed.”
God, the way he says our bed—like it’s sacred.
He reaches between us, finds my clit, and rubs tight, filthy circles in rhythm with each relentless thrust. My back bows off the couch. My moans rise into something desperate.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Come on, baby. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
He pins my hips, keeping me locked down while he fucks me through it. My orgasm rips through me, blinding and white-hot. I scream his name, muscles clenching tight around him.
“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s your fiancé about to come so deep in you you’ll feel it in your throat. I don’t care if you get pregnant—I’d give you all my babies if you let me.”
“God, Cam. I love it when you say things like that.”
“Fuck, fuck,” he chokes out, and then he’s spilling inside me, groaning into my mouth, his whole body shuddering against mine.
We’re both wrecked. Drenched in sweat. Breathing like we’ve run for miles.
My thighs are trembling. My lungs won’t settle. I feel wrung out and lit from within.
And yet, he doesn’t stop touching me.
He gathers me into his lap, still buried deep, my legs wrapped around his waist, both of us trembling and breathless. His hands roam gently now—soothing, worshipful—like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me in this exact moment.
I rest my forehead against his, and my eyes flutter closed. Everything feels raw. Good-raw. Loved-raw. Like I’ve been cracked open and filled with sunlight.
“I can’t believe this is real,” I whisper.
I can feel him inside me, warm and slick and perfect. Every shift of my hips makes me whimper. He’s still hard, still holding me like he can’t let go.
He brushes a damp curl from my cheek. “It’s real. It’s us.”
I look at him, and something in his face softens even further—like every piece of him has released. “I love you,” he says simply, voice rough with the weight of it.
“I know.”
“I’ve loved you for so long, Dot. You don’t even understand how deep it goes.”
I do. God, I do. Because it’s the same way I love him—so thoroughly it’s terrifying.
I cup his face in my hands and kiss him slowly. Long. Deep. A promise, not a question. When I pull back, there are tears on my cheeks that I don’t remember crying.
He kisses them away.
My hand slides between us, shaking slightly, and I press my palm to his chest. His heart is thundering.
“I used to dream about this,” I whisper. “Not just the sex. Not even the ring. Just… being yours. Feeling safe. Feeling seen.”
He takes my left hand and brings it to his lips, kisses the ring, then the inside of my wrist. “You’re mine now. And I’m yours.”
“Always.”
Camden shifts beneath me. “So… I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you go through the entire pallet of books yet? How many are you keeping? My condo’s already at max capacity.”
I stretch my legs over his, smug. “You’ll figure it out. You’re the genius at hockey. Just put it on a whiteboard.”
“Oh, sure.” He fakes a sigh. “I’ll just add a second story to the condo. Smut Loft?. Only the finest erotic paperbacks allowed.”
“Some of them are hardcovers.” I poke his side. “You mock, but I went through that entire box you brought me last week. There’s one where the goalie is a virgin who is addicted to peanut butter toast. Can’t play without having two slices in the locker room.”
Camden blinks. “That… wasn’t intentional.”
“Oh, and the vampire barista? Five stars. Very educational.”
He groans. “When I want online, the pallet was vaguely labeled, ‘romantic escapism.’ Not ‘religiously conflicted blood kink.’”
I grin. “Too late. We’re reading Slay Me, Barista Daddy together on our honeymoon.”
He tilts his head like he’s already planning how to pack it. “Only if you do the voices. And Mira has to be powered down.”
“Deal.” I kiss him again, right over his fluttering, idiot heart. “But we’re definitely going to need a storage unit.”
Camden pulls me tighter. “SmutVault?. Coming soon to a strip mall near you.”
We sit there like that for a long time—wrapped around each other, naked and spent and smiling like idiots.
I rest my head on his shoulder, his arms a fortress around me, and for the first time in forever, I let myself believe it’s okay to be this happy.
This isn’t the end of our story. It’s the beginning.
There’s a wedding in our future. Maybe kids. Maybe chaos. But tonight? It’s just us. Forever, softly starting.