Page 53 of Beyond Oblivion

Trenton

I held the door open, letting Camille glide past me into the house like a queen making her grand entrance at a ball—except the ballroom was our living room, and there was probably a half-eaten Pop-Tart on the coffee table. Her smile lingered, teasing me, like a light that could flicker out at any second. She kissed my cheek as she breezed by, ditched her purse on the console table, and headed straight for the shower.

From the doorway, I stood still, watching the steam rise toward the ceiling. My eyes drifted downward, tracing the lines of her body—every curve, every detail, and the ink I’d carefully drawn across her skin. The sight of her standing there under the stream of water behind steamy glass, humming a song familiar but that I couldn’t place, felt like a magnet pulling images to the forefront of my mind, thoughts I didn’t want to entertain.

Every time someone announced a pregnancy, it felt like getting punched in the nuts while cheering for a touchdown. Camille’s reactions were always a toss-up: she might smile and act like it didn’t sting until it didn’t, or she’d save it up for later, collapsing into my arms and ugly crying into my favorite T-shirt while I fought the urge to do the same. It really came down to her mood—if life was even slightly off-kilter, the next twenty-four hours were always an exhausting emotional minefield.

In that moment, I fought thoughts of putting a baby in her, but it was just as likely that she’d finish her shower, slip into bed, and cry us both to sleep.

Like the domestic god I was, I grabbed her towel from the hook and tossed it into the dryer, because nothing saysI love youlike hot laundry. When I got back, she was still relaxing under the water, suds and shaving cream sliding down her body in a way that made it nearly impossible to focus on feelings instead of my stupid caveman urges. The water gathering around the drain turned clear, and just as I was about to hang the fluff in my hand over the hook, she called out to me.

“Right here, baby doll,” I drawled, opening the door and handing her the towel.

She sighed, her wet strands sticking to her jaw and neck, a light smudge of mascara under her eyes. “You’re the absolute best.”

I undressed while Camille dried off, her movements methodical as she ran through her nightly routine in front of the mirror. The room was silent as I watched with quiet fascination until she finished. She turned off the lights, hung up her robe, and then poured herself into the bed next to me.

We both exhaled as she wiggled her way into my arms, nuzzling her nose against my neck, her slightly damp hair still radiating that post-blow-dryer warmth. Her naked body tangled in mine, soft and inviting, smelling like Heaven’s hair salon. I tried to focus on anything else to keep my dick from stiffening under my boxer briefs, but we were too close, her skin was too smooth, and she was wearing nothing but an irresistible post-shower glow that made it impossible not to think of slippery skin and clean sheets.

She giggled against my chest.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I blew out a breath, frustrated with my own lack of self-control.

Her hand traveled over the rise and falls of my abdomen, and then her fingers breached my waistband, her warm palm and fingers encapsulating my shaft with the perfect amount of pressure.

“It’s been an emotional day for you. I just wanna hold you like this,” I spoke softly, squeezing her with both arms. I wasn’t lying. Part of me was determined to only be the emotional support husband in that moment.

Her hand tightened. “I just want to hold you like this.” She tilted her head upward, waiting until I met her gaze.

“You sure?” I asked, feeling my heart begin to pound against my ribcage.

She grinned and then kissed me, tugging down my boxers with one hand.

I helped her and then used my feet to push my only article of clothing down the rest of the way. Sucking on her bottom lip and then biting it gently, I pulled back a bit while the tender skin was still between my teeth, and then watched her watch me kiss and lick my way from her belly button to the sweet spot between her thighs.

Her head fell back when my tongue ever so lightly grazed her clit, and then with a firmer stroke, I began at the bottom and tasted her all the way to the top, taking my time, my dick screaming to be inside her every time her hips made the slightest movement against my mouth.

Camille writhed beneath me, her body begging me to stop teasing her with small kisses and flicks of my tongue, so I buried my face into her, feeling her fingers dig into the top of my head.

“Baby,” she breathed, “I want you inside me.”

Fuck yeah. Go time.

I kissed my way back up her body, groaning when my dick slid inside of her, wet enough for glide, tight enough for friction. She held her knees as I tensed my ass and slid into her. With each gentle thrust, I could feel the buildup, the overwhelming, euphoric frustration as she pulled me into her, arching her ass to meet me where it felt best.

I grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, holding her gaze with a teasing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly, the hint of a challenge in my voice.

Her breath hitched. “Did you just readThe Notebook? What’s with the romance? Why are you being so…”

Before she could finish, I tensed, claiming her attention in one swift motion and the sound of the headboard knocking against the wall. The look in her eyes shifted as the surprise faded, and a slow grin spread across her lips.

“This is what you want?” I whispered against her mouth, my voice low, filled with intent.

Her chest rose with a shaky breath. “Yes,” she murmured.

“Say it.”

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