Page 51 of Best Part of Me

I want that perfect peach ass on my cock.

Cammie

That might be something I can arrange.

But first, you promised me s’mores.

Me

As you wish, Sunshine.

There’s no way every guy in this campground isn’t staring at Camille as she strolls back from the bathroom toward our site. She’s dressed in a flowy mini-skirt with little flowers printed on it, a red lacey bralette number, and a pair of high-top Chuck Taylors. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her head, and she looks like sex on a stick.

And she has no idea either. She just walks confidently like she always does. Because that’s Cammie.

When she’s standing in front of me, I can’t stop staring at her, eyes locked and loaded on that perfect belly button playing peekaboo with me.

“Maverick,” she says my name slowly, with a flick of her tongue when she reaches the end of it. “What’s wrong with you?”

Propping my hands on my hips, I shake my head and blow out a shaky breath. “I think I told you on the first night we were together, you’re going to be the death of me.”

She lifts her brows and pouts her lips innocently, and good God, this woman is honestly killing me. Those pouty lips. I take her hand and tug her into me slowly. Her warm body presses against mine, and I inhale her citrusy scent allowing it to wash over me. I guide her hand up to wrap around my neck and trace my fingertips back down the length of her arm, and she shivers at my touch. Unable to stop my hips, they sway as I hold her close to me.

“Mav?” she whispers. “Are we dancing?”

I chuckle into the crevice of her neck and collarbone, inhaling her sweet scent that drives me fucking wild. “I think we are,” I mumble.

Her fingers twirl in the hair at the nape of my neck, and I let my hands travel to her low back, holding her possessively against me. What began from a spark of jealousy—other men drooling over her—and the need to show ownership, has turned into a sweet moment.

Dancing with her in front of the fire as dusk appears and to the sound of chattering and kids playing in the distance. It’s about the most romantic thing I’ve shared with a woman in years. And I don’t let my hormones get in the way by even kissing her. It’s intense. Fucking intimate. My focus remains in the moment, and I squish the side of my cheek against hers.

“What has gotten into you?” she rasps in my ear.

“It just felt right.”

“It’s sweet,” she whispers.

But I’m not sweet. Not with any other woman than her. I suppose she brings it out in me. With her, it’s easy to let go. It’s easier to be better.

At last, I pull away, gaze down at her, and her soft eyes blink up at me. A sweet smile pulls at her lips, and she slides her hands down my back. I lean into her and press a kiss to her forehead and then one to the tip of her nose before taking her hand and guiding her to the one camping chair, motioning for her to sit.

“Ready for that beer?” I finally ask.

She nods, grinning. “And s’mores, please. I’m starving.”

“You sure you don’t want dinner first?”

“Nope,” she pops thep.

I chuckle and shake my head at her because she’s crazy. Something tells me our stomachs are gonna pay for this choice tomorrow. “Suit yourself.”

We each crack open a beer, and I set the supplies for s’mores on the top of the cooler. Camille’s blue eyes brighten when she sees the giant-sized marshmallows I picked up the morning she told me she was coming on this road trip with me.

“These are huge.” She snatches the bag from my hand.

“Yeah? So size does matter,” I snicker, one brow arched.

“Of course size fucking matters. Anyone who’s told you differently is a liar.” She holds out her hand. “Stick, please?”

---