He leans in like he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't. Instead, he sinks his teeth into the sensitive flesh of my throat instead, making me moan again. "You still want to play?" he asks against my skin.
I nod eagerly.
"Good." He bites me again, pulling my skin into his mouth and sucking hard. "I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to stop, kitten," he warns me when he releases my flesh.
Oh, God.
"Please."
He leans away from me, smirking. "Wrap your hands around the headboard."
"I―" My heart begins to pound, a frenetic, excited rhythm.
"Now."
I do as told, reaching up and clutching slats in the headboard.
Cam watches me and then reaches over and snags a pair of my panties out of the floor. He eyes me for a moment, a speculative gleam in his gaze that has me breaking a sweat, wondering what he's going to do with them.
"W-what…" I have to lick my lips before I manage to force out sound. "What are you going to do with those?"
"Whatever I want."
Oh, sweet mother of God.
He lets the little scrap of lace dangle from one finger. He brings his other hand up, tracing his thumb across my bottom lip. "Maybe I'll gag you with them so no one hears you screaming my name." His hand drifts higher to rest over my eyes. "Or maybe I'll blindfold you with them so you can't see what I'm going to do to you."
"Yes, please." I'm not sure which I'm agreeing to, but the thought of either has me writhing beneath him, so turned on, I feel my arousal already wetting my thighs.
Is that normal?
I don't think I care.
"My greedy kitten," he murmurs, running his thumb across my lip again. "So willing and eager." He licks the seam of my mouth before biting my top lip, and then his tongue plunges into my mouth. Before I can even process what he's doing, his hands are on mine, and he's weaving my panties through the headboard, tying me to it.
"Oh, fuck," I moan, testing my new restraints when he lets go. The gorgeous bastard just tied me to the bed with my panties. They're tight enough to keep me in place without cutting off my circulation.
"Damn," he breathes, sitting back on his heels. "You look good enough to eat, all tied up and spread out for me. You want that, don't you? For me to eat you?"
I nod, the movement jerky, frantic. If I don't get relief soon, I'm going to combust.
"Not yet," he says and then wraps his fist around his cock, pumping as he straddles my chest. "I want your mouth, kitten. Give it to me."
I give it to him willingly, letting him to slip his cock between my lips.
"Fuck yes," he groans, throwing his head back as I take him in as far as I can and then swallow, allowing him to push his way down my throat. He wraps one hand in my hair, using the other to keep himself steady. He pumps his hips in a gentle rhythm, fucking my mouth.
He's so big, my lips are stretched to capacity around him. I push against my restraints anyway, eager for more. I don't want him to be gentle this time. I want him to take me, own me…use me.
"You want more?" he asks, dropping his head to watch his dick disappear between my lips.
I nod, moaning around him.
His eyes gleam with wild excitement. "Greedy," he says and then his grip in my hair tightens. He curses and then he lets go, fucking my mouth with abandon. His cock plunges and retreats, his hips rocking until his balls are practically against my chin. My eyes water and I have to take tiny breaths between thrusts, but he doesn't let up and I don't want him to. His face is flushed, his eyes nearly black with lust as he takes what he wants, using me for his pleasure.
It's so fucking hot, I can't stop moaning. Neither can he. Filthy sounds tear from his lips, a litany of curses and encouragements that have me going wild beneath him in search of a little relief.
"Fuck," he grunts. "Look at you taking my cock." He plunges and retreats again and then again. "Gonna come," he warns me before slipping right back into alpha-Cam mode. "Take it all, kitten. Every last drop."
I do, wrapping my lips around him and sucking hard as he throws his head back and growls his orgasm. His seed splashes against my tongue and the back of my throat. I swallow eagerly, not letting up until he shudders and pulls back with a hiss. His cock falls from my lips, glistening. He's still hard as a rock.
"Jesus Christ, kitten," he says, panting, and then he's on me. His teeth close around my left nipple and he pulls.
"Cam!" I cry out, arching upward as pain and pleasure mingle, sending lava into my veins.
He does it again before moving on to the right breast, paying it the same attention. His hands are rough against my skin, his fingers trailing over my body. He slips one hand between my legs.
"Fuck, kitten." He rears up and grabs my thigh, wrapping it around his hip. And then he's right there, thrusting inside of me in one hard movement.
A cry leaves my lips as pain and pleasure roll through me again.
He takes me hard, each thrust pulling a cry from my lips as it moves me up the bed. He doesn't stop or slow, instead doing exactly what he promised: fucking me until I can't take any more. Orgasm explodes through me so fiercely, I can't breathe. He still doesn't stop. Instead, he leans back onto his heels, wraps both of my legs around his waist, and goes harder.
One finger rolls across my clit, pressing.
I come again, screaming as pleasure rips me apart savagely.
"That's it," he growls. "Give me what's mine, kitten."
I fight against my restraints, trying to get my hands on him, but it's useless. I'm his, my body for his pleasure, and there's nothing I can do about it except take what he gives me. I do, again and again until sweat rolls down my body and I'm pleading for him to show me mercy, my body so sensitive that every thrust has his name exploding from my lips in a broken crack of sound.
Then and only then does he unbind my wrists and lift me into his arms, draping me over him. His thrusts slow until he's making love to me again, holding me against his chest.
His lips move across my shoulder and collarbones, and then across my face. "So perfect," he mumbles against my skin, pushing my hair away from my face. "Gonna keep you, kitten. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," I whisper, digging my nails into his skin.
"Come with me," he says, still moving inside of me. "Give me one more, sweetheart."
And I can't. I know I can't…but I do anyway.
"Cam," I whimper as he thrusts up into me and stills, calling my name as he comes. Orgasm sweeps through me again, pulling me under. His name echoes around the room.
"Kitten," he chants softly, his lips sweeping across my face as he holds me through it.
"I l love tattoos," I murmur, tracing my fingertip across the bold lines of the cross inked onto Cam's shoulder blade. He's on his stomach with the sheets twisted around his hips, watching me with that laser-focus of his, as if nothing outside of this bed exists for him in this moment.
"You don't have any," he points out, almost as if asking me why.
"I've always wanted one," I tell him, running my finger across the blue ribbon wrapped around the cross. It's so life-like, seeming to ripple and wave with each small movement he makes, like it's a living, breathing piece of him. "I just don't like needles."
"You'd look good with one." He trails a hand across my side, his fingertips ghosting across my ribcage. "Right here."
"Yeah?"
"Strands of ivy."
I smile, but don't respond, my attention on the cross. "What's this one for? The one with the date."
He tenses at the question, his body going rigid.
My gaze flits to his in time to see a flash of pain cross his face. He flinches, and for just a moment, he's vulnerable, exposed like he's never been before. The sight steals my breath and makes my heart ache. Whatever the tattoo means to him…it's not something he likes to talk about.
"You don't have to tell me," I hurry to say, not wanting to push.
He squeezes my thigh a
s if to thank me. "A friend was shot and killed in the line of duty last year," he says then. "The cross is for him."
"Oh." I shift my gaze back to the tattoo. It's a beautiful tribute, one that clearly means a lot to him. "I'm sorry you lost your friend," I whisper, leaning down to press my lips to the ink.
"Me too." A soft exhalation of air escapes his lips. "We met at the Academy. Graduated in the same class."
I crawl toward him and straddle his hips, trying to ease a little of the pain evident in his voice. He settles beneath me, allowing me to run my hands up his spine. I massage the tight muscles, reveling in the feel of his skin beneath my palms. He's so strong, so powerful, and yet he's one of the most gentle people I've ever met.
"Chris was on a traffic stop," he says, groaning as he relaxes again, his muscles loosening beneath my palms. "He walked up to the car, and this twenty-year-old kid opened fired. The bastard had an ounce of pot on him and didn't want to go to jail."
"Oh, wow."
"Chris died instantly. The kid who shot him is on death row now. All over a fucking bag of pot."
"I'm sorry." I lean down and press my lips to his shoulder again, not sure how to soothe him. His world is so different than mine in so many ways. He deals with life and death every day, and he does it knowing that there's always a chance he won't make it home at the end of the day, or that someone he cares about won't. The courage that takes is mindboggling to me. The thought that something could happen to him, that he could die like his friend, for no real reason and with no warning, makes my heart physically hurt.
"Have you ever been shot at?" I ask him, anxiety pulsing through me.
I think he hears it in my voice.
He flips over beneath me, grasping my hips in his hands to steady me. His gaze is open and honest when his eyes lock on mine. "Yes," he murmurs, not lying to me. "I've been shot at twice."
My stomach churns. "W-what happened?"
"I deal with criminals every day, kitten," he says instead of giving me details. "They don't always play nice."
"I don't want anything to happen to you," I whisper, pressing my lips to his palm.
He smiles at me, his expression softening. "You think I don't know that, sweetheart? I promise you, so long as I have a say in the matter, I will be coming home at the end of the day. There's no way I'm gonna let some motherfucker take my life when it's only just getting good. Believe that."
"Your life wasn't good before?" I ask, letting his words and the seriousness behind them steady me.
"It was," he says, his gaze locked on my face. "But it's gotten a hell of a lot better since I met you."
"Oh." Tears sting at my eyes, threatening to fall at the tender look on his face, like he means every sweet word he just said to me. "My life is better with you in it too," I tell him. "Even with all of this going on, I don't regret meeting you, Cam. I never will."
He sits up, wrapping an arm around my waist, and then he kisses me. "You're mine, sweetheart," he says against my lips.
"It's been a long time since I belonged anywhere," I murmur.
"I bet that's not true. How long have you and Erin been friends?" he asks, tucking me back into the bed beside him. His hand drifts through my hair as he gently unsnarls tangles with his fingers.
I close my eyes and cuddle up against him, using his big body to keep me warm. "Since our first day of college."
"You were roommates, right?"
"Yeah. She's been with me for a long time. I really miss her."
"Does she travel a lot?"
"Sometimes." I crack my eyes open to look at him. "Why?"
"Just trying to get to know the people in your life."
I narrow my gaze on him, not buying his innocent tone. "I thought we agreed not to focus on my impending arrest for the rest of the weekend."
He shrugs a little.
"Erin would never do something like this," I say vehemently. There is no way. "She's like a sister to me, Cam. She put me back together when she met me, and then again when my dad died. She's an amazing person, and an even better friend. Her family is like my own."
"I'm not accusing her," he promises. "I'm just curious about the people who are important to you. Do you have any family left, sweetheart?"
"No. Well, kind of. My mom's dad is still alive, I guess, and so is her stepsister, but I've never met them."
"Oh?"
"Her dad didn't approve of her marrying my dad, so he cut her out of his life." I sigh heavily, burrowing deeper into his arms. "Social services tried to track him down after she and Amelia died, but I guess he didn't want anything to do with me. He didn't even come to the funeral."
"Christ," Cam whispers and then his lips are at my crown. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"I'm not. I mean, yeah, it would be nice to know where my mom came from, but her dad obviously didn't care about her or he would have given my dad a chance. My parents were amazing, and I kind of feel like anyone who didn't want to be a part of their life together probably doesn't deserve to be in mine, so I don't waste wishes on meeting my grandfather."
Cam's lips run across my crown again and he squeezes me.
"Do you have a lot of family?"
"Just my parents, and my grandmother, who lives in Puerto Rico. There are several cousins and extended family members in Puerto Rico as well."
"Is that where your family is from?"
"Sort of. My grandmother is from here, but my grandfather was born and raised in Puerto Rico. He met my grandmother while serving in the military, and they settled down in San Francisco to raise my father. Once he was grown, they moved back to his childhood home. My grandfather died not long before my dad retired."
"Wow. Have you ever been there to visit?"
"A few times," he says. "It's been a while though."
"You should visit again someday. I bet your grandmother would love to see you."
"I bet she'd love to meet you, too," he murmurs.
"Cam." I tilt my head back so I can see his face. "The only place I'm going anytime soon is to jail."
"Not if I can help it."
"What if you can't?" I whisper, and then bite my lip.
He scowls at me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."
"Then how did you mean it?" he asks.
"You know what kind of evidence they have that says I'm guilty," I say. "She sent him a song in my handwriting. She registered a phone under my name and address. She's stolen my pictures and entire pieces of my life. What if nothing you find is enough to overcome all of that?" That's my fear…that nothing we do will be enough and that I'll go to prison, leaving Cam to deal with the fallout from being with me.
He sighs and sits up, pulling me up with him. "I know what evidence they have, kitten. But I haven't just been twiddling my thumbs, hoping something substantive falls into our laps."
"I know. You were looking into me."
"Yes, but that's not all I was doing." He climbs from the bed and crosses to the desk, grabbing his laptop before making his way back to me. He settles beside me and opens the top, waiting for it to come out of sleep mode. When it does, he clicks on a folder and then begins opening documents.
I watch in silence until he plunks the laptop in my lap.
"Look," he says.
I click on the first document he opened and see all sorts of pictures of me.
"These are the pictures she's posted, in the order she posted them," he explains as I scroll through. "Your modeling shots are mixed in with newer photos, all out of order."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"No, but people don't generally post old photos of themselves and claim they're new, especially when all anyone has to do is call your former agency to find out when a particular photo was taken and by whom."
I glance up at him, startled. "You did that?"
He nods. "I've tracked down dates for as many of them as I could. It's not a lot to go on, but it's a start in proving that you aren't the person hiding behin
d this Facebook profile." He nudges my hand aside and opens another document. "This is a list of all the times she said she was traveling. Bryan Gleeson is already working on getting me your attendance records. It'll take all of five minutes to prove you were teaching during some of these supposed trips."
I scroll through the dates, but only one or two are familiar to me. "I was in Los Angeles at this time," I murmur, pointing to the date. "I played at Antonio's club that night or the next night. And that one"―I point the mouse at another date from over a year ago―"was when I flew to San Diego to surprise Patrick."
Cam grunts when I say Patrick's name. "Prick," he mutters under his breath and then, "So you were out of town twice when she was, but you were in town eight or nine other times."
"Yeah," I say, trying not to let the hope welling in my chest grow too large.
"I've talked to a number of her Facebook friends as well. You were right. None of them have actually met her in person." He cocks his head to the side. "If she's really you, why haven't any of her friends met her? The details don't add up, kitten. You stopped modeling three years ago, but she still pretends she's living the life. She's never mentioned being a teacher, nor does she ever talk about your volunteer work. Most of the time, she doesn't even mention your gigs until they're over and done with. If this was you, there would be some hint of your real life, and there isn't. She's made her own version of a perfect life, and she cut out all the details that didn't appeal to her…all those things that make you who you are. You aren't a model, sweetheart. You're a teacher. Everyone who knows you knows you love your job, and they know you don't model any longer."
"I hated modeling," I whisper after a moment, staring at the screen. "I only did it to make sure my dad was taken care of."
"Because that's who you are, kitten," he says, pushing the laptop aside and crawling over me. "You aren't this person, and anyone with sense will see that. You just have to give me time to subpoena the right information. I promise you that I won't let you go to prison for this."
I stare up at him, seeing the determination in his gaze. "It's not enough," I whisper.
"Then I'll keep looking."
"That's not what I mean. I don't want her to get away with this, Cam. Whoever she is, she's dangerous, and we have to stop her. Before she hurts someone else."
All Over You (All Falls Down #3) Page 18
