When Cami moves in with the 2 most popular guys in school in a new foster home placement, she realizes that her tragic past just might make it so that she will stay lonely forever.
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Cami has...
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His hand wrapped around a strand of my hair and wouldn't let go.
I sighed in contentment as his fingernails brushed along my scalp and soothed a beautiful pattern into my skin.
We were in his bed, again, although I knew I should've been getting ready. Of course, that didn't stop me from soaking up each and every moment I could latch onto with him.
It was never enough with him.
"What are you thinking about?"
His breath tickled my hair and the deep timbre of his voice echoed throughout my entire body—just like it always did.
"How I should be getting ready for tonight but instead I'd just rather have a party in your room that I don't have to get ready for."
"A party in my bed, is that right?"
I squealed as he flipped me over and pinned my arms above my head with one hand, the other starting a painfully pleasurable descent down my body.
"Grey..." I started in warning, but there was laughter in my voice and he didn't miss the amusement I could practically dripping from my eyes.
"Cami..."
I shivered at the desire and need coated in his words.
"What are you doing?"
He leaned down close, a mixture of peppermint and cologne swirling around him and making him damn near irresistible to me in that moment.
Hell, in every moment he was irresistible to me.
I wasn't going to let him know that, though. I needed to keep some semblance of my pride in tact, no matter how much I just wanted to lean my neck back and beg him to do whatever he wanted with me—not just in that moment, but in each and every one we'd shared thus far and would share in the future together.
One flick of his tongue on the sensitive flesh of my neck and I was writhing in his arms.
"Is this alright?"
"Yes, Grey."
We'd had many talks about consent in our relationship—all of which had ended with me explaining that I was safest when I was with him—that I felt strong and pure and perfect in his arms.
He always asked, though. No matter what.
And that shriveled up piece of me inside my chest slowly unraveled and bloomed further each and every time he did.
The taste of his lips was like the first breath of air after coming up from the bottom of a lake desperate for oxygen.
The smooth caress of his skin against mine like feeling velvet or silk for the first time—sensations and delicate ministrations of body against body and lips to perfect lips.
