I fight a smile because I’m peeved, but his expression is too admiring to stay mad for long. “I’m glad you like it.”
He curls his fingers into my arm and pulls me closer. “I don’t like it. I love it. You’ve made me your slave.” He leans in and runs his nose along my jaw, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “Now if only you’d get rid of those glasses, you’d be perfect.”
That leaves me breathless. Stunned, like he just hit me across the face. I picture us sitting together at a breakfast table on some morning in the distant future. He’s reading a newspaper, ignoring me until I reach for another croissant, and then he slaps my hand, snapping “You’ve had enough.”
He’ll never think I’m perfect just the way I am. He’ll never tell me I’m a miracle. I’ll always have to fake it with him, trying to live up to some impossible standard, never able to relax and be myself.
A switch inside my head flicks from on to off, and just like that, I can’t wait to get out of here. “We should go. Someone could walk in any minute.”
“That only makes it more exciting, don’t you think?”
He sniffs my neck, making a low noise of pleasure in his throat. When he drags me against him, I’m startled to feel a bulge below his waist that probably isn’t his wallet.
“Whoa! Okay. Let’s cool it—”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone,” he interrupts, his voice deeper. He trails his lips down my neck, nipping every so often like he’s trying to taste me. Eat me. He backs me up until my bottom hits the sink and I can’t go any farther.
“You enjoyed teasing me over email, didn’t you? Sending me that photo of your earlobe.” He chuckles like a comic book villain. “Clever. If it was your plan to make me obsessed, it worked.”
I start to panic, because he’s acting so strange. “No, there was really no plan—”
He digs his hand into my hair, pulls my head back, and clamps his mouth down on my throat like a vampire. It’s so sudden, I jump, startled out of my wits, then yelp when his hand latches onto my breast and squeezes.
“Michael! You’re hurting me!”
He crushes his mouth over mine.
I shove him away, panting, and raise a hand to my stinging lips. “Dude! Get a grip! I’m not making out with you in a bathroom! In case you didn’t hear me, I just said cool it!”
It’s like my refusal makes Michael snap. He’s there one minute, the familiar, well-mannered man, then he’s vanished, replaced by some random psychopath summoned from a séance gone sideways.
He grabs my upper arms, shoves me up onto the sink, and kisses me again, savagely, his teeth sinking into my tender lower lip. He bends me so far back my head slams against the mirror.
I react on pure instinct and bite him.
“Ow!” He pulls away for a second—breathing hard, astonished—and raises his fingers to his mouth. When they come away bloody, he smiles.
He looks up at me with those psycho eyes, and my blood runs cold. I try to jump off the counter, but he holds me in place, his arms strong from all that stupid squash.
“Let me go!”
“She likes to play rough.” He wrestles my arms behind my back. “Me too.”
He laughs into my ear, and I smell the alcohol on his breath again, searing fumes that make me want to gag. How much has he had to drink? “Stop. Michael, stop!”
“Oh, come on, Joellen, don’t be coy. We both know what we’re doing. You wanted a promotion, right? Did you think those were handed out for free?”
He kisses my neck, pressing his crotch into mine, dragging the hem of my dress up so he can grab a handful of bare thigh. My heart is going like gangbusters with equal parts fear and fury, overlaid by complete disbelief.
“Are you kidding me right now? I said stop!”
“I’ll stop when I’m good and goddamn ready.” His voice is a growl. He curls his fingers around the elastic of my panties where they ride over my hip.
Just as I’m about to let loose a full-throated scream, the door opens. The sound of music swells. Michael and I freeze, looking over to see who’s come in.
It’s Portia.
She’s stiff as a statue in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth formed into a horrified O of shock at the picture Michael and I make on the counter.
My hair is mussed. We’re both breathing hard. My lipstick is smeared all over his mouth. My leg is bent at his waist, and my dress is shoved up so my thigh is completely exposed, all the way up to my panties.
I know exactly what it looks like to her, and it makes me want to throw up.
Portia turns without a word and leaves. The door swings closed behind her.
With all my strength, I shove Michael away. Still off-balance from Portia’s interruption, he staggers back, blinking. I slide off the counter, straighten my dress, then stride over to where he’s standing by the toilet I came out of earlier and slap him as hard as I can across his face.
“You can take your promotion and shove it!”
I run out of the ladies’ room, my vision blurry from the water swimming in my eyes. I hurry through the elegant hallways to claim my coat. Out on the sidewalk, I hail a cab, my breath frosting in puffy white clouds in front of my face, my ears too hot to go numb in the cold.
It isn’t until I’m safely inside the cab and have given the driver my home address that I break down and start to cry.
THIRTY-ONE
When Cam opens to my knock, I throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck.
“Joellen! What happened? Why’re you back already?”
Unable to speak without bursting into a fresh round of tears, I shake my head. My whole body trembles. I’m so upset it’s like a bomb went off inside my stomach and ripped a huge hole right through me.
Everything I’ve been fantasizing about for the past ten years has been just that: a fantasy. Michael isn’t a knight in shining armor coming to rescue me on his trusty steed. He’s the apple the witch offered to Snow White—perfect, shiny, and filled with poison.
“Easy. Take a breath, lass. Come inside and talk to me.”
Cam’s shushing me with soft words, his arms strong and protective around my back. He kicks the door shut with his bare foot. “What happened to your hair? And why’ve you been cryin’?”
“Michael,” I whisper. “He . . . he . . .”
Cam goes stiff. His voice comes out low and dangerously hard. “He what, lass?”
I’m afraid to tell him exactly what happened, because I suspect by his tone, posture, and expression, he’ll march right out the door, find Michael, and make him wish he were never born. I go with a generalization instead. “He’s an asshole!”
Cam takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. He growls, “If he got fresh with you, I’m gonna break his bloody knees!”
Though I feel like crying, that makes me smile a little. “Got fresh with me? That’s cute, grandma.”
“I swear to God, woman, you better tell me what he did to get you into this state or I’m gonna assume the worst, hunt that bastard down, and divest him of his testicles. Talk.”
In a small voice, I ask, “Why is it so hard for you to wear a shirt, prancer? This conversation would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t have to pretend you’re not half-naked.”
Though his expression is hard with worry, a glint of humor shines in his eyes at my words. He sweeps his thumb over my cheek, probably wiping away smeared mascara. “All these muscles are distractin’ you again, aren’t they?”
The truth is, they are. He’s huge and muscular and covered in tattoos, the exact opposite of Michael in pretty much every way.
And he’d never “get fresh” with me. He’ll joke and flirt and tease me mercilessly, but I know this man Michael once described as “an absolute animal” would rather cut off his own hands than do anything to hurt or disrespect me.
Like force himself on me in a ladies’ room in return for a promotion.
“Lass,” says Cam, watching me think with a furrow between his brows. “I dunno what’s goin’ on inside that brain of yours, but—”
I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
He sucks in a startled breath, but I steal it back from him and kiss him harder. He allows it, taking my tongue into his mouth with a small groan, but almost immediately takes control back from me, twisting his head to break the kiss. We stand there for a moment, breathing raggedly, the silence yawning wider with every tick of the clock.
“What was that?” he asks, his voice rough edged.
“That was a kiss.”
My arms are still around his shoulders. His arms are still around my back. Our chests are pressed so tightly together I feel his heart thudding like mad against my breasts.
“You mean a revenge kiss? Because I don’t think that was really about me.”
Groaning, I close my eyes and drop my head to his chest.
“Just answer me this: Did he hurt you?”
“Only my ego,” I admit, miserable. “And maybe my faith in humanity.”
And my poor, stupid heart, of course, which is weeping at the death of a beautiful dream. Not only have I lost Michael, my career is over. Even if Michael doesn’t fire me, Portia will report me for fraternizing with the CEO, and that will be that. She’s already interrupted us together in the kitchen and probably made written notes of every time she saw us together at the office. Even if I deny any involvement with him, all they’ll have to do is a search of my email to find enough evidence to put my head on the chopping block.
My job is toast.
“Your instincts were right about him, Cam. He was at the party with his wife. I’m such a fool.”
Cam lifts my head with a knuckle under my chin. “You’re not a fool,” he murmurs. “Have you already forgotten what I told you before you left?”
“No, but you’re biased because you’re in love with me.”
Cam stops breathing. The air goes electric. I was teasing, the way he always teases me about being in love with him, but the look on his face . . . oh God. How many times I wished Michael would stare at me with such reckless desire. Entire cities are burning to the ground behind Cam’s eyes.
There’s a split second of hesitation, then we move at the same time, with the same need, our hearts drumming the same crazy beat. Our mouths connect with the sense of two puzzle pieces slipping into place with perfect alignment.
The kiss is deep and hot but also impossibly tender. I’m being peeled open, layer by layer, unraveling to my most vulnerable core. I had only a sip of wine at the party, but I feel drunk. Disoriented. Like my entire world has tilted on its axis and I’m tumbling down a dark rabbit hole toward the center of the earth.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him.
Without another word, Cam swings me up into his arms and heads toward the bedroom, his strides long and quick. When we get there, he lays me down on the bed, braces his hands on either side of my head, and looks into my eyes.
“I’m gonna get you naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Then you’re gonna tell me if you want it sweet and tender again, or if you want it dirty and hard.”
His voice is a whisper, thrilling in its intensity and control. There isn’t a man alive who could make those words sound so threatening and so exciting all at once. I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss, wind whipping my hair around my face.
I don’t know what’s on the other side of this moment. To be honest, I don’t care.
He kisses me deeply, his hair tickling my cheeks. Then he moves his mouth to my neck, the scruff on his jaw scraping the sensitive skin under my ear, his lips warm and soft, his breath ragged like mine. I can tell he’s trying to go slow, but his hands are shaking where they’re pressed against my head.
I realize we’ve both wanted this too long to start with tenderness.
“Forget about making love to me, Cam,” I say, my blood like fire in my veins. “Let’s do it dirty and hard.”
He breathes, “Thank God,” and fists his hands into my hair, kissing me again like he’ll die if he doesn’t.
He makes a sound deep in the back of his throat, like an animal’s growl. That wolf of his, coming out to play. It sends a weird thrill all the way through me, right down between my legs. I drag him on top of me by the loops in his jeans, desperate to feel his weight. My thighs open around his waist. He’s already hard for me. I rock against that hardness, desperate like I’ve never been.
He’s up in a whipcrack motion, staring down at me with black eyes. Crazy person eyes, filled with naked lust. He shucks off my shoes, tossing each one over his shoulder to the floor, then slides his open hands from my knees down the inside of my bare thighs, squeezing my flesh as he goes. Then before I can even register what he’s doing, he’s bent between my legs and pulled my panties aside.
I cry out in shock because his mouth—his hot, wonderful mouth—is there.
A shudder runs through my body. I’m aching everywhere. My skin is flushed and burning. “Cam. Oh God. Don’t stop, that’s amazing, that’s—”
I break off with a porn star moan when he slides a finger inside me.
I’m cracking open. My rib cage feels hollowed out, like all my insides have been scraped away and there’s only this, the feel of his tongue and the sounds he’s making—chest-deep grunts that are sexy and dirty and hot, sounds like he can’t get enough of the taste of me, like he’s just as greedy for me as I am for him.
When my thighs start to tremble and my breathing is labored because I’m close, so close to where I want to go, Cam is suddenly gone, hovering over me.
His gaze on mine, he unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them, then drops his boxer briefs. I watch them slide down his legs and pool around his ankles, and I make a little involuntary sound of lust. He palms his jutting erection, watching my face.
I sit up, bat his hand out of the way, curl both my hands around his cock, and take it in my mouth.
His moan makes me feel like a goddess.
He digs his hands into my hair as I suckle him and fondle his balls with one hand while stroking his thick shaft with the other, feeling even more like a goddess when he curses under his breath.
“Bloody hell, that sweet fucking mouth,” he whispers, flexing his hips. “I love that mouth. I love—”
He gasps when I take him as deep as I can down my throat.
Then I’m on my stomach, flipped over in a lightning-fast move. Cam drags my ass in the air with an arm wrapped under my waist, props me onto my knees, then flips my dress up, exposing my bottom. The next thing I feel is teeth sinking into my backside.
I suck in a surprised breath. My hands curl to fists in the blankets.
His warm breath feathering over my skin, Cam rasps, “Wanted to do that since the second I laid eyes on you, standin’ at my door in that ugly green sweater, tellin’ me to turn the music down, all curves and sass.”
He bites me again, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to sting, and growls. I nearly faint. Adrenaline crashes through me. I can barely catch my breath.
He continues to bite me, sliding a hand between my legs to stroke me as he makes his way across one cheek to the other until my entire ass is stinging and I’m rocking against his big hand, panting into the sheets, dying.
I’m dying. He’s going to kill me. He’s pinching my clit and biting my ass and I’m in absolute heaven.
“I have to get this dress off.” He pulls at my zipper, impatient, but I don’t have time for that.
“Leave it on,” I say, panting. “Just leave it on and fuck me.”
I don’t have to tell him twice. He yanks open a drawer in the bedside table. I hear crinkling and the rip of foil and open my eyes to enjoy the incredible pleasure of watching him roll a condom down the length of his big, glorious cock.
Then he’s on his knees behind me, steadying himself with his hands on my hips. In another second, his ere
ction nudges me, then stretches me open until I’m gasping.
He takes a big handful of my hair, wraps it around his wrist so my head tilts back, then thrusts his hips, driving inside me.
I cry out. He thrusts again. I moan at the feel of him, big and invading, his incredible heat all over me, inside me, the smell of his skin in my nose. Then he’s fucking me with long, hard strokes, holding me in place for his pleasure with that one hand wrapped around my hip and my hair like a leash around his wrist.
He slaps my ass, hard. I laugh like a lunatic because I love it so much.
He knows. Of course he knows what I like. He starts to alternate slapping my ass with reaching around and fondling my engorged clit until I’m moaning and thrashing and completely out of my mind, bucking back into his every thrust, right on the razor’s edge of orgasm.
He reaches up and pinches my rigid nipple right through the dress, and I convulse around him.
“Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re coming. Oh fuck, Joellen—”
He cuts off with a groan as I come, everything inside me clenching and unclenching in fast, furious waves. It’s good, so good, oh God, so good. I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until Cam agrees with me.
“I knew we’d be perfect together.”
He flips me over onto my back but stays on his knees, pulling me up so my head and shoulders are on the pillow, but he’s holding the rest of me up with his hands gripped under my ass. I brace my hands against the headboard as he starts to thrust into me this way, his breathing labored and his hair falling into his eyes, every muscle in his chest and abdomen tight and straining.
He’s so beautiful it’s like I’m having sex with a piece of art.
My body is squishy compared to his, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all in his eyes, which devour every inch of me like it’s the first time they’ve glimpsed the sun.
He lifts one of my legs and props my ankle on his shoulder. Now he’s as deep as he can go, and I’m making sounds I’ve never made before, animal sounds, urging him on. He turns his head and kisses my ankle, a gesture so sweet it sends a piercing pain like an arrow shot straight through my chest.
Melt for You (Slow Burn Book 2) Page 26