Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 252(@200wpm)___ 201(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
“Don’t say that unless you mean it. No pretending,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t falter. “I do. Every word.”
When he kisses me, it isn’t rushed or desperate. It’s slow. Intentional. Like he’s memorizing me, cataloguing every sigh and shiver, tracing each scar with the reverence it deserves. I let him. I want him to. Because for once, I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to pretend I don’t care.
The trailer is quiet except for the gentle rustle of the wind through the gauzy curtains. Moonlight spills across the hardwood, turning the room silver. I think maybe the world is trying to tell me something—maybe it’s okay to rest. Maybe it’s okay to believe this is real.
After his shower, Drew stands by the window, shirtless, hair damp and messy. He’s looking out, but I can tell his mind is a million miles away. His hands are trembling slightly. So are mine.
“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up,” he says softly, not turning around. His voice is so vulnerable it nearly breaks me.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the sheets warm beneath my thighs. I twist the hem of my camisole in my hands, grounding myself in the sensation. “You’re not dreaming,” I promise.
He finally turns to look at me. There’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—not just wonder or sadness for my past, but hunger. Passion, raw and unshielded. Like he’s seeing me, truly seeing me, for the first time.
“This feels like—” he starts, words failing.
“Everything,” I finish for him, the word barely a breath.
He crosses the room slowly, barefoot and careful, as if afraid one wrong step will break the spell. But he stops just short of touching me, eyes searching mine for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that he should pull back. I don’t give him any. Instead, I lean forward and press my lips to his, softly, no rush. No fire. Just a lingering promise that I’m here, that I’m not running.
His hands find my waist, tentative at first. When I sigh into his mouth, he exhales against my cheek, like he’s been holding that breath for years. Maybe he has. Maybe we both have.
I let him undress me slowly. Every inch of fabric sliding down my skin feels important like he’s memorizing me with his hands, like he’s trying to etch me into memory in case the morning steals me away. When his fingers graze the edge of my panties, he pauses, looking up into my eyes for permission.
“Yes,” I say simply, no fear, no shame.
He doesn’t rush. He never does. That’s part of why I fell for him without meaning to. Every touch is deliberate, every motion meant. He treats me like I’m something sacred. Even now, when everything inside me aches for him, he slows it down, determined to make me feel every moment, to make every second matter.
I pull him onto the bed with me, guiding him with my hands, threading my fingers into his hair as I press kisses along his jaw, down his throat. His skin tastes like salt and warmth and something I can’t name.
“Cambria...” he breathes, and hearing my name in a pant makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“I’m here,” I murmur. “Always will be.”
“Always,” he whispers, his voice breaking just a little. There’s a promise in that word, one that feels heavy with truth.
I nod, swallowing hard against the sudden ache in my throat. “We were playing house,” I whisper. “Now we’re living it.”
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Hungrier, but still careful. Still patient. His weight settles over me, grounding me, wrapping me in warmth and something bigger than either of us.
When we come together, it’s not frantic. It’s not rushed. It’s slow, like the tide rolling in. Soft kisses between every movement, whispers that fall like petals against skin. I feel like I’m unraveling and becoming something new, all at once.
He presses his forehead to mine, eyes locked on my own as our bodies move together, and I see everything in that look. Every guarded laugh. Every moment he let me in when he didn’t have to. Every time I reached for his hand in public and he laced our fingers like he meant it—even when we said we didn’t.
I cup his face as we move, holding his gaze, not letting him look away. “I love you,” I say, the words breaking free before I can stop them.
He stills for a second, breath catching. Then he smiles—soft, real, like sunlight after a storm. “I’ve been loving you since before I watched you bend over to pick up a coin and I thought, damn that is a lucky penny.”
His lips brush my shoulder, then my collarbone. Everything building inside me again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s shaking slightly, but not from fear. From the intensity of it. Of us. From letting go of the act, the lie, the distance we kept like armor.