by Luna Joya
He moved away, grabbing the side of the door where it hung askew. “I’d never have guessed you thought he would come after me or you’d try to protect me from such a coward. When Ruby put it that way, it was sweet. Not smart, which is unusual for you, but sweet.” He shoved the door closed as best he could on the one remaining hinge, flipping the lock in a useless circle.
“Ruby told me I’m an idiot.”
He lifted his brows. “Delia called me worse. For such a priss, she has an astounding mastery of profanity.”
“We had a long night too.”
“I heard. You can tell me about it later.” He didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything about the prophecy Lottie had shared. That didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered but Cami.
It was warm in here, an upper-level room baking steadily in the eighty-degree heat without air conditioning or an operable window. Let’s see if he could make it hotter.
He righted the broken table and wedged it against a somewhat intact part of the futon frame. It’d have to do. He stalked back the three long strides to her, watching her wide, bright eyes. He wanted to see the beautiful whiskey and gold combination dazed and glossy with passion instead of tears. With sweat breaking out over his skin from the heat and the desire, he dipped his fingers into the low rounded neckline of her dress to tease and stroke the upper part of her breasts.
“What are you doing?” Her pulse quickened. He could feel it under the tips of his fingers as he rubbed them back and forth across her heart.
“Making up. Best part of an argument.” He tugged at the collar of her dress. His hand caught on a zipper pull between her breasts. “Where’d you get this?” The fabric was worn soft and tissue thin.
She shook her head with a frown as though she had trouble concentrating on the question. “It’s an old one of mine.”
“Mine,” he repeated. He glanced at the table and that damned carving. Mine. Cami was his, and he was hers. Nothing her ex did could change that. He nodded at the table. “We’re going to take care of that too.” His hand trailed lower, palming the heavy fullness her breast. She leaned into his touch. “Does the zipper down the front of your dress work, or is it just for show?”
Her brow wrinkled and she told him she’d never tried, that she didn’t know, and was he considering unzipping it? All the way down? With those innocent questions contrasting the temptress dress, he had trouble focusing on anything except the heat from her body as his hands moved lower. Her breath caught.
He brought his mouth down over hers. Consuming. Devouring. That low burning from the first kiss caught fire and ripped through them. Every nerve ending felt the spark and crackle of the wicked tangle as he pushed past her lips. She opened for him. He could feel her welcome the invasion and plunder. If their earlier kiss had been a promise, this was a claim. A brand. Marking both of them.
He hiked her up against him by her hips, and her legs wrapped around his, clutching him, embracing him. Savoring the feel of her bare thighs under the dress against his rough hands, he carried her to the carved table and gently eased her down. Her curls and curves spread out before him like a feast. She was gorgeous and the love of his life. He’d make damn sure she knew that before they were done here.
The wood was hard and uneven beneath her back, and the fabric from her dress bunched and dug into her skin, but Cami didn’t smooth it. She reveled in the slight discomfort there compared to the way her body hummed in anticipation. She wouldn’t tug or fuss to fix anything this time. She wanted it all burned into her memory. She busied her hands running over the warm muscles of his chest as he unbuttoned his shirt to expose the naked skin beneath. The dim light of the window licked the curve of his jaw, and she wanted to do the same.
She kissed his neck, breathing in his scent, letting it wash over her, comforting the aches of yesterday. It soothed the hurt but not the desire scorching her skin. He claimed her mouth, deeply at first and then tenderly as he eased her down until she lay flat on her back. The small broken table barely fit her upper torso, and her legs dangled over the edge. She ran her feet up the backs up his legs to pull him closer and to revel in the power and the strength there.
He leaned over her, grabbed the top of the zipper, and toyed with it. He kept a steady pressure, pinching with his fingers. The fabric stuck for a long moment before giving to his demands. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he tugged lower. The metal grazed her skin, cool and biting as he pulled the zipper’s teeth apart one by one. When he finished, he splayed the fabric open wide to reveal her nakedness except for her bra and panties.
He trailed his fingers down her body from her collarbone to her thighs. Skimming. Studying. Exposed and vulnerable, she reached to cover herself, but he looped fingers in the fabric over her hipbone.
“I see no one stole your panties today.” His eyes darkened. “Let’s see how long you can keep them.” His voice deepened. His fingers lingered, caressing the flesh there. “But first.” He peeled the straps of her bra down her arms, catching on his fingers.
Laying her back, he pushed the bra down to take her nipple in his mouth. The roughness of his tongue and teeth made her shiver. Her back bowed off the table in pleasure. She moaned with the sensations his mouth sent through her body. Her toes curled where they dangled in midair. The table rocked and righted. She gasped but arched again when he did the same to the other nipple.
He stroked and cupped each breast, running his thumbs along the underside. It wasn’t enough. Not now. Not with the evidence of his desire pressing against her.
“Sam.” His name fell from her lips, low, demanding, insistent. She reached for him but slipped on the table. Damn the slick fabric of this dress.
He kissed her gently before working his hands back down her body. His fingers ignited the desire as they slowly descended. He slid her panties down her hips, nudging her to lift her ass. She gasped when his fingers and the fabric rasped against her skin. His gaze met hers while she watched the slow pull of her panties along her legs before he tugged them over her feet and stuffed them in his pocket with a sly grin.
He pulled back to stand over her and stare at her, and the smile became one of tenderness and adoration. When he sighed, she could feel his hot breath on her skin. His hungry gaze moved lower. He stared at the slit between her thighs, and his eyes sparked. She wiggled, and his fingers gripped her, holding her in place. Her eyes slid shut, embarrassment at the exposure taking hold.
“Cami, look at me.” His throaty, rough words had her skin prickling.
She met his gaze, held it before he turned his attention back to her center. He traced a blunt finger over her folds, and her muscles tightened under the feather-light touch.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he whispered. “Splayed out like this. Eager for my touch.”
Her belly quivered.
“So responsive.” He touched his lips to her collarbone before kissing a path between her breasts. He nipped her left hip bone. The stubble on his jaw scuffed the sensitive inside of her thigh before he put his lips on her. His curls teased her belly while his mouth…oh his mouth did incredible things. She writhed as much as she could on the teetering surface without toppling. When his tongue licked flat against her clit, pinpricks made her shiver despite the heat.
“More.”
The scent of ocean and salty air swept the room.
“You feel that?” He sounded breathless, awed. “Did you do that?”
“Love me, Sam.”
“Always.”
He stood, and it was her turn to admire him. The way his shirt fell open to reveal the muscled, tanned chest beneath and how the edge of his tattoo played at his collar. The way his cock stood straight, ready for her. She moaned, urging him on.
He stroked a hand down the front of her body, and she arched into the touch.
“I want to make you bow off this little table like that again and again. To obliterate what’s carved beneath it. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
He
stroked her folds with his fingers, and she ached for release. She was so very tender there after his touch and his mouth and now his fingers doing things that made her rock against him, made her sink her fingernails into his arms.
“Trust me?” he whispered. He rubbed his cock against her.
She nodded. “I trust you.”
“You want this?” Arousal made his throat thick, the demand a supplication.
“Yes.” Flexing her fingers on his skin to claim, she gave control to him, lost herself in the need that built with each thrust. The craving for him climbed and built. His scent wrapped around her. The feel of his warm body against her chest and the hard wood against her back excited her in its contrast. The thump of the table against the wall thrilled her before she caught herself. The sound reminded her of where they were.
“The neighbors will hear,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure if she cared. Or if it didn’t turn her on more. Her body seized on the possibility and tightened around Sam.
“Let them,” he growled. “They didn’t bother when he was destroying your place and could’ve been killing you if you hadn’t been in my bed.”
She ached at the fierceness in his voice. She gave her body over to the frantic fervor that had them both moving faster, harder. The table wobbled and snapped beneath her. Her breath caught as he clutched her to him, still buried inside her. He pulled at her legs, and she wrapped them around him. Tossing the broken remnants of the table to the side, he pushed her against the wall.
“Don’t let me go,” he clipped out.
He slammed fully into her, making her gasp and sending her spiraling upward in a shot toward ecstasy. He pummeled in and out of her. She clutched at his flushed, slick skin. The building carnal passion soared and surged inside her, a wave building too big for either of them to ride alone.
“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” Sam repeated between thrusts. “Say it. Now. You’re so close. Say it while you come around me.”
“I’m yours,” she panted between ragged breaths. Her voice became stronger, feeding off the strength of the mounting intensity. “And you’re mine.”
With the possessive declaration, her body clenched over him. The climax tore through her body. She opened her mouth to scream. He clamped his mouth over hers, swallowing it down as he pumped his own release inside her with one final slam against the wall.
Her heart raced against his. She could feel both their pulses sprinting in unison. He kept her pressed against the wall. Her legs dropped, but he yanked them back in place. “Bare feet, broken glass.”
She looked down the length of their bodies. He still had his shoes on. His shorts too. He hadn’t stopped in their frenzy to do more than shove fabric down far enough to enter her. She smiled, taking pride in the power to make him crazy enough for her that he couldn’t wait. Yet still protected her.
He carried her to the wet bar and sat her on the edge. He fastened his shorts while kissing her. He found her sandals and carried them to her. With strong hands, he ran his fingers down her legs to her ankles. Taking one sandal, he crouched and held her foot in his palm. He slid the shoe into place, cupping her heel and massaging her arches as he did. Their gazes locked. He kissed the inside of her knee and slipped the other shoe onto her bare foot. The tickle of his lips and quick scrape of his teeth had her body melting. The movement was so possessive and protective it was almost as intimate as the sex.
Turning away, he looked around the room. She surveyed the destruction as well. The pieces of the table had rolled to a stop against the wall. They’d snapped the flimsy tabletop in half. The carving lay broken.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Your place?” she asked.
“Our place,” he said, not meeting her eyes. She had put that uncertainty there. Had made him doubt her desire to be with him.
If she agreed, she had to be all in. She owed it to him to commit completely or not at all. Not only because of his history of people pushing him away who were supposed to love him. It was more than that. He was worth more than that. She sorted through emotions to find what was stopping her.
Sunny had been a heartbeat away from a happy ending. Cami had overcome her own past. Could she embrace this hope as her future?
Her heart said yes. Her body said hell yes. Her eyes grew. Fear had been the only thing standing in her way of happiness, of a future with Sam. She was better and stronger than that. She looked at the broken tabletop. She was fierce.
She touched his face. “Let’s go home.”
He moved between her legs where she sat and caressed her sides, pulling her closer. “I’ve been looking for home all my life. And it’s been here all along.” He kissed her lips softly, touched her breast. “In your heart.” He dug his fingers lower and nipped her bottom lip. “In these hips.”
She laughed, caught his mouth in a kiss before sliding down his body. Feeling loved. Treasured. Home.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cami played with Bogart. The foaming waves lapped over her bare feet and his paws. She’d called the water forward to tease and play before pushing it back. Bogart was happy gnawing on his piece of driftwood. She wrapped the magic around her like a childhood security blanket she’d rediscovered.
Not that she needed to scan the beach as carefully with Neil’s plea deal the day before. The phone had rung with the call when she’d been in the kitchen with Sam.
“Ignore it,” he’d said.
“Can’t.” She’d reached for the phone blasting “Witchy Woman” by The Eagles. “That’s Delia’s ring tone.” She ignored his snicker. “Hi Deals.”
Delia did all the talking. “Neil pled to a felony domestic violence charge and a couple of assault counts. His counsel told him nobody would buy his ‘she conspired with a fire hydrant to kill me’ defense. You need a new phone. They found spyware on his linked to track yours.”
Cami sucked in a breath, but Delia hadn’t finished. “He will do three years state prison. Well, he’ll actually do part of it, but you’ve got a protective order for the next ten years. He so much as shows up and you call the cops. Or blast the shit out of him again. Either way.”
After Cami hung up, the muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked. “I can’t stand to think of him touching you. I hope prison is hell for him.” He’d pulled her close. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
“Because you and Bogart will protect me.”
“Damn straight. Not that you need protection, but I’ve got you covered.” He took her to bed to prove the point of how well covered she could be.
She smiled with the memory and watched him rinse off under the outdoor showers at the beach after a morning of surfing. She’d unpacked her few belongings at his place. Their place.
She had three days off at the animal clinic. She’d be content to sit here on a beach towel in her bikini the entire time, watching the water bead down Sam’s bare chest. She’d expected to miss the tiny apartment, her first place of independence. But she hadn’t. Not for a single minute.
It could be the amazing company and great sex. The gourmet food every day didn’t hurt. Neither did Bogart’s constant affection. She stroked his long ears, and he snuggled against her leg.
Sam walked toward her, toweling off his curls after shaking them in a very good imitation of Bogart. She grabbed another towel and started to dry Bogie and herself.
She peered up at him over sunglasses through her lashes. “Nice ripping.” She’d watched him cut through the water, adjust into the curl, ride along the waves and topple eventually only to paddle back out with strong sure strokes and wait to pop up for another crest to glide with practiced ease.
He shrugged, too modest to accept the compliment. Her gaze moved downward. Maybe not so modest. His board shorts hung perilously low on his hips, and she admired the taper from his muscled shoulders down to a slim cut waist. His tan line fade flirted with the waistband and teased that she knew exactly what was below. “You looked good.”
“You lo
ok better.” He lowered next to her and dug through the bag for a container of kulolo. The fudge-like squares of taro, coconut milk and brown sugar had been a huge hit at the Memorial Day cookout the weekend before.
Mina had been right. Ama asked for his grandmother’s traditional Hawaiian dessert recipe. Luckily, Sam had known to bring it along. Ama had thanked him and replied she knew his grandmother. He had asked Ama about any rumors she might have heard about the Senate, and his family or prophecies. She’d disappeared into the house, refusing to say more. Cami had assured him the Senate was older and stronger than any human government, but she’d been glad he hadn’t asked more pointed questions about the witch matriarchy. The Senate preferred to rule silently.
He popped a bite of kulolo into his mouth. “Sweet like you.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. The dampness from his body dripped onto her swimsuit. She started to protest, but why bother when she didn’t mind. He lay her down on the beach towel.
She kissed him and asked Bogart to stay as she pushed at Sam’s hands, got to her feet, and pulled him back into the water. She sprinted down the wet sand knowing he would catch her with a laughing spin that turned into kisses. She eased the weight of the last year off her shoulders, holding on to his embrace while the water rushed over their legs.
When their kisses turned so passionate that she’d used her power twice to keep them upright, he suggested they head back to shower together. They packed the bag and trudged through the sand to the Land Cruiser with Bogart.
“Need to go by the restaurant first?” she asked.
“Nope. I took the entire day off. I worked last night until close anyway.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “I met you in the garage and lured you upstairs for a quickie.”