Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
She simply stares, an almost curious if not impatient expression etched across her perfect face, like she wants to hit fast-forward, but someone else is hogging the remote.
I step up so I’m facing them, and Trey glances over with a grin.
“Hey, man.”
“She’s not available,” I tell him, my eyes moving to hers. She raises a bratty little brow, and I slip into the small space between the two. “You’re just not.”
Her chin rises, going tough, little Cammie on me, but I see the softness she tries to hide. It bleeds from her every pore…but maybe it’s only for me to see.
“Is that right?” she sasses, her voice strong, but there’s a thickness to it that isn’t usually there.
Hope?
“Yeah, baby,” I whisper, everyone else fading into the background as I step up to her, one hand cupping her neck, the other pressing on the small of her back to draw her closer. “That’s right.”
I don’t give her any time to decide, but she doesn’t seem to need any.
We meet halfway, mouths colliding with a desperate need to claim.
It’s not messy or clumsy. We’re in sync, the perfect pairing—the ocean and the sun, me and football.
Me and my girl.
Because that’s what she is.
Mine.
And I want to show her what that means.
Bending, I swoop her up, and she giggles, a sweet fucking sound that goes right to my dick. I carry her into the house and up the stairs, kicking the bedroom door closed and trusting that the others will know not to go into Ari’s room—the one right next door that’s connected by a bathroom.
I toss her on the bed, and she smiles up at me from the pile of purple pillows.
“Took you long enough,” she teases.
I nod, the words I want to say not coming but no longer from nerves. I suddenly have no fear here. Cameron will accept me for the things I am and the things I’m not alike—just like she always has.
This will be no different.
She’ll still be her, and I’ll still be me, but we’ll get to do filthy things to each other now. And goddamn, do I want to do so many dirty things to this woman.
“I’m a liar,” I tell her.
She fights a grin. “Are you now?”
“Yes. I told you someone else wanted to be the real deal to you, but what I didn’t say was I did too.”
“I see.” She smashes her lips to one side, amusement bright in her baby blues.
“Everyone sees me as a campus playboy.” A small frown starts to form across her forehead, but I keep going. “Ask around, and you’ll be told I slept my way through the sorority houses my first year here.”
That little frown deepens, and she starts to shake her head. “Brady—”
“They’re wrong. I did hook up with…enough of them.”
“Brady, I know who you are. You don’t have to tell me any of this.”
“I didn’t sleep with any of them,” I admit, heart pounding in my chest.
Cameron’s brows snap together, and I know that look. “You don’t have to say that, Brady. There’s nothing about you that I would ever judge you for.”
“I know.” I nod, trying to pack as much truth into those two words as humanly possible because I do know this. It’s why we’re in this room together right now in the first place.
“Then why lie?” she whispers.
It’s a fair question and there is a lie in there, but it’s not the words I spoke. “I have lied, mostly without saying a word. By letting people talk and leading them to believe. But I’m not lying to you now.”
“Brady, you’ve slept with some of them.”
“I’ve slept with none of them.”
Her brows snap together, the air in the room shifting. She’s getting upset and rightfully so. “You’re—”
“A virgin.”
If there were a picture of shock, it would be Cameron’s face in the frame.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Cameron
Virgin.
Six letters. Two syllables.
Defined as a person who is innocent, naive, or inexperienced.
Brady is none of those things.
He’s filthy mouthed and a relentless flirt. Inexperienced?
Yeah right. The man’s tongue fucks like a god. With his hands and that voice.
His body and his handsome fucking face.
He is a walking, talking real-life sex toy. All the fantasies I never knew I had come to life.
Maybe that’s why you’re obsessed with him?
Being near him—hell, thinking about him—is like being barricaded in a whirlpool of want, forever on the cusp of drowning, but the invisible safety vest his presence emits keeps your head hovering above water. I’m not just talking want that stems from lust—that’s just a given at this point—but deeper desires.
Scary ones.
The kind that reset your soul with someone else inside it.
But he’s always sort of been there, hasn’t he?
That’s a special sort of experience, right?
A connection rivaled by nothing else. By no other.
A virgin?
“Can I explain?” he asks softly, finally lowering onto the mattress at the foot of the bed.