Page 90 of Magic or Madness

I take a drink and nearly gag on the champagne, not expecting the bubbles to be sobubblythis early in the morning.

“So, basically, there’s a splash of juice in here?” I place the glass back on the counter and shake my hair out of the second towel.

“A drop, maybe.” She grins, something devilish on her face as she sits on the bed, crossing one tanned leg over the other.

Her glass rests in her palm, two fingers around the stem as she tosses her dark hair over one shoulder. Now that I’m out of the shower, I realize she’s in nothing but Oliver’s stark white t-shirt, and a pair of black lace panties.

I take her in, my eyes combing over the amount of gold jewelry she wears, and the effortless way she looks perfect so early in the morning.

Oh, fuck.

I think my brain just caught up to whatever switch has been turned on inside me because, at that exact moment, I come to terms with what I’ve been battling internally.

I’m so fucking attracted to Camila it’s almost shameful, and with the way I’m looking at her, I’m no better than a man.

I try to keep my gaze focused on myself in the mirror, using my moisturizer as an excuse to not directly face her. I feel like my cheeks are a thousand different shades of red, and this is such uncertain territory for me that I’m almost nervous to be around her.

“So, what’s the teeny tiny bikini for? Beach day? Pool maybe? Oh god, is it a part of a super dirty sex game?” Her voice travels louder with each question she launches, every one of them faster than I can process, and I shake my head hoping it encompasses my complete cluelessness.

“I really don’t know. Do you know where the guys went this morning?” I shoot one back at her, and she swallows her mimosa in one gulp before responding.

“No clue. This is their stomping grounds though, so something local would be my guess.” She shrugs, hopping off the bed and wandering around.

I’m hyper-aware of her movements, like I can't get enough of her in my direct line of vision, so instead of obsessing about where she is in the room, I decide to try on the bathing suit.

I manage to maneuver the bikini until it covers all the important places from under the towel, and I do a few spins in the mirror to see how it fits.

Arguably, it doesn’t fit at all, with the fabric slipping through my ass crack in an instant, and the top barely covering my nipples. Although skimpy, it accentuates my curves in an astonishing way, making me gasp slightly as I take it all in.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Cami stammers, her jaw permanently on the floor, and my cheeks flush with pure, unfiltered heat.

“It’s too much, right?”

“Absolutely fucking not. It’s perfect, Fallon. Like if you don’t wear it, I will, perfect!” She exclaims, standing behind me in the mirror, turning her head to one side and resting it on my shoulder.

“I do love the color, and how big my ass looks.” I justify the skimpiness, slightly turning to see it one more time, with her eyes following my every move in the mirror.

Cami hands me my champagne, grasping my hand over the glass, trailing her free hand along my hip.

Just when I think she’s done, her hand goes lower, over the string of my bikini, and her eyes follow the path her fingers take.

I’ve lost the ability to breathe, watching her confidently move along my curves, igniting a stream of goosebumps in her wake.

I hold myself still on the counter, my knuckles nearly going white with how hard my grip is, and I take a deep breath, letting myself enjoy this moment we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s different than with Ozzy, I realize, as his hands are rough, and make my skin feel like it’s being devoured by flames. Her hands are soft, caressing my body like it’s forbidden fruit from a poisonous tree, and she’s just reckless enough to have one taste.

Instead of questioning it, or freaking out, I drop my head onto her shoulder, and she lightly trails her lips on my neck. She sucks slightly on my pulse point, and I squeeze her hand a bit harder, the waves of pleasure hitting me like a freight train.

In a move that doesn’t feel like my own to make, I press my ass against her a little harder and pull her just inches from my lips, daring her to close the gap between us, but something inside me holds onto the restraints, keeping us dangling over the edge.

My eyes flick back to hers in the mirror, and then to Ozzy’s as I gasp when I realize he’s been watching us, leaning against the door frame with an evil grin spread across his face.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks, a huskiness in his voice that I’m not used to.

“Just admiring this bathing suit you bought. Good taste, Oz,” she purrs, slowly taking her hands off my body, and biting her lip with her back turned to him.

As quickly as she slipped in here, she leaves, ducking around his muscular frame and disappearing behind it.

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