by Virna DePaul
They sat down at the kitchen table with their sandwiches, eating in silence for the most part. But it wasn’t an awkward silence: instead it felt almost like the kind of silence that falls between two people that know each other well, that are comfortable in each other’s presence. Camille’s heart pounded a little at the thought, and she drank her beer to calm it. Why was she thinking like that when it came to this man? She couldn’t have any kind of future with him. For one, he wasn’t that type of guy, but secondly, she didn’t want a serious relationship right now.
After they were done, Heath took up their plates, rinsing them in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “I’m impressed,” she couldn’t help but remark.
“And exactly how are you impressed?”
“A man who knows how to use the sink and how to put dishes in the dishwasher. My ex-husband never managed to do that in the five years we were married.”
“Well, I’m a special kind of guy.” He tossed the empty beer bottles in a recycling container. “But my mom wasn’t around and my dad was always working, so I learned from a young age to fend for myself.”
She didn’t want to imagine young Heath, alone at home, taking care of himself without a mom present, but given her own mother had died of cancer when she was five, it was far too easy to picture. At least Camille had had her dad, a man who seemed far more nurturing than Heath’s father. She didn’t know what had happened with his mom, exactly, but there’d been rumors at school through all of fifth grade: she’d apparently skipped town with another man and never came back. “I’m sorry,” she said lamely. “I know how much it sucks to lose a parent when you’re young.”
He nodded. “I know you do.” Stepping towards her, he took her hand. “Now, you ready to get this show on the road?”
Camille smiled. “Let’s do it.”
She began outside, taking photos of the exterior of the house. She marveled at the sleek architecture, at the warm color of the stone, and how the fountain somehow worked perfectly with the house itself. She particularly focused on the landscaping, and she and Heath talked about how he’d decided on what types of trees and plants. He’d been involved in the nitty gritty details every step of the way in the building of the house, and he exuded excitement when talking about it. Obviously there was more to him than football and wisecracks.
“Dad and I always lived in trailer parks or apartments, so when I was building this place, I told them I wanted trees. Tons and tons of trees.” He explained the tree species, how each grew, how one tree got sick and had to have a tree surgeon come out, and how he’d imported certain trees specifically to line the driveway. Camille took in all of the information while snapping photo after photo, some with Heath in candid, others without him. Glancing at the photos she’d taken already, she was enraptured by the look on his face as he talked and gestured and explained, and she could see herself saving these photos to hide in a box underneath her bed like she had in high school.
They entered the house then, and Heath took her from room to room. When she snapped photos of him, he looked at her quizzically. “It’s what I’m here for,” she said. “To take photos of you and the house.”
He turned away, appearing hurt by her statement. But he knew she was here to do a job, and that’s all she was here for. She’d made that clear, though given her feelings for him, she was probably giving off crazy mixed signals to the guy.
Camille concentrated on taking photos, forcing away her guilt and confusion. She took photos of the dining room and kitchen and living room and the entertainment room, all large and beautifully furnished but still exuding masculinity in every corner. This was most definitely a bonafide bachelor pad: from the huge TV in the entertainment room, to the arcade games next to it, to the big, comfy couch in the center of the room. He showed her all of the electronic toys he got to play with, and she just shook her head. She’d never had a TV half this size and still didn’t see the use.
Going upstairs, Heath pointed to one of the bedrooms. “My grandfather stays here,” he said, offhandedly.
Taken aback, she brought her camera down. “Does your grandfather live here with you?”
“Yep, although he’s out on a date with his latest girlfriend. That guy gets more action than I ever will.” He winked at her, and she smiled.
They went from room to room, until they ended up in what was surely the master bedroom. A large white room with a fireplace, the furniture was mahogany and was shiny and new. Large windows let in streams of sunlight, and Camille snapped photos as Heath walked around. But then he came up to her, and asked, “May I?”
She cocked her head. “You want to take photos?”
“I want to take photos of you. I mean, I’m no professional, but...”
Surprised, she hardly realized he was lifting the camera strap off of her and then was holding the camera in front of himself, trained at her. “Oh no, I don’t like having my picture taken. I’m the girl behind the camera for a reason.”
“Well today you should get to be the girl in front of the camera. Don’t think about it too much. Just enjoy yourself. Have fun. Be a ham like me. Please?”
Camille hesitated then shrugged. “I’m not sure I could ever manage that, but I’ll try. But I make no guarantee that you won’t get a bunch of photos of me looking like a troll.”
In a serious voice that sent shivers down her spine, he replied quietly, “You’ll always look beautiful to me, darlin’.”
His words flustered her. Made her blush and her body tremble. She looked around, not sure what to do. Should she pose? look serious? smile? Instead, she began walking around the room, trying to ignore the snap of the camera as Heath followed her. She stood by the window looking out; she looked straight at him and smiled; she talked with him, enabling him to take some candid shots. He didn’t tell her how to act, but simply took photos at will. With any luck, Heath had no idea how to use a camera and had accidentally taken photos only of the floor.
Now more comfortable, Camille felt the sudden urge to be a little sexier. To be that ham in front of the camera Heath had urged her to be. She took down her hair, letting it flow to her waist and Heath just raised an eyebrow at her. She looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a seductive smile, and he grunted. She smiled and laughed and teased, transforming into a woman she hardly even recognized. Who was this seductress? But she was a woman she’d always wanted to find, and she had Heath to thank for bringing her out.
“Just like that, darlin’. Damn, you’re sexy and you still have all of your clothes on.” Lowering the camera, he asked in a playful voice, “Wanna strip down and make this a really great photoshoot?”
Camille took a throw pillow from the bed and threw it at him. “Don’t be vulgar! I’m not that kind of model, Mr. Dawson.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
Heath laughed. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll do it your way of course. But could we get one of those buttons undone? Just one little ole button for the camera?”
She glanced down. Well, she had her shirt buttoned up to her chin, so she could do one. She fingered the plastic, and then looking straight at Heath, she slowly unbuttoned it. Putting on a show, and she could tell he was getting hot and bothered watching her. The power she had over this man shocked her, but it was a heady kind of power. She almost wanted to unbutton her blouse completely, but she stopped herself.
He walked around her, snapping photos. The sun shifted across the horizon, until it moved away from the windows and the room took on a seductive dimness, shadows lining the walls. It suddenly became more intimate as a result, and Camille gazed at Heath. He lowered the camera, and they just watched each other. Assessing. Wondering. The moment lengthened, their breaths sped up, and she could hardly decide what she wanted to do next. Strip? Run as far away from him as possible? She’d made a huge deal of telling him what they’d done had been a mistake. That they had to keep things professional. But now, staring at Heath, feeling his gaze on her and seeing them blazing with admiration an
d arousal, she suddenly wanted him to fulfill all her wishes—for real.
She wanted him to give her her heart’s desire.
Him.
Again.
She’d always run from things like this, and if she wasted this opportunity, she’d regret it. She knew that. So with a little smile, she walked toward Heath, her hips swaying, and laid her hand on his hard chest. He was breathing harder, his heart pounding. She took the camera from him and set it on the bed.
“We done taking pictures?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Pressing her hand against him, she stood up on tiptoe. “We’re done taking photos,” she said in a breathy whisper.
And then she kissed him.
Chapter 9
Heath was only surprised for a second before he took control of the kiss. Wrapping his arms around her, he angled his mouth hard against hers, kissing her and making sure she knew who she was dealing with. He felt her hands flutter against his shoulders like moths, and then she was rubbing her fingers through his hair, stroking the nape of his neck. He kissed her harder, his tongue delving inside her mouth, which tasted of mint and beer. He smiled, pulling away slightly.
“You know what you’re doing, Watergirl?” he asked in a rumble. “Because when we talked on the phone—”
“I know what I said then. And what I’m saying now.” She pressed her curvy little body against him, and he could feel every peak and valley. “I want you, Heath Dawson. I want all of you.” But then, contrary to her words, she stepped away from him, and Heath clenched his hands in order to stop himself from reaching for her.
A sly smile on her face, she took her phone out of her bag. She held it up so he could see—a five-minute countdown on the face of it now—and she set it on his bedside table.
“You have five minutes, Dawson. Think you’re up for the challenge?”
“For you, I’m up for anything.” He pulled her against him, his hands immediately going underneath her shirt to feel the silky skin beneath. God, she was gorgeous and warm and smelled so damn good. His fingers stroked her sides, spanned her waist, and marveled at how soft she was. In turn, she touched him, and he couldn’t help but groan when she ran a finger along the inside of his waistband. Just teasing, but not really touching.
Heath glanced at her phone: four minutes now. He had to step up his game. Tossing her onto the bed—she squealed in surprise and he couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her face—he kissed her hard as he stripped her out of her jeans. “You want fast, Watergirl? I can give you fast. And you’ll come harder than you ever have in your life.”
Her eyes sparkled, mischief in her smile. “I’d love to see you try.”
But she wiggled when he pulled her jeans down her hips and threw them to the floor, her flats falling on the floor beside them. Heath stared at her a moment, and he realized with an inner groan that she was wearing just a scrap of black lace for panties today. “You wear these for me?” he said as he stroked a finger down her mound.
Camille shivered. “They were the only pair I could find.” When he pulled the cloth away from her sweet pussy, he could see a flush growing from her chest to her face.
“Uh huh, and I was born yesterday. You wore these hoping you’d get fucked.” He leaned down, inhaling her intoxicating scent, and parted her folds. She was dripping already, and he finally did groan out loud. “And I’m so glad you did.”
Heath placed her legs over his shoulders for better access, spreading her like a feast. He ground his own cock into the bed, feeling himself harden even further. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her, and they hadn’t even fucked yet. He’d only made her come once with his hand and kissed her like a man possessed. Heath didn’t want to think too hard about the various emotions coursing through him—desire, sure, lust, definitely, but there was also a measure of tenderness and a want to please her more than just in bed.
“Did you know you’re soaking for me?” he asked with a growl. “Soaking wet, and I haven’t even touched you?”
Camille canted her hips upward, wordlessly begging for his touch. Normally, he’d make her wait, make her beg and beg, but he wanted to get her to her peak before the timer went off. He never backed down from a challenge. And this was one of the most important challenges he’d gotten in a long time.
He parted her folds, gazing at her dewy pinkness, admiring how she could be so pretty everywhere. Then he leaned forward, licking her lightly. She moaned and shuddered. He grinned. He licked her with light, tantalizing strokes, feasting on her and lapping at her juices. He could taste her for days, for months and years, he couldn’t get enough of her. He traced his tongue around her inner folds, sucking them into his mouth, which caused a jolt to go through her. She was murmuring his name in a soft voice, over and over again. God, did it make him want to thrust inside her and fuck her senseless.
Her panties were a distraction now, and he stripped them off her for easier access. He continued licking her until she was moving her hips against his mouth. She was close, so close. He thrust a finger inside her, and she moaned, long and loud. Her sheath was so hot and tight, dripping onto his palm, and he fucked her with his index finger, rubbing against that spot he knew would drive her wild. She bucked against him. When she was just on the edge, he finally fastened his mouth on her tender clit and sucked. He sucked and thrust and watched as her body flushed all over. He felt her sheath tighten and tighten until she finally came with a mixture of a scream and a shout. Heath kept licking at her clit, lengthening the orgasm, and then he heard the alarm on her phone go off.
He grinned against her. He kissed her clit, loving how responsive she was. What other woman had ever come so hard in his bed? Sure, he made sure his lovers were satisfied, but Camille had an earthy responsiveness that something deep within him wanted to match. What was it about her that consumed him like this?
The phone continued to sound. He reached for it, turning off the alarm, before returning to the delectable woman stretched out on his bed. She still had her blouse on, but she hardly seemed to have noticed the alarm. She looked up at him with dazed, pleasure-filled eyes. He said simply, “I told you I could do it in five.”
It took her a second, but then she burst out laughing. “I should never have challenged you. You’re the type of guy who never says no to a dare, right?”
“Right you are. And I never lose.”
“Of course not.”
He began unbuttoning her blouse then, wanting to see her breasts. Sure, he’d gotten her off, but he’d like to get off, too. Blue balls twice in a row was a bit much. “You game for more, Watergirl? Or do you need a break for our next play?”
She stretched luxuriously, a cat happy and content. “I’m great. I thought we were done?”
Heath stilled and stopped unbuttoning her shirt, but when he saw the sly look on her face, he tickled her sides. She giggled. “You’d let me go without getting mine a second time? I never took you for cruel.”
Breathless, she helped him finish unbuttoning her shirt before tossing it in the corner with her jeans. She wore a black lace bra, matching the panties that were somewhere around here. There was something unbearably erotic about her lying in his bed, wearing only a bra and no panties. Smiling, she sat up on her knees, and he watched in silence as she slowly unhooked her bra, sliding it down her arms. And then she was naked, all pink and flushed and creamy, and Heath couldn’t help but groan.
“Damn, you’re gonna kill me.” He hauled her on top of him, wrapping her hair in his hand before kissing her hard. She undulated against him, and he had to be inside her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. “There’s condoms in the right bedside drawer,” he murmured against her mouth.
She raised an eyebrow. Leaving him, she rummaged in the drawer before drawing out a pack. “XXL? Now I’m definitely intrigued.”
“Hey, don’t want things too tight down there.”
She climbed back on top of him, running her hands up his chest, underneath his shirt.
Her small hands caressed and stroked, feeling the hair on his chest and his belly. He let her play for a while, but he was going to come in his damn jeans if he waited any longer. “Camille, baby, are you trying to kill me?”
Smiling, she traced her hands down until they reached his belt. She unbuckled it, unzipping his jeans. “Let’s see if that XXL is all talk, shall we?” Reaching inside his boxers, she stroked his cock, which was harder than he’d ever known it to be. It sprang forth, and Camille’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I guess you weren’t bluffing. Impressive.”
“Thanks,” he replied with a laugh. But then the laugh turned into a groan when she stroked him, tracing the vein pulsing its length. “Put the condom on. I want to be inside you.”
She stroked him one last time. Tearing open the packet, she rolled the latex down his cock before she climbed back on top of him. “I’m not even sure you’ll fit,” she said against his mouth as he pulled her down for a kiss. But she reached for him and fit him against her still wet pussy, and he had to restrain himself from thrusting inside of her right then and there. He was big, he knew it, and he didn’t want to hurt her.
She inched down his length, making little noises in the back of her throat as she did so. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he forced himself to be patient. Let her set the pace. But when he was almost completely inside of her, he thrust upward, until he was buried completely inside of her. She moaned and he moaned along with her.
“God, Dawson, I can’t even…” She wiggled against him, and that’s when Heath knew he couldn’t last any longer.
He gripped her hips. “Hold on,” he growled, and then began thrusting in and out of her.
The pace he set was relentless, thrusting into her body until slapping sounds filled the room. She didn’t complain, though, and merely moaned and whimpered, her nipples tight and pink before his very eyes. She bounced with his thrusts, and Heath knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. But he wanted her to come again, too.
