Page 89 of Best Part of Me

The bubble disappears, and after I wait for what feels like forever, no response comes. Just as well. I send a text back to Jones.

Me

Sure. Tell him I’ll be there.

Jones

Cool.

Tossing my phone onto the sofa, I return my focus to my laptop, leaning over the coffee table. I only have two national parks remaining to write my blog posts for and choose the pictures. The light at the end of the tunnel for this project is growing brighter. The writing isn’t the problem. It’s the pictures. Each one reminds me of Cammie.

My bed calls me from my room. I can’t remember how much sleep I got last night. Leaning on my knees, I scrub my hands down my face and groan.

There’s a faint knock on my door. It’s so quiet I think I’ve mistaken it. But then the rapping sounds out again. Could be Joe, my elderly neighbor who lives below me, always complaining my music is too loud, my footsteps are too loud, my washing machine is too loud.

A quick peek through the peephole has my heart skidding in my chest, and I swing the door open fast.

“Cammie,” her name whooshes out of me on a breath.

“I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here. I have no right,” she talks fast.

My brain is trying to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. Her hair is down in waves around her shoulders. She’s dressed in a low-cut blouse and distressed jeans, and she’s never looked more beautiful. Pink tints her cheeks, and her blue eyes go glassy with a haunting effect.

“But I had to see you.”

Without hesitation, I take one purposeful step into the hall until I’m flush against her, and she gasps. She feels amazing. And too good to be true.

I cup my hands to her cheeks and draw her face close to mine. I need a good look at her so I know I’m not dreaming. For a torturous moment, our eyes dance over one another’s until, at last, I crush her lips with mine. As I stroke her cheeks with my thumbs, her mouth parts eagerly for me. Like she’s been just as desperate for me as I’ve been for her. Her tongue is urgent in the way it tangles with mine. Her hands slide up my back, familiar fingers kneading the muscle there.

I swallow her whimpers, and they’ve never tasted so good. We share in our suffering. Her pain is my pain. Her heartache is my heartache. I own it, savoring each and every fiber of it as it seeps from her body and into mine, taking it like a penance.

Clutching my hand to her waist and anchoring her against me, I spin us around and guide her backward into my apartment, reaching back to yank the door shut behind us. Her fingers find the hem of my T-shirt, teasing it for a moment before she shoves it up my core, and we break our kiss for her to tug it over my head.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t be here.” But my hands betray my words, working at undoing the buttons of her blouse.

“I missed you. So much,” she breathes out, gifting me with a kiss on my bare chest and igniting a fire in its wake.

“I’m going crazy without you, Sunshine.”

I shove open her blouse and bite my lower lip while I admire her breasts covered in the pink lacy bralette. My hands go to them of their own accord, caressing and squeezing and eliciting a quiet cry from her. I kiss her again, craving those moans on my lips.

“You were right, having part of you, is better than having none of you,” she declares, a bit breathlessly.

“No. We’ll figure this out. We’ll figure out the best time and the best way to tell not only Jones, but you’re family, too. Because I want all of you.”

She draws her pouty lower lip in between her teeth and I’ve never wanted her more than I do right now.

Tugging the blouse off her shoulders, her hand glides inside the waistband of my sweats. My cock fills her hand as she grips and strokes. I wish I’d known she was coming so I could’ve showered and dressed in something more appealing. Like Cammie and this lacy contraption holding in her perky tits, keeping how magnificent they are a secret. But she doesn’t seem to mind with the way she’s going to town on my dick.

My senses are on overload, and I want to kiss her, lick her, be inside her, all at once.

She draws her head back and gazes at me, sliding her hand out of my pants, and leaving me throbbing. My heart and body fears she’s going to put a stop to this. A soft thumb grazes the mustache above my lip and then traces my beard. I haven’t shaved in days. I feel sloppy and lacking, but her beautiful blues darken as they zone in on my lips.

She gives me a shove in the chest. “Why, Maverick Mendes are you wearing fucking grey sweatpants? It’s like you knew I was coming over.”

Confusion ripples through me as my gaze travels down to my pants where I’m sporting a boner so big you could probably see it from space.

“Don’t you know women go crazy for guys in grey sweatpants? Ughhh,” she bellows, before tugging me back toward her. “I love you, Mav. I know I’ve already said it, but I mean it. In all the ways someone can love another person, that’s how I love you.”

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