Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  The tip of his cock slides along my seam then buries deep inside me. Our groans fill the air. From this angle, he reaches the most sensitive places, making my channel quiver. My senses are filled to the top with Cam. He’s everywhere, his scent, his touch, his cock. It’s too much to process—his kisses, his dirty words, his giant dick stretching my sex.

  Strong hands grip my hips. He slams into me over and over and over until I can’t think about anything but coming. My lips ache from his kisses. My chin burns from the scrape of his stubble. I squeeze my eyes shut, overloaded by all the sensations. Cam cups my breasts. With his forefinger and thumb, he tweaks my nipples. The sting propels me over the edge. Orgasm ripples through my core. Waves of pleasure radiate down my legs. I whimper and clutch at the mirror to keep from falling.

  Cam wraps an arm around my waist and stills. He comes with a low moan, shifting to drive deeper into me, holding me in place. The warmth of his chest brushes against my back. I open my eyes to find him peering at our reflection over my shoulder. A blush colors my cheeks. I look wild and well-fucked. Cam arches an eyebrow. I glance away.

  “Don’t go shy on me now.” He’s still inside me. His words vibrate into my center. “Not while I’m balls deep in you.”

  “I don’t know how this happened.” I can’t meet his gaze. Sex was never my intention. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Cam cups my chin his hand and turns my face to the mirror. “Look at you. You’re amazing.” His free hand roams over my breast, across my waist, and down to the V of my thighs. “For the rest of my life, I’ll remember this.”

  “Will you?” I want to believe him.

  “Damn straight, I will.” A sigh escapes us both as we uncouple. I glance around for my dress, intending to cover my body, but Cam shakes his head. “Not so fast. Now that I’ve got you here, I’m going to make the most of it.”

  We have sex on every flat surface of his apartment. He’s every bit as good as I remember. By the time we finish, my body aches in places I never knew existed.

  “I’d better call a cab,” I say, and move toward the edge of the bed. Darkness fills the room.

  “Stay.” Cam grabs my hand and tugs me toward him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s late, and this bed is warm.” He pats the mattress. “Come on. You know you want to.”

  After pretending to deliberate, I give into temptation and return to the comfort of his bed. He spoons me, his front to my back, a protective arm around my waist. Each of his breaths puffs against the back of my neck, punctuated by occasional kisses and the scrape of his beard. He tucks the blanket around our shoulders, enveloping us in a cocoon of warmth.

  In the morning, the urgent press of his cock against my bottom awakens us both. Soft yellow sunshine spills through the window to pool on the bed. We make love, heedless of morning breath. This time he’s slow and deliberate, covering every inch of my body with his lips and fingers. I return the favor, tasting the salt of his skin, memorizing the dips and swells of his taut form. I like the way he grunts when I cup his balls, the tight squeeze of his eyelids as I stroke his shaft, the way his long, black eyelashes fan over his high, flat cheekbones.

  “You’re something else, you know that?” Cam rolls onto his back and tucks an arm behind his head to watch me. I try to swing my legs to the floor, but he blocks the move with his large body. Using his opposite arm, he tugs me into his chest, refusing to let me escape. “Where’s the fire, blondie?” he asks. A smile of amusement bows his lips.

  “No fire. I just— I should probably— I need—” I sigh and glance around the room.

  “Do you have an appointment or something?”

  “No, but I’m sure you have things to do.”

  “My calendar is free all day. Now lie back and snuggle with me, or I’m going to think you’re only using me for sex.”

  The absurd idea makes me giggle. I turn onto my side and curl into the nook of his shoulder. Laziness seeps into my bones. A girl could get used to this. After a while, his breathing evens out and his eyes close. I take the opportunity to look him over in detail. He’s got a small scar above his left eyebrow, faint but enough to give him a dangerous air. I trace the knife edge of his nose with a fingertip then follow the bow of his lips. Beneath his left breast, the word trust has been inked into his skin. I run a finger along the script letters. It must be hard for him to trust anyone after what he’s been through. The people closest to him, his parents, the ones meant to protect him, are the ones who betrayed him. I’m not sure how a person gets over something so horrific.

  He cracks an eyelid. “That tickles.”

  “I like your tattoo. Where’d you get it?”

  “London.”

  “England?” My eyebrows arch.

  “Yes.” He squirms, as I continue to trace the word, and grabs my finger. “Stop. I’m super ticklish.”

  “Do you travel a lot?” The mystery of Cameron Blackwood continues to deepen.

  “When I can. Business takes me overseas from time to time.” The edge of his teeth bite into his bottom lip.

  “What business?” I walk my fingers along his ribcage, enjoying his boyish grin, loving the way he’s playful and at ease.

  “The kind that takes me overseas.” Without warning, he shifts, curling me beneath him, settling his weight on my legs. He stretches my arms over my head. “I told you to stop tickling me. Now I’m going to have to punish you.”

  “I can’t wait,” I murmur and sink into the luxury of his kiss.

  We alternate sleep with sex until noon. I refuse to spend the entire day in bed, although Cam seems to like the idea.

  “This is the most sleep I’ve had in years,” he admits and makes a grab for my hand to pull me back into bed. I squeal and jump aside. He groans. “Why do you want to steal that from me?”

  “I’m starving.” I toss a pillow at him. He catches it and stuffs it behind his back. “If you don’t feed me, I’m going to evaporate into nothing.”

  “Let me see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen.” After dropping a kiss on my forehead, he ambles out of the bedroom, naked, leaving me to admire the fine view of his backside.

  I head to the shower, taking note of Cam’s apartment along the way. The place is spacious by New York standards, but it’s the quality of detail that catches my attention. Hardwood floors, crown moldings, plush carpets. I don’t know a lot about real estate, but I suspect this isn’t a cheap rental. The more I get to know him, the more questions I have.

  Clean and refreshed, I follow the scent of bacon through a dark, masculine living room to the kitchen. Cam stands in front of the stove, wearing only an apron. His bare ass is taut and muscular and gives me heart palpitations. He grins over his shoulder. When he turns around, the front of his apron is the torso of a bikini-clad woman.

  “Very nice.” I bite my tongue to hold back a laugh.

  “Thanks.” He smooths a hand over the woman’s enormous breasts. “How do you like my bodacious bazingas? Not as nice as yours, but they’re all mine.”

  “You’re terrible.” I smack his bare ass. The sound rings through the kitchen, above the sizzle of the frying pan.

  He gives me a lingering kiss, stealing my breath and composure. “I’ve been told that a time or two.” He spins me out like a ballerina before getting back to the oven.

  “Do I smell coffee?” I glance around hopefully.

  He points with his spatula to a carafe near the refrigerator. “I hope you like it strong.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  The air between us is relaxed, easy. My shyness falls away. I rummage through the cabinets for plates and make orange juice from a can. Cam pauses from his culinary endeavors for an occasional kiss or caress.

  I pause to study a faded photograph stuck to the refrigerator door with a magnet. It’s a smiling woman, holding a toddler and a young Cam at her side. She’s wearing a flowing sundress, her curly hair held back by a scarf. The l
ittle girl is fair-skinned and fine-boned, and doesn’t look like either of them. I trace her figure with a fingertip.

  “That’s my sister and my mom,” Cam says, stopping at my side. “Her parents came here from Botswana, looking for a better life.” He smiles sadly then resumes his station behind the stove.

  “Do you ever see your grandparents?” My curiosity continues to grow with every passing second. He fascinates me.

  “No. They cut ties with my mom when she married my dad. Not because he’s white, but because he’s a bastard. Every now and then, they’ll call, asking for money.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but it creates an ache in my chest. “I don’t have any butter. We’ll have to make due with jam.” When he turns around his expression is blank, but I know it’s to hide the pain.

  “Jam is fine,” I reply brightly and search for a less upsetting subject. “This place is really nice. How can you afford to live here?” The kitchen is compact but functional. White subway tile gleams above granite countertops. I ease onto a barstool to wait for his answer.

  He looks up from a skillet of scrambled eggs and cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t meet my gaze. “I have something called a job—several, in fact.”

  “When do you find time to study?”

  “I don’t sleep much, remember?”

  “Right.” His answer doesn’t give much satisfaction, but I decide to let it go for now. After all, this is a casual hookup and not a marriage proposal. Isn’t it? I’m not so sure anymore.

  “Do you like ketchup on your eggs?” With a practiced twist of his wrist, he dumps the eggs onto a platter.

  “Ew. No. Gross.” I recoil in horror, making him laugh. I love the sound—deep, masculine, and unfettered.

  “So when are you going back?” he asks.

  “Day after tomorrow.” The topic reminds me that this is just a fling, a temporary fix to relieve the buildup of sexual tension I’ve been suffering. “I’m having lunch with my mom then I’m heading back.”

  “Your mother lives here?”

  “Yes. She has an apartment in Manhattan.” I don’t want to answer questions about her. Our relationship is strained at best. Something is drawing me to her this holiday season, however.

  “But your dad lives in Laurel Falls?” He gives me a sideways glance beneath his lashes.

  “Yes. And we have a country house up near Chicago.” I have no idea how to explain my parents’ unorthodox living arrangements, but I decide to give it a try. “They’ve lived like that for as long as I can remember. Dad has his life, and Mom has hers.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Sometimes I wish they’d do us all a favor and get a divorce. They’re always mad at each other. Whenever we’re together, it’s just one argument after another.” Their remembered shouts and insults echo through my head. “My children will never have to live like that.”

  “You want kids? A family?” Cam stops cooking and turns to face me. A shadow passes over his face.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Don’t you?” I pause to tuck one foot beneath me and lean forward in the chair.

  His blue eyes search my face. A furrow deepens between his thick, dark brows. “I’ll never have kids.”

  “You should never say never,” I reply lightly. Although having a family isn’t a priority, I can’t imagine a future without children in it. I want to have roots, a home to call my own.

  “No.” He places the spatula by the sink and braces both arms on the counter. “Not with my history.” His voice is jagged with emotion.

  The angst in his words stirs new feelings inside me. I cover his hand with mine. “Cam, look at me.” The blue of his eyes is turbulent, churning like a stormy ocean. “You’re not your father. You’re a good person. Don’t let his mistakes determine the course of your life.”

  He turns his hand over to thread his fingers through mine. “You don’t know the kind of darkness I have inside me. Sometimes I get so angry I want to punch something or someone. And I’m always afraid I’ll snap.”

  I cup his cheek with my free hand. He’s vulnerable, raw, and I know how hard it is for him to share these thoughts. “Have you ever hit someone?”

  “Jimmy Cates in the third grade. He called me ‘the brown boy’. I knocked him down on the playground.” Cam shakes his head. One corner of his mouth curls down. “I still feel bad about it.”

  “Is that all you’ve got? I’d hardly call that a history of violence,” I tease. “And it sounds like he deserved it.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” The tension in his shoulders eases.

  “Your fear of losing control is the thing that will save you. You can choose to be a better man. I think you’re doing a great job.”

  “Well, thanks.” He rolls his lips together, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “Could you live without kids?”

  “I don’t know.” I won’t lie to him, no matter how much the truth hurts. “I don’t want to rule them out. Not yet, anyway. I suppose if I meet the right guy, I might change my mind.” Children and marriage seem a long way off. I only turned nineteen a few weeks ago. For now, college and fun seem more important.

  I lean forward to steal a kiss. The taste of honey lingers on his tongue. A rumble vibrates his chest. When we pull apart, he smiles. “You have the best kisses, Vanessa Seaforth.”

  “Yours don’t suck either.” I beam at him, unable to curb the bubble of happiness inside me. Resuming my place on the barstool, I watch him move about the kitchen, mesmerized by his confidence. He’s completely at home, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. As far as I’m concerned, this moment can last forever.

  Cam spoons eggs onto the plate in front of me then takes a seat at the bar to my left. He swivels on the barstool and places a hand on my bare knee. A shiver courses up my leg. One touch undoes my resolve to keep things casual. “Stay with me. Until you leave.”

  “Are you sure?” Butterflies tumble in my stomach.

  He leans forward to tug me onto his lap. The tip of his nose nuzzles along my ear. “Absolutely.”

  24

  Cam

  Twelve Years Ago

  The invitation falls from my lips before my brain has a chance to stop it. Stay with me. Seriously? I’ve never had a girl spend the night, let alone a few days. Once implanted, however, the idea appeals more than I care to admit. I liked waking up with her in my arms. For her, I’m willing to rethink my phobia of commitment.

  She studies my face, eyes narrowed. Maybe she thinks I’ve lost my mind, too. “I couldn’t. I’m sure you have…obligations. I wouldn’t want to interfere.” It’s her polite way of inferring that I have other women. Thankfully, I’ve taken the next month off from the escort business to tend to my project. After being with her, I have no desire to see anyone else—professionally or personally.

  “I’m completely free until after the New Year.” The weight of her on my lap stirs my cock to life again. He’s greedy for more of her sweetness, and so am I. She swivels to straddle my hips. Lord have mercy, she’s bare beneath the cotton T-shirt I gave her to wear. I slide my hands beneath the material and cup her breasts. They’re heavy, the nipples tight. I brush a thumb over the protruding peaks and capture her moan with my mouth.

  “Okay. But only if you’re sure.” Her eyelids lower, shielding her thoughts. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “I’m sure. It’ll be great. We can play tourists.” The smooth skin of her neck beckons my lips.

  Breakfast is forgotten. I take her on the floor, next to the bar then carry her to the bedroom for more. I’ve always had a high sex drive, but this is new for me. I can’t get enough of her.

  Afterward, we take a walk through my neighborhood. She knows more about the city than I do, proving a knowledgeable tour guide. The snow crunches beneath our boots. We hold hands and wander aimlessly. I give her the spare key to the apartment, so she can come and go as she pleases. An unfamiliar lightness buoys my soul.

  The next day, I head to the library for some rese
arch while she goes to visit her mother. The hours drag by, and I accomplish nothing but daydreaming about her sexy mouth. Eventually, I return to the apartment. She’s already there. The dining room table is set. Fresh flowers and candles grace the center of the table. Her face glows when she greets me, and it’s the best damn feeling in the world.

  “I made dinner,” she says breathlessly.

  The aroma from the kitchen is strange, but I’m not a picky eater. I’m more interested in the tight black dress she’s wearing. The V-neck and long sleeves highlight the silhouette of her bust and tiny waist. A string of the longest pearls I’ve ever seen hangs around her neck to below her waist. Like Vanessa, the outfit is classy but sexy.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom.” I walk her backward toward my bed. “Dinner can wait.”

  “Cam, no.” Her pleading reproach stops my wandering hands. “We can’t have sex all the time. We’ve got to eat.”

  I sigh, secretly amused by her stern tone. “Fine. Feed me. Then fuck me.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she says, but I can tell by the light in her eyes that she’s all for it. The casserole she places on the table is black around the edges and a peculiar shade of green. She bites her lip, the furrow between her brows deepening. “I followed the recipe.”

  “What is it?” I ask delicately, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

  “Chicken tomato casserole. It’s got four different types of cheese. I went to the store and bought everything.” Her proud grin illuminates her delicate features. “I’ve never actually been to the grocery before, but I think I did pretty well.”

  “You did great.” I sweep an arm around her waist and pull her to me for a kiss.

  We settle into our chairs. She scoops a generous helping onto my plate and waits impatiently as I take a bite. A bitter aftertaste spreads over my tongue. I chew and force myself to swallow. This is probably her first attempt at real cooking, and I don’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.