Page 19 of Keeping My Wife
“Not something you can stick back in the box, Cam.”
“I have for years.”
“I didn’t know. You were just Angus’s little brother.”
I lifted my chin and shoved my hands in my pockets to relieve some of the pressure. “I’m all grown up, honey.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Make me.”
I wanted to run down the hall and pick her up and put her on that damn counter. To show her just how grown up I was. But it needed to be her choice.
She took one step, then another, and my heart slammed in my chest. In the shadows of the hallway her eyes glowed with intent. My dick got harder if that was at all possible. She stopped millimeters away from me and went onto her toes. Her breath washed over my lips. “My friends call me Max.”
“Honey, I don’t want to be your friend.”
She swallowed audibly then her long fingers slid over my shoulder and into my hair. “I have plenty of friends,” she whispered against my mouth.
I grabbed onto her, dragging her fully against me and met her mouth with mine. Every fantasy I’d ever had included a sweet kiss—to start anyway—but the reality of her was beyond that. Her wide, full lips were deadly to my sanity.
The kiss was wild and hot, impatient and untamed. My fingers dug into the curve of her ass, dragging her closer to let her feel how much I wanted her. Then she shocked me and hopped up into my arms, wrapping those endless legs around me.
I staggered once, then strode down the hall to the kitchen.
“You want to know how that countertop feels?”
“Yes,” she said against my mouth, then her lips brushed over my cheek to my ear. “And yes, my nipples are sensitive.”
“You’re going to kill me in the best way possible.”
I set her on the counter, groaning when her legs kept me tight against her. I raced down her neck to her smooth, silky shoulder. Her vanilla scent wrapped around me like her legs. I nipped at the little birthmark there. A tiny wine stain—barely noticeable—then followed the path back along her skin between shoulder and neck.
“Any more birthmarks to find?”
“What?”
I smiled against her lips and made a lazy circle over the birthmark with my fingertip. “Like this.”
“Oh.” She slicked her swollen lips. “Yes.”
“Where?” I slipped my fingers under her sweater. “Under here?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“Do I get to find it?”
Her lips trembled into a smile. “God, yes.”
I pushed up the deep purple material to show her midriff. An orange and black butterfly showed on her ribs. I swiped my thumb across the surprisingly delicate line work. “More of these too?”
She shook her head. “My friend is a tattoo artist and was testing bright colors for dark skin. I was her guinea pig, but it needed to be hidden for work.”
“Hidden just for me,” I said roughly.
Her eyebrow arched. “You think you’re the first to see it?”
I’ll be the last.
