His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he does. And I feel it. For a long...
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C A M I L A
You see, I was totally serious about the condom thing. Am I nervous? Pssh.
Obviously.
I'm going to do something wrong. Maybe I'll break his penis. Maybe I'll scream. Maybe I'll end up in the fire, I don't know.
Worse (and much more realistic), I think I might cry.
No, not a sad desolation kind of bawling-my-eyes-out cry, but an overwhelming, overpowering kind of sob that builds in my chest and breaks free at the wrong time.
I still want this, though. A lot. Because it's Noah. Because I love him. Even if it means being awkward and scared, I trust him. Even if I roll into the fire or accidentally headbutt him.
"Cam?"
I take a deep breath, steady my shaking hands, and look into his eyes. They're soft and warm, like melted amber swirling, and it calms me down.
"You okay?" he asks, a knowing little smirk hidden in his tasty lips.
I nod, even though my heart is thudding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "I'm super good."
He smiles that crooked grin. "We can take our time, you know." He draws a line between my shoulder blades. "I think you'd like slow. There's an exquisite torture to it."
"Like split squats?"
"Fuck no."
I huff, a strange mix of annoyance and horniness buzzing around. He makes it sound so simple. Well, does he? I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe it can be.
Likely, not.
It's our last night here before we go back to classes that we've missed and people we've not seen.
I fumble a bit with the open condom as I steal it from his fingers, my nerves getting the best of me for a moment, but then it's ready, and make him stand up so he can kick off his sweats, and I take a moment—a nice...long...hard moment—just to stare. And then I slide the condom onto him.
"Good?" I ask, my voice a bit higher than usual.
He chuckles softly. "You're a natural."
"I've had practice."
He tenses. "Pardon?"
My smile is full. "Kidding."
We ease back down, skin sizzling from the fire or each other or some kind of allergic reaction to the spices John cooked with. Wouldn't be the first time. I mean, I had to stop John from using peanut oil earlier today because Noah's allergic and doesn't have his goddamn EpiPen—
