My hands glide over his shoulders, up his neck, and land on the back of his head, my fingers threading through his soft, messy hair. Camden’s tongue wraps around my own, and he sucks it into his mouth. I find myself grinding against him, deepening the kiss and needing to be closer to him.
And then a buzzer goes off, breaking the moment.
“That would be the food,” he groans, resting his forehead against mine.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CAMDEN
My head is all over the place, my thoughts swirling around like a damn tornado. On the one hand, I’m ecstatic that Layla is willing to give us a chance and see where things go. She admitted to my feelings not being completely one-sided and the tattoo meaning more than she was willing to admit at the time. On the other hand, it feels like every admission has been blanketed with a dark cloud thanks to David. I always knew he was an asshole, good at hiding who he really was. He had everyone fooled, but not me. I should’ve pushed harder back then and convinced Layla he wasn’t the one for her, but I pussied out and let her walk away, and in the end, he hurt her on so many damn levels.
I tried to be positive, telling her everything happens for a reason, and to an extent, I believe that, but on the other side of the coin, I’ll always wonder if what happened could’ve been prevented had I stepped in years ago. I know… It’s pointless to live with what-ifs, but I can’t help it.
All I can do at this point is make sure I’m there for Layla and her son and keep a close eye on that rapist fucker. One wrong move, and he’s going down.
After bringing the food in, Layla and I spend the next couple of hours chowing down and watching some Horny Housewives in England show. That’s not what it’s called, but the show is about some British folks who spend their days trying to hook up with each other.
When the main chick’s brother pushes his woman against the tree and starts fucking her like a savage, I notice Layla squirm in her seat. She’s turned on. And while I want nothing more than to tend to her needs, I also want to let her lead at her own pace. Knowing the last time she had sex was when her ex-husband raped her changes shit.
“Is the show boring you?” Layla asks when she catches me staring at her instead of watching the show.
“What show?” I joke.
She rolls her eyes and swats my chest playfully. “It’s still kind of early. If you want to go to the club—”
“Hell no.” I pull her into my arms. “The only thing I want to do is hang out with you.”
A small smile curls on the edge of her lips as I lean in to press my mouth to hers. I still can’t believe that I can finally kiss her whenever the hell I want after all these years. When our lips touch, she sighs into the kiss, tugging on my shirt so I’m forced closer, deepening the kiss.
Layla edges backward until she’s on her back, her head resting on the arm of the couch, and then she reaches out for me, but I don’t go. Not yet. Because I need a moment to look at her, to appreciate what I finally have in front of me.
“What?” she asks, her voice coming out breathy and impatient.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her nose scrunches up, and her cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink. “Cam…” she whines. “Come here.”
I pull my phone out, needing a picture, and her eyes go wide. “You’re always the one taking the pictures,” I explain. “I want one of you. On my couch, looking relaxed, with a bit of a tan from our day on the island, with your hair fanned out, and a slight blush on your cheeks.” I snap a photo of her, and I’m about to put my phone away when she leans forward slightly and removes her top, exposing a sexy as fuck pink lacy bra. It’s slightly see-through, and her hard nipples are poking through it.
With her eyes on me, she reaches down and unbuttons and unzips her pants. “Help me take them off.”
I do as she says and peel them down her hips and thighs. Underneath is matching lacy underwear. All see-through, showing off her trimmed pussy underneath.
“You always wear matching bras and underwear?” I ask curiously.
The corner of her lips quirks up, knowing exactly where I’m going with this. “Only when I think there’s a chance someone might see.”
I absorb her words, my insides lighting off fireworks that she came here thinking there’d be a chance I’d see. This was before we talked, which means she was thinking about me.