All Over You (All Falls Down #3)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "They're holding a vigil for him tomorrow night," Cam says, slipping his hand into mine.

  I turn my gaze to him to find his gray eyes on my face, his expression unreadable.

  "Okay," I mumble, not sure what else to say.

  "Would you like to go?"

  My eyes widen, my mouth popping open. "Um…"

  I do kind of want to go. I mean, I didn't know him, and there's no way people won't notice me if I show up, but his life and death are invariably tied to my life now, in ways I'm only just beginning to truly understand. He deserves respect. But I'm not so sure showing up at a vigil in his honor and upsetting everyone he knew would help on that front. Unlike his classmates, his family and closest friends have probably seen my picture a hundred times.

  "It might help you," Cam murmurs.

  "I didn't know him."

  "That doesn't mean his death hasn't hurt you."

  I can't argue with that. Instead, I sigh, leaning my head back against the headrest. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and this will all have been some nightmare, except it isn't. This is my life now. I'm going to be charged with murder."

  "Manslaughter."

  "As if that makes it any better," I say, a bitter laugh breaking from my lips. "The distinction didn't stop those two girls on campus from reacting like I was the scum of the earth when they noticed me. It's not going to help his friends or family sleep better at night. I haven't even been charged yet, and they've already convicted me in their minds."

  "Not everyone thinks you're guilty," he murmurs.

  "I thought coming here would help. Maybe I'd find someone who had met this woman and could tell the world that I didn't do this." Instead, I found more sad evidence of the destructive nature of this woman. She played a good kid for months, turning him into someone not even his friends recognized. For the rest of his life, Tommy Wahler will probably regret not pushing Rory to talk. He'll live with that guilt, and it will change him. I know, because it changed me.

  "I was supposed to be with my family the day of the accident," I mumble, tracing a pattern on the back of Cam's hand. "We were supposed to go to dinner. Instead, I begged and pleaded until my parents let me go to the movies with a crush. I should have been with them."

  "You being there wouldn't have saved them," Cam says, pulling up to a stoplight.

  "I know, but had they not dropped me off at his house first, they wouldn't have been on that particular road." I turn to him and swallow hard. "For a long time, I thought it was my fault."

  "Do you still?" he asks, watching me intently.

  "No," I whisper. "But I did. Tommy will probably feel the same way. Part of him will always wonder if he could have saved his friend. Fake Ivy ruined more than just Rory's life when she told him to jump."

  "Jesus," Cam says.

  "Unless I found out who she is, she'll get away with it and no one will ever even know."

  "I'm not going to let that happen, kitten." He pulls into the parking lot of the Marriott and quickly finds a spot. Shutting the SUV off, he turns to me and places his hand on my cheek, forcing me to look at him again. "I'm not going to let you go down for a crime you didn't commit."

  I stare at him for a long, silent moment, trying to understand why he cares so much about what happens to me. Part of me wants to believe it's just because that's the kind of cop he is, but the other part? Well, that part isn't so naïve. He isn't helping me simply because he's a good guy or because he wants to sleep with me. I think…I think, maybe, he means it when he says he wants to get to know me, that he can't stop thinking about me. And that scares the shit out of me and doesn't scare me nearly enough.

  "What do you want from me?" I ask him, my voice raw with emotion.

  "You," he says simply, running his fingertips over my jaw. "I want you."

  I swallow convulsively and nod, letting him know that I want the same thing. And I do. I so do.

  Please, don't let me break him, I pray.

  The walk to his room is silent, filled with expectation. He keeps my hand wrapped in his, my body tucked into his side. We're the only two in the elevator on the way up. He doesn't make a move though, instead standing beside me quietly, seemingly content. My heart hammers, my pulse fluttering in my throat. Nervous energy fills me, making me fidget from foot to foot. I haven't been with anyone in a year. I've never been with anyone like Cam.

  When we reach his room, he lets me in first and then follows, latching the door behind him. I pace around, studying the room. It's a lot bigger than my motel room, and a lot nicer. The bed is massive and inviting, the comforter a dark gray that almost matches his eyes. A sofa sits in the far corner of the room, with a desk on the opposite wall. His laptop is plugged in on top, the screen black. The full-sized kitchen is narrow, but not cramped. An unopened case of water and a six pack of beer sit on top of the counter.

  Cam's scent is all over the room. I close my eyes and breathe it in, letting his sensual smell work through my system. No one has ever smelled better than he does. The scent is addictive, causing heat to unfurl low in my belly.

  "C'mere, kitten," he says, tilting his head to look at me when I turn back to face him.

  I shake my head, too nervous to move.

  Desire flares in his eyes again. He unlatches the holster from his waist and sets it on the counter before pacing toward me. I don't know why, but I back away. He doesn't stop advancing, not until my back hits the wall beside the bed and he's right in front of me, so close I can see the pulse thrumming in his throat.

  "Told you not to run from a cop," he says with a little smirk, his gaze smoldering.

  "I'm not," I protest.

  He cocks a brow at me and runs a fingertip across my bottom lip. "You ran all the way to L.A. to hide from me, kitten."

  "I―"

  "What are you so afraid of?" he asks quietly, staring at me like he really wants to know…like I'm a mystery he wants to solve. He isn't asking me about the case or about going to jail, but about me and him, and why I ran all the way to Los Angeles to avoid him.

  What am I afraid of?

  "You," I mouth, unable to force sound with him standing so close we're breathing the same little sliver of air.

  "Me?" He stills his hand against my cheek, no longer tracing his finger across my lip.

  I nod.

  "Why do I scare you?"

  "I've been on my own for a long time," I whisper, the truth pouring from my lips too quickly to slow or halt. "And that's never bothered me before, but with you?" I shake my head, still off-balanced by how much he makes me crave something else. Something I haven't had since I buried my mom and sister, and then my father. "You make me feel safe. I want to lean on you, Cam, and I shouldn't want that, not when you could lose everything because of me. I don't want to ruin your life."

  "Ah, kitten," he says, stepping closer, crowding me deeper into the wall. He places one hand above my head and tilts my face up to his with the other. His eyes are soft, glowing with sincerity. "Let me worry about me."

  "But―"

  "Stop."

  I snap my mouth closed, battling back the litany of protests running through my mind.

  He smiles his approval of my obedience, flashing me that devastating dimple. "I'm a big boy, kitten. I make my own choices and I can take care of myself. I don't need you to protect me. I'm here because I want to be…because you ran here alone, and we both know you did it to hide from me as much as for any other reason."

  I confess the truth I've tried to deny even to myself. "I did."

  He rewards my honesty with a tender kiss to my forehead, one that has my eyes fluttering closed and my heart thumping hard. "You gotta stop running from me, sweetheart."

  I swallow hard, fighting back the instinctive urge to remind him, yet again, of what he's risking. But if he's willing to take that chance, maybe I need to stop being a coward and take it, too. Because this thing between us? I'm pretty sure it's important enough to make that leap and pray we don't both end up
broken on the floor.

  "Okay," I whisper finally.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah," I say, my voice a little louder and a little more certain this time. "I want you, too, Cam."

  He grins, looking at me as if he just won the lottery. Tenderness and desire mingle in his eyes, making my heart thump hard against my ribcage.

  "Do you trust me?" he asks.

  I take a breath and nod again.

  He leans in like he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. His lips land against my cheek before sweeping toward my ear. "Put your hands on the wall above your head," he whispers against my skin. "Don't move them until I say so, kitten."

  Without hesitation, I slide both arms upward until they're over my head, the fingers of my left hand brushing across the arm he has draped above my head, holding his weight off of me. The position lifts my breasts higher, pushing them outward. The slow exhale of his breath against my ear sends a pleasurable shiver through me, tightening my nipples.

  He nuzzles his face into my throat and inhales before pressing a kiss to the pulse thrumming beneath my ear. "You smell so fucking good," he mutters before claiming my mouth.

  His kiss is slow and easy, as if he's in no rush. The tip of his tongue touches mine, sending sparks dancing through my body. My eyes fall closed, every piece of me focused on the feel of his lips against mine and the soft breaths he exhales into my mouth. I could kiss him all day and still not have enough.

  He nips at my bottom lip before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. He drops his hand from my face, sliding it down my neck to tip my chin higher, opening me up to his kiss. With a little growl, he goes deeper, taking my mouth harder as his hand dances down my collarbone and onto my chest. I arch my back, lifting up on my toes to hurry him along, aching to feel his hands on me again.

  "Nu-uh," he mumbles against my lips, stilling his hand.

  "Please," I plead.

  "No. I'm in charge here, kitten. You take what I give you."

  His words shouldn't turn me on as much as they do, and neither should his rough, breathless tone, but I find myself dropping back down to my feet and clenching my thighs, trying to find a little relief from the pressure already growing. My clit aches, practically begging for attention.

  Cam pulls my bottom lip into his mouth and bites down gently. His hand cups my breast, pushing it higher. And then his mouth is there, his teeth closing around my nipple through the fabric of my shirt and bra. He bites into the hard flesh, just enough to let me know he's there…just enough to pull a ragged cry of pleasure from my lips.

  He teases me relentlessly, moving from breast to breast, his lips and teeth doing wicked things to each of my nipples, things that have me whimpering.

  I'm dying to wrap my hands in his hair and hold him there, but I don't. I don't move my arms at all, instead keeping them exactly where he told me to.

  "Gotta see you," he mumbles. "Can't stop thinking about you all wet and naked."

  I jump when his hand slips beneath my shirt, pulling the fabric up and over my head faster than I can process. He leans back to drop it to the floor, and my gaze meets his. His eyes are stormy gray again, the pupils dilated with lust as he tugs the cups of my bra down. He doesn't drop his eyes to my chest until the bra is gone, tossed to the floor beside my shirt.

  "Fuck," he groans then. One fingertip traces across my right nipple. The tip of his tongue peeks out, swiping across his bottom lip. "Look at you, kitten. So soft and sweet. Fucking knew these tits would be perfect." He dips his head, pulling my left nipple into his mouth while covering my right breast with his hand.

  My head thumps against the wall, a wave of pleasure rolling over me. "Cam," I cry out, and this time, I can't keep my hands where he told me to. I drop them, twisting my fingers into his hair to hold him to me.

  My disobedience results in a harder bite, the small pain quickly flowing into pleasure.

  "Told you to keep your hands up," he says, pulling away from me.

  I pop my eyes open to find him watching me with that wicked, predatory smirk on his face. The one that screams punishment and pleasure and all those things my body is practically screaming for.

  He steps back one step and then another and another.

  I watch him, panting, trying to find the ability to ask him where the hell he's going. Before I can find my voice, he drops a hand to his pants, flicking open the button.

  I stand there, enraptured, as he undoes his pants just enough to free his cock.

  I think I whimper when he pulls it out. He wasn't kidding when he said he was going to split me open. He's massive, long and thick and incredibly hard. The veins are prominent, the head a deep red. I imagine I can already feel him inside of me, filling me. And I want the ache of satisfaction he's going to leave behind, perhaps more than I've ever wanted anything before.

  He strokes his hand up once and then down.

  The sight of his rough hand on his cock starts a flood of wetness between my thighs.

  "C'mere," he says.

  I step forward on unsteady legs until I'm right in front of him. He puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes gently, making it clear what he wants from me: My mouth.

  I drop to my knees without hesitation. He's been threatening to fill my mouth for days, but I think I want to taste him as much as he wants it. More.

  "Give me that smart mouth, kitten," he murmurs, running the head of his cock across my lips. "Been dying to see those lips wrapped around my dick, sucking me off. Can't stop fucking dreaming about it."

  I swipe my tongue across the tip, tasting the bead of pre-cum already gathered there.

  "Fuck yes," he groans, one hand on the side of my neck, and the other still on his cock. He runs the head across my lips again, impatient, greedy. "Open for me."

  I tease him instead of obeying, swirling my tongue around the head, wanting to see how far I can push him before he pushes back.

  It doesn't take much.

  One more swipe of my tongue and his hand on my nape tightens, desire flaring brighter in his eyes. He tilts my head back before hooking his thumb into my mouth, gently pressing it open. He feeds me his cock slowly, keeping me subdued with his hand on my neck.

  When I moan, he surges forward until his cock fills my mouth, my lips stretched around his girth.

  "I think you like fucking with me," he says. "You like me showing you who's in control, don't you?"

  I nod, unable to deny the truth. I love how he is with me, like he knows me better than I know myself. He doesn't ask me what I want or need when he touches me. He knows, and he gives it to me even while taking what he wants. I love, even more, knowing I can make him lose control even while he's still in charge. He can't stop himself from touching me, or confessing all the filthy thoughts in his head.

  "Christ, you look good with my dick in your mouth, kitten."

  He fucks my mouth slowly, his gaze riveted to the sight of his cock sliding between my lips. I twirl my tongue around the head and hollow my cheeks, sucking hard. His hand drifts from my nape to my ponytail. After pulling out the elastic band, he wraps my hair around his fist just tight enough to leave behind a sting. He increases his pace, fucking my mouth faster, his strokes shallow and steady.

  "I want your throat," he tells me, his breathing ragged. "You gonna let me have it?"

  I nod again and moan around his cock, the mere thought of taking him all the way making me crazy. I try to relax the muscles of my throat to take him deeper, but he's so thick, I gag when he presses forward. He immediately eases off, giving me time to catch my breath before he surges forward again.

  This time, I swallow when he hits the back of my throat, allowing him to ease himself in. My eyes water as his cock disappears down my throat, but I don't stop him. I don't want to stop him. I want everything about this. I'm so turned on, my panties are soaked.

  He tilts his head back and groans when I swallow again, causing the muscles in my throat to clamp around his cock before loosening.

&
nbsp; "Fuck. Do that again."

  I do it again, making him growl loudly. The purely masculine sound of pleasure sends another flood of moisture trickling between my legs. I wrap my hands around his powerful thighs and pull back, greedily inhaling a lungful of air. When I move to take him deeper again, he stops me.

  "No more," he says, retreating. "Don't wanna come yet." He pumps his hips a couple of times in quick, shallow thrusts, and then his cock slips from my lips. He unravels my hair from around his hand and leans over, lifting me easily from the floor. His mouth crashes down on mine in a brutal kiss, and then I'm flying through the air.

  I cry out in surprise when I bounce on top of the bed.

  Lifting my head, I find him yanking his shirt off. The muscles in his abdomen are rock hard and defined, like he works out regularly. The tattoos on his arms aren't his only ones. A vivid sunburst is inked over his heart, and several smaller ones are scattered across his golden skin. When he turns slightly, I catch sight of others on his shoulder blades. I want to trace each one he unveils with the tip of my tongue.

  He toes his shoes off and quickly kicks his pants and socks to the side before pacing toward me, his cock hard as steel. More tattoos run up and down his thick thighs and calves in an intricate tribal pattern. His body is a work of art, ink painted on him like oil on canvas. The tattoos are gorgeous, breathtaking. And so is he. Nothing about him is soft. He's all muscle and dark golden skin.

  "Come here," he says, hooking an arm around my waist and dragging me toward the bottom of the bed when he reaches me. His mouth lands against my stomach, sending another shiver rolling through me. He nips and kisses his way across my abdomen, his tongue dancing over my ribcage. He holds me still beneath him, ensuring I can't escape when I writhe in pleasure.

  "Lift up, kitten," he murmurs against my skin, reaching down to pull my shoes off before tugging my pants down over my hips. His lips trace the skin he unveils, his tongue swirling over first one hipbone and then the other before he tugs my jeans lower.