Page 84 of Best Part of Me

“Shit, Mav. I love you, God knows why, but I love you,” she rasps, this declaration against my lips, and then I’m coming. My own version of falling apart in her arms.

I press a kiss to her forehead, my breathing frantic, but I manage the words, “You know why.”

“I do,” she whispers, clutching my back and still bonded to me.

I don’t mind. In fact, I revel in it. Soak it in while I can. I’m so afraid if I let go of her, slide out of her, I’ll never have her this close again.

But suddenly, we’re still, our chests rising and falling, and we’re left staring into one another’s eyes. I hold her face in my hands and press a kiss to her forehead again. Then I drag my nose down the length of her face, stopping at the tip of her nose where I gift her with another kiss, and then I faintly graze her lips with mine.

It’s not like me to be sentimental. To savor sex. To grasp onto my partner like my very life depends on it. But with Cammie, I’m doing all these things. I am desperate to keep her. Just like this. Forever. The thought of letting her go again makes me nauseous.

Camille rests her open palms on my pecs, the fabric of my sweater my only barrier. I feel exposed, knowing full well she can feel my heart banging in my chest. But with her, I know I don’t have to panic. In her presence, I’m at ease.

But then she gives me a look. One that says, this mind-blowing moment we just shared, it’s over. And I’m still inside her.

The awkwardness seeps in, as much as I don’t want it to. It’s tempting to block out the uncomfortableness and hold her in my arms the rest of the night. But the return of the loud banging on the door is less than ideal.

I pull back from a kiss against her lips, and she gives me a sad little smile.

“We need to unlock the door,” she says.

I know she’s right. But I feel like being selfish. “Come home with me,” I demand.

She hops off the sink and adjusts her skirt, spinning to face the mirror. She peers at me through the reflection. “You know I can’t.”

I know. But it still hits me like a blow to the gut, knocking the air out of me.

I’m desperate. “Then when?”

“I don’t know.” She pushes her fingers through her hair and swipes her fingertips underneath her eyes. “We can’t keep doing this. We have to move on.Ihave to move on.”

“Is that what you want? To move on? And move on to who? Another lame-ass guy like Chris? Who doesn’t know how to satisfy you? Who doesn’t care if you’re happy?” I flip her around so she’s facing the sink and lift up her dress, pressing my still throbbing cock against her ass. “Remember when you said no guy would ever fucking satisfy you like I can?”

She grips the sink and peers at me through the reflection of the mirror. “I remember,” she whispers, biting her lip.

This gutteral need to bend her over the sink takes over and I bury my dick between her thighs. She thrusts her ass against me and I repress a groan.

“Why now?”

The question stalls me, and I stare back at her reflection. “Why now, what?”

“Why not two years ago?” she elaborates, and I am stunned into disarray, so she continues, “At my engagement party. I told you I needed you. And you just let me go. Like I was nothing. Like I meant nothing to you.”

Anguish fills my chest and a dread seeps into my limbs. I had hoped I’d gotten off the hook from this conversation since it hadn’t come up in the ten days we were together. But lucky is not something I’m fortunate to be.

Without breaking eye contact with her, I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go. I thought I was doing you a favor. I didn’t think I was fucking worthy of you, okay?”

“No. You don’t get to do that. You’re not playing the self-pity card.” Tears slip down her cheek again. “I picked you. And you didn’t trust my choice enough to give us a chance.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I bring her in close to my chest, burying my face in her neck.

But just when I think she’s on the verge of forgiving me, she tears her eyes away and slips out of my embrace. She rushes to the door. “Us being together is impossible.”

I don’t care that she’s right. It still hurts.

“What if us being together is the only thing that makes sense?”

“Stop. Please.” Her begging is different this time. Less pleading and more desperate for me to agree with her.

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