Page 85 of Fault Lines
“Why do you always defend her?”
He sighed, leaning naked against the sink, tired but unyielding. “I’m not. I just don’t want you blaming her for my mistakes.”
He was right. I was furious with him, not her. But the lie was sitting right there between us, undeniable. My throat ached; I swiped at a tear and pulled open the shower door.
“I hate you. Please, just go.”
I stepped into the shower and let the hot water crash over me, hoping it would burn the knots of emotion from my chest. Anger, love, pain—all swirling together, impossible to separate.
I wanted my Cam back. My real Cam.
The door slid open, and Cam stepped in, steam fogging the glass behind him.
“Leave me alone,” I begged.
He shook his head, arms wrapping warm and heavy around me, lips pressing into my neck. “No. If I leave, you’ll just get lost in your head and start resenting me.”
“I already do,” I said, quieter now. “Every time you leave, every time you come back smelling like her, I hate you a little more.”
He didn’t flinch. I spun, pushing him with both fists; it wasn’t enough to hurt, just enough to feel the impact, to let some of the fury escape. “I hate you!” I screamed, again and again, pushing him until he hit the tile wall. He took it, every shoveand every word, until the anger drained away and my arms hung limp, tears streaming hot down my face, mixing with the water.
When I finally stopped, he caught me, arms strong and sure.
“You don’t hate me,” he said, soft as rain.
“I do,” I managed.
“You love me. That’s why this hurts so much. You love me more than anything, so you put up with me. None of this comes from hate.”
“No,” I protested, but even I heard the weakness in my voice.
He kissed my jaw, my neck, unrelenting. “I love you, Livi. Let me show you.”
“No,” I said, but when he dropped to his knees, hands gentle on my thighs, my body betrayed me.
“Stop,” I whispered, but I didn’t mean it anymore.
He lifted my leg, propping it on the built-in shelf, his hands steady and warm. And then his tongue traced fire through my folds, and my mind went blank.
Every thought, every worry melted under the heat of his mouth. My hands twisted in his damp hair, dragging him closer. I needed the pleasure like oxygen—a way to feel alive, to feel something that wasn’t confusion or pain.
He moaned into me, and the sensation rolled up my legs, every nerve ending sparking. His big finger pressed inside, perfect and insistent, curling in just the way I loved, fingers and tongue working together until I shattered, pleasure ripping through me, bright and undeniable.
He stroked me through the aftershocks, licking every last drop, and when I opened my eyes, he was already rising, cock hard and urgent, pressing me against the wall.
He lifted me, hands locked under my thighs, and slid into me in one long thrust. He gave me no room to breathe, slamming into me with a wild, desperate energy. I let it swallowme; I wanted to be taken, owned, reminded that I was still his and he was still mine, even if everything else was a lie.
Our mouths crashed together, tongues tangling, his teeth biting at my neck, marking me until pain and pleasure blurred together. The angle let him go so deep I saw stars; his body ground against my clit with every thrust, and I felt myself unraveling all over again.
“I love you, Livi. Say you love me,” he murmured in my ear.
I tried to hold out, but he only pounded harder, fingers clamping on my nipple, making me gasp.
“Say it, Livi. Tell me you still love me.”
He didn’t stop, not until I broke: “I love you, Cam,” I cried out, shaking around him. “I fucking love you.”
He grunted, coming hard, voice gritty and raw. “I know you do. I know.”
