Make It Last

by Megan Erickson

  She laughed softly again. “Yeah, it was pretty gross. So I took off my clothes and I threw this T-shirt on and I walked out and that’s when I saw Marcus. And he just stared at me, and then back into the room where the guy was passed out. And it looked bad. Of course it did. And he said, ‘Ruiz is gonna dump your ass when he hears about this.’ ”

  She turned to him then, with a knee on the bed. Her hazel eyes were wide, searching his. “And at the time, I was upset about my dad. And I was drunk. And I was eighteen fucking years old and my first thought was that that was how I could get you to stay in school. I’d let you think I cheated on you.”

  Cam’s breath caught in his throat. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t get enough air, and he fisted his shirt over his heart. “No, Tate, you didn’t.”

  She started crying then, softly. “I let Marcus run his mouth. And I didn’t deny it. And then . . . when I was sober, it was too late to stop the rumor mill. And Dad was getting sicker and I thought, This is for the best.” She leaned closer as the tears tracked down her cheeks. “This was the only way I could think to get you out of Paradise. You’re smart and amazing and you deserve all the good things in life. I didn’t want you back here with me in a dead-end job, taking care of my father. I didn’t want that for you.”

  And then anger rose up, swift and sudden. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “How could you do that? How could you make that decision for both of us?”

  She sobbed harder, collapsing against his chest as his hands slipped from her shoulders and his arms pressed her to him.

  “That was so fucking stupid, Tatum. So fucking stupid.”

  “I know.” The wetness from her tears seeped into his shirt.

  “So fucking stupid.”

  She leaned back then, and he gripped her biceps as she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I thought, or at least I convinced myself that what we had wasn’t special,” she said, those eyes boring into him, daring him to look away.

  He didn’t know where this was going. “Special?”

  She bit her tongue between her teeth, then released it. “We were so young, Cam. I thought . . . I thought everyone loved like us. That strongly. That intensely. With everything they have.” She looked away then, her eyes blinking rapidly and her lips trembling.

  He waited, unwilling to slice into this moment, because the truth hung in a precarious vapor between them.

  She faced him again, eyes wet but more composed. “But now I know better. Boy, do I ever know better. If I had known what we had was so rare, I never would have let you go.”

  And then that truth wrapped around them, securing them in a protective bubble, so all Cam could do was stamp this moment to make it real and true.

  He pressed his lips to hers, and she sighed and shuddered beneath his hands. He nudged up with his chin and she knew what that meant, opening her mouth so he could delve inside.

  That first taste of Tate was everything. Hot summers in the backseats of cars and licking drips of ice cream off her wrists and true, first real love.

  She’d been everything to him. And now that he tasted her again, he knew that had never changed.

  She allowed him to lick at her mouth and duel with her tongue. And she pressed into him, those full breasts rubbing against his damp shirt.

  He pulled her into his lap so her legs straddled his hips. She gripped his shoulders and rocked her body into him, her lips parted, her eyes now full of need. For him.

  CAM’S EYES WERE big and dark, his full lips begging her to taste them again. She never thought she’d be here in his lap. She never thought she’d get to see Cam like this again. She gripped tighter with her knees. “Please, Cam . . .”

  “Please what?” His voice was pure gravel.

  She moaned, because he was torturing her. She scooted closer, until she felt his arousal snugged up where she wanted it most.

  “Tell me, Tate. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Make me come,” she whispered.

  His answer was a hissed yes and her eyes closed under the weight of her desire for him.

  There’d been so many times, late at night, under the protection of darkness and her twisted sheets when she’d imagined Cam’s fingers, while her own had been a poor substitute.

  But now . . . now this was better than she remembered and better that she’d dreamed of. Because this was an older, more mature Cam. A Cam with experience that she didn’t want to think about. All she knew, as his hand slid into her underwear and cupped her, was that she was benefiting from this experience.

  Because she shamelessly rode his fingers as they slid through her wetness and inside her. She moaned as he whispered into her ear that he missed her, that she was beautiful.

  He pressed harder inside, searching for that spot he’d always known, and she whimpered, bucking her hips. The heel of his palm pressed against her clit as he twisted his wrist.

  “Why?” he whispered against her neck, his lips burning into her skin.

  “Why what?” She dug her fingers into his shoulder and kept her rhythm, searching for it because she was so close . . .

  “Why would you throw this away? When everything about you and me is so right?”

  She turned her head and kissed his jaw, the stubble rasping over her lips. “Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse.

  His hand stilled and he pulsed the heel of his hand once. “Tell me this is right. Tell me we’re special, that we’ll never have this with anyone else.”

  Her voice broke on a sob. “We’re special. This is right. It’s always been you, Cam. It’s always been us.”

  And then his fingers pressed and twisted, and she was flying. There was a deep voice murmuring to her and another high voice gasping in pleasure, but Tate heard everything in echo. Because her focus was on that feeling in her belly, the warmth that spread out to every limb until even the tips of her toes and fingers tingled.

  Cam talked to her through it, cupping the back of her head while her face was pressed into his neck so all she smelled was him, all she felt was his hands and his very presence surrounded her.

  When she came back into her body, she couldn’t feel her legs and her eyelids drooped. Cam’s fingers were still inside her, and he drew them out slowly. She winced and shuddered as they slipped over her sensitive skin. If only she could just sleep, right here, in Cam’s lap.

  “That was fucking beautiful,” he said against her ear, his teeth catching an earlobe, and her eyes popped open.

  She smiled against his neck and reached down between them, feeling for what she hoped was still an alive and eager erection. Her grin widened when her hands closed around his hard shaft through his shorts. He hissed when she stroked him.

  Even though her legs were jelly, she managed to slide to the floor without falling on her ass. And she watched his face as she slowly undid the button and zip fly of his shorts. He leaned back, bracing his weight on his arms on the bed, his face flushed, his eyelids lowered, lashes brushing his cheeks when he blinked.

  And then she lowered the waistband of his boxers under his balls, so he was fully exposed in front of her. She touched the tip of his cock where it had leaked a little and then brought her finger to her mouth.

  “Fuck, Tate.”

  She gripped him and stroked up once, twisting at the top like she knew he liked it, muscle memory kicking in. Who knew a hand job was like riding a bike?

  “Tate . . .” His voice was strained.

  She stuck out her tongue and licked once, right under the head. Then she leaned back on her heels with a wicked smile and stroked again. “Tell me. Tell me this is right.”

  His chest heaved. “You tease.”

  “Payback’s a bitch.”

  His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. He breathed once, twice. And then his face softened. He leaned onto one hand and reached out with the other. He ran his fingers over her cheekbone, through the ends of her hair, and then cupped her chin. “It’s always been
you, Tate. It’s always been us.”

  The sincerity in his voice cracked her heart wide open, and she parted her lips to suck him in. He kept his hand on her chin, his thumb on the corner of her lips, where he glided in and out and of her mouth.

  His breath came out in gasps as she gripped the base and pumped with the same motion as her mouth. Her other hand reach down and rolled his balls, making him hiss out, “Fuck, baby.”

  When his legs began to tremble against her shoulders, she knew she had him and she kept up her rhythm. His hand slid down her neck to her shoulder and he squeezed with his fingers. “I’m gonna come.”

  She glanced up, met his eyes, and then he threw back his head on a gasp and came.

  It’d been a long time since she’d had a dick in her mouth, but apparently blow jobs were like riding a bike, too, because she easily swallowed all he had to give her. When she felt the last of his orgasm pulse, she let him slip out of her mouth and then she rested her head on his thigh.

  He’d collapsed onto the bed on his back, his chest rising and falling as he took in gulps of air. His hand ghosted over her hair, like he wanted her to know he was still here, in the moment. He was still with her.

  Then his fingers twisted in a lock of hair. “Come up here.”

  She rose to her feet with a groan and crawled on top of him. He shifted them so they were lying lengthwise on her bed, her head on his chest.

  His hand slipped under her shirt and his fingers played with the knobs in her spine. His other hand was behind his head, elbow cocked, which made his shirt rise. So she ran her fingers through the trail of hair leading down into the waistband of his boxers, which he’d pulled up.

  “I’m sorry about what I said. About Marcus.”

  She sighed. “It’s okay. He’s a source of a lot of regret for me. And that night at the bar . . . God, we were dumb.”

  His chuckle shook her head where it rested on his chest. “So dumb.”

  “You were totally flirting with that Kara girl, though.”

  “Only because you were flirting with Marcus.”

  She bit her lip. “I wanted to be flirting with you.”

  He laughed again. “Well, so much for only being friends.”

  She caressed his skin with her fingers. “I like this better.”

  The feel of his firm muscles beneath her head, the beat of his heart, his smell, was like slipping back into her skin.

  “I want to be mad at you.” His words were a contradiction to the soft kiss he placed on top of her head.

  “It’s okay, I’m mad at me, too.” She flattened her hand against his stomach, marveling at the changes in his body. From the boy she’d once known to the man he was now.

  “I said I want to be. Not that I am.”

  Tate gathered her hands under her and lifted off the bed. Cam tugged to get her to stay lying down, but she smiled. “Hold on. I have to do something.”

  He turned on his side and propped his head on his hand as she sat cross-legged on front of her TV. She looked back and saw he watched her with dark eyes.

  She pulled up Utope and went into their saved game. And then she arranged Avatar Cam and Avatar Tate in bed. She had them “copulate with protection,” which used to always make them laugh. She turned around and Cam watched her with a smile on her face. She smiled back.

  And then she pulled up the speech bubble and Tate’s avatar said, “I’m sorry.”

  Tate paused until she felt Cam behind her. He grabbed the controller and sank down behind her, his legs on either side of her body, and leaned her back onto his chest. She melted into him. And smiled as he pulled up the speech bubble on his character. “I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us.”

  She grabbed the controller back. Tate’s avatar said, “I love you.”

  Cam’s avatar said, “I love you, too. Always.”

  And then a kiss was pressed into her temple. On the screen and in real life.

  “I want to hate eighteen-year-old Tate,” she said. “But if she hadn’t made that dumb decision, I wonder if we’d be here today. If we’d realize how important this is. What we have.”

  Strong arms circled her. “Eighteen-year-old Tate did something pretty dumb. But, as cliché as it sounds, it happened for a reason, I guess.”

  She ran her hands down his arm and linked their fingers. “We still have a lot to figure out.”

  “I know,” he said. “But that’s for another day.”

  Chapter 12

  LATER THAT NIGHT, they sat cross-legged on the bed, an almost-empty pizza box between them. She’d thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of underwear and he wore his boxer briefs.

  Tate checked her phone and growled under her breath when she saw Jamie hadn’t returned her calls or texts. She’d called his friends (who didn’t know where he was) and obtained his girlfriend’s number from them and called her (who didn’t answer her phone). At this point, Tate was out of options other than getting in her car and tracking him down herself. Which Cam had agreed would be a waste of time.

  “I can’t tell you the last time I had Hawaiian pizza.” Cam swallowed a bite.

  “Really?” Tate picked off a piece of bacon and dropped it in her mouth.

  “Only one place at Bowler had it. Tried it freshman year and it sucked.”

  Tate smiled. “Guess that’s one reason to stay in Paradise—Georgina’s Hawaiian pizza.”

  He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Hey, that’s not the only reason.”

  His thumb rubbed circles on her wrist, and she shuddered at the touch. “You weren’t saying that a couple of weeks ago.”

  He shoved the pizza box to the side and tugged her toward him. She crawled into his lap and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. A gesture he’d always done. She wasn’t sure if he realized he used to do it, or that he was doing it again, but it all added up to her finally feeling like she was where she belonged.

  “I might not have wanted to come home, but I’m here now. And I’m glad I’m here.”

  She ran her hands over his thighs, over a groove in the muscles of his quads. “What about the fall?”

  His chin rubbed along the top of her head. “What about it?”

  She turned around so she could see his face, because this was an important conversation. She didn’t want him to get by with evasion. He spread his legs and she sat between them cross-legged. “You know what I mean.”

  He let his head fall back and he stared up at her ceiling. A heavy weight settled in her gut. This was what she’d been avoiding four years ago. This decision. Would Cam choose his future or her?

  He lowered his head to look at her, then bent his legs, resting his wrists on his knees, caging her in. “I don’t know yet.”

  “But it’s a good job, right?”

  His lips scrunched to the side and after a pause, he said, “Yes, it is.”

  “So you should take it.”

  His brows lowered. “You think I’m going to start something up with you and then disappear?”

  She flopped her arms out to the side, then gripped his ankles hear her hips. “I don’t know! It’s not like we planned this. One minute, Jamie and I were fighting, then we were fighting, then your hand was down my pants.”

  “I think everyone would be much happier if all fights ended like that.”

  “Cam,” she growled.

  He leaned forward and tangled a hand in her hair, curling his fingers around the back of her neck. “Stop, you’re overthinking everything. I don’t have to take the job. I can find something else. Like reenlist in the guard or sign up for active duty.”

  Oh God, no no no no. She knew his dreams, and they were never to be in the military full-time. He planned to serve in the guard for four years, get his college paid for, and get out. Did he think she wouldn’t remember? She shook her head slowly, then gained speed until her hair was flying around her face. “I can’t . . . I can’t handle that. You always said you’d never get deployed. And you haven’t. But
if you did, I couldn’t handle that . . . I just . . . no.”

  His fingers tightened. “Tate—”

  “That was never what you wanted,” she whispered.

  His shoulders lowered and his eyes softened. “Plans change, Tatum.”

  She searched for what to say, to make him understand. She’d suffered four years and for what? So he stayed home anyway? Signed up to the service of his country for another four years?

  “I—”

  And then whatever she had planned to say went out the window when she heard the ringtone for her brother.

  “Jamie!” she yelled, completely unnecessarily, launching herself out of Cam’s lap and scrambling across the bed to where her phone was chirping and vibrating on her nightstand.

  She picked up her phone, swiping her hand over the screen to answer. “Jamie?”

  There was no answer, just deep voices in the background. Tate’s stomach dipped. “Jamie?”

  More deep voices, then, in a broken voice that shattered her heart, she heard, “Tate?”

  She shot up to sitting position. “Jamie? What’s going on? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  She registered Cam moving behind her, pulling on his clothes, and gathering hers and laying them in her lap.

  “Tate,” Jamie said. “I . . . I need you to come pick me up.”

  More deep voices, then . . . a siren? Shuffling over the speaker.

  “Jamie?”

  “Can”—muffled voice—“pick me up?”

  “Jamie, of course I can pick you up, but where the hell are you?”

  “—pital.”

  “What?” She jerked onto her knees and pressed the phone harder onto her ear. “You’re at the hospital?”

  “Car’s probably totaled.”

  “Totaled? What? Why?” Her voice sounded shrill in her ears.

  “Can you stop yelling?” Jamie’s voice gained strength.

  “Then tell me what’s going on!” Tate hollered into the phone.

  The phone was no longer in her hand. Cam had it, and he was speaking into it in low tones while she stared at him, frozen. Then he was off the phone and helping her into her clothes, fixing her hair, kissing her forehead.