Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

He dropped his foot from the post to the bed. “When I was a kid, I would count all the straight-lined grooves of the ceiling tiles to lull myself to sleep.”

He patted the space next to him, and Cameron sat on the bed, feeling the thrum of Henry right there.

With a dizzying whoosh of gravity, he let himself fall back onto the mattress.

Cameron began counting the straight lines of one tile. It had a calming, drowsy effect. “I’m imagining you doing this on Christmas Eve or the night before your birthday, too excited to sleep.”

“I did it a few nights last week, too.” Henry peeked at him from the corner of his eye, and the effect darted through Cameron. He twisted on his stomach and busied himself flipping pages of his journal.

He scribbled the ideas he’d had while working with Georgie.

Henry watched Cameron for minutes, head supported by his hand.

“Will you let me read something from it?” Henry asked.

“No?”

“Please?”

“I’m still not recovered from the first critique round.”

“I promise I’ll only speak if I have something positive to say.”

Cameron groaned as he handed over his journal. “This is masochism.” His stomach flipped, his erection pulsing against the bedcovers. “They’re mostly notes. Ideas for scenes. No real story yet.”

“Let’s have a look.” Henry flipped pages. “June thirtieth.”

“Read it to yourself, God.”

Henry’s face opened with curiosity, then darkened. Cameron turned his head away, but his ears strained toward the schlip of pages turning.

His body was taut with anticipation, and his back, thighs and ass felt exposed. Every shift of air fingered over the thin fabric of his briefs.

He rippled with a shiver at Henry’s palm flattening between his shoulder blades.

“That was . . . sexy, Cameron.”

Groaning, he buried his hot face into the covers. “I can’t believe I let you read it.”

“This one, for instance. Dated . . . huh. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Henry’s fingers found his nape and massaged lazily, dipping into his damp hair. “This is drafted the day we first met.”

Cameron scrambled onto his knees and snatched the journal out of Henry’s hands. “That’s enough for one night.”

Laughing, Henry captured Cameron around the waist and pulled him on top of him, the journal trapped between them, a shield buffering Henry from Cameron’s pounding heart.

Henry cradled Cameron’s cheek, thumb stroking his skin. “We’re just getting started.”

He trailed his fingers up Cameron’s back, raveling his shirt and exposing his hips to air scented with aged books, clean heavy fabrics, and vanilla-bean shampoo.

“Do you like this?” Henry asked, eyes searching his face. His hips shifted, and the press of their hardening groins stole the natural rhythm of their breaths.

Cameron nodded. He could enjoy these gentle movements all night.

Henry wrapped a leg around his ass and Cameron jerked in surprise, their cocks rubbing with an electric burst.

He chuckled softly and bumped their noses together. “Still jumpy.”

“Sorry,” Cameron said. “Don’t, um, don’t let it stop you?”

“There’s no rush, Cameron,” Henry shrugged. “It’s just you and me figuring out all the little things that make us feel good.”

“And, er, the big things, too?”

His hands widened over Cameron’s back, warm and steadying. “Not all the big things. Not tonight.”

“Oh. I thought . . .”

A kind smile. “You can’t even say sex aloud, Cameron.”

But he wanted to. Really wanted to. Why was he so afraid to admit what his body craved? He wanted them to start touching and not stop. He was an utter failure as a hero. “What’s wrong with me?” Cameron said.

Henry cradled his head and lifted himself up for a kiss. He tasted like sympathy and encouragement, but maybe also frustration? Or was he imaging what he expected Henry to feel?

“Nothing is wrong with you. Take all the time you need.”

“Will you teach me?”

Henry smiled, and fondness filled his gaze. Cameron flushed, taking it in. “I’ll be here with you all the way.”

Cameron swallowed, and met his eye shyly. “Would you flip us, so you’re on top?”

Henry’s leg tightened around him and he rolled Cameron onto his back. The heavy, warm weight of him had Cameron briefly shutting his eyes. The journal dug into his chest, and Cameron pinched at the edges and pulled. Henry lifted his weight and the next time their chests met, it was heart to thumping heart.

“Tell me stories?” Cameron whispered. “Or is this a weird time?”

Henry answered against his lips. “Never a weird time for stories.”

Cameron melted with those words, with the soft kiss that followed.

“How about we make one up?”

“How would we do that?” Cameron murmured.

“I say a sentence and you respond with your own.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“One rule.”

“I’m listening.”

“You can’t reject someone’s sentence. You have to expand on it.” Henry levied himself on his elbows. “Ready?”

Cameron lifted his arms loosely around his neck and breathed his “Yes.”

“Once upon a time, there lived a very cute man called Cameron.”

Cameron laugh-spluttered. “Henry! I thought we were making one up.”