The Real

The last of the sunlight filtered through my room when Cameron moved us to lay down as our breathing evened out. In my silent bedroom, only our hearts sounded as he kept me pinned to him. Wrapping my thigh around his waist, I basked in his hold, a smile against his skin.

Minutes later, the fog clearing, I ran my fingers over the divots of his chest.

“Wow,” I murmured bracing myself over him with appreciation. His body was rock solid, not a single flaw, and I was sure if there were any, I wouldn’t see them.

Wordlessly, he looked up at me as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. All I saw was need, want, lust, and I prayed I didn’t mistake what looked like love. Because in my greed, I wanted that too.

Please let this be love.

Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he lazily stroked my back with the pads of his fingers. I leaned in and kissed him, my mind reeling as our breaths synced.

We didn’t need any more words. We’d said enough. Content, we laid surrounded by the sunrise, neither of us moving as he put me in a sleepy lull with his touch, his warmth pulling me as close as I could get.

Many hours later, but only seconds after we broke apart, Cameron’s fingers traced the lines of my body while I glanced out the window at the snowfall. In a comfortable silence, I ran my fingers through his soaked hair while he kept his affection on my skin. It was a new kind of heaven.

“Abbie?” I heard shouted from my front door and shot out of bed. The only two people that had a key to my place were Bree and . . .

“Mrs. Zingaro!” I squeaked as Cameron shot out of bed too. We searched the carpet in vain. Our clothes were still in the entryway.

“Oh, good, honey. I was worried. I know you told me to use this key only for emergencies, but I heard some very loud noises. Oh, oh, dear. I see you aren’t alone. Yes, these are men’s clothes. I’m sorry.”

The door shut with a thud as Cameron and I stood naked on opposite sides of the bed. My chin trembled before we both burst out laughing. But it was cut short when I thought of Mrs. Zingaro.

“Shit, shit. I always worry when it snows and she takes the stairs.” I ran to my closet and threw on a sweater dress.

“I’ve got it,” Cameron called from outside the closet.

“She’ll beat you to death before you get near her. Trust me.”

“I think I can take her.”

/> “You sure?” I asked, peeking over at him, pausing to take him in, naked and in my bedroom.

Hallelujah.

“Like what you see?”

“Meh,” I said as he charged me.

“What’s that?”

I grabbed the growing muscle between his thighs. “I said meh.”

“But you didn’t mean it.” He bit my lip and my eyes bulged at the pain.

“Ow.”

“I’ll go make sure she got in okay.”

“Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed and walking outside. I heard Cameron’s deep baritone on the other side of Mrs. Zingaro’s door. Poor baby. He’d been roped in.

I knocked and, seconds later, the door was opened by a grinning Cameron. “Heeey,” I said with false enthusiasm, my eyes wide. “You need saving?” I whispered conspiratorially.

“Not at all,” he said, opening the door. Jenny was in her kitchen cooking.

“She’s making dinner for us.”