Page 21 of Fractured Souls
Soft light greets me when my eyes blink open in the darkness of the room. I see him now, scrolling on his phone, one arm still around me like he hasn’t moved at all, and maybe he hasn’t. My hand is now splayed on his abdomen. “The pillow wall was a joke to you, wasn’t it?”
A big easy grin grows on his handsome face. “I told you I love to cuddle. I didn’t realize you were this tired, though. We could have gone to bed right away.”
“I didn’t realize how tired I was either. I’m sorry I missed Goku’s abs.”
“They aren’t that great.”
“Pretty sure they’re the only things worth watching.”
Cam smirks, shaking his head and slapping his very prominent six pack. “These are man made.” I know he’s joking, but I just, I can’t, I . . . My eyes flick down over every dip and line of his stomach. I don’t care about muscles, but on Cam, and knowing how hard he works out, they’re impressive. Cam has always been athletic, but over this past year he’s really bulked up—not overly so, but enough to notice.
His graceful fingers slope down his stomach—fingers attached to hands I want everywhere—and I itch to taste everywhere those fingers land. My eyes rest on the light dusting of dark hair below his navel that travels beneath his boxers. He’s always been passionate about health and helping people feel their best.
I can’t look away. I feel frozen.
My brain is still dipped in grogginess. Cam’s black briefs aren’t helping, and neither is the goody trail leading down to the very prominent bulge behind the fabric.
Maybe that’s it. It’s a dream. Just a dream.
My dream fingertips tiptoe across the sensitive skin of his abdomen. His skin pebbles, muscles contract against my touch, and Cam sucks in a soft breath. Damn, he smells amazing. I just want a taste . . . just one.
One shot.
My fingers graze under his belly button, and he snatches my hand away, snapping me out of whatever the hell this is. I nearly yank it away, horrified. What am I doing? My tongue swells. I can’t speak. I try to apologize and pull my hand away.
All he does is watch me, his golden eyes focused. Heat fills his irises. I wait for him to let go, but what he does instead slaps me with shock. With my hand in his, he pulls me forward. Hungry, I can’t breathe.
My chest explodes with feeling.
His full lips press against mine.
My belly somersaults, the hand along my spine searing right through my shirt. “What—” I blink, pulling back, and the look in his eyes is my undoing. We’ve kissed a million times before, but this . . . there’s fire in this I’ve never felt before. I could pull away . . . instead I press back into him. Hungrier. He groans into my mouth, kissing me harder.
Dream.
This is a dream. It has to be.
A broken moan slips out, only for me to realize that sound came from him.
Lucid, raw, and very very fucking real.
Holy shit. Not a dream. Not . . .
He cups my jaw and his lips are insanely soft on mine. I don’t know how his other relationships have gone, but how didthey ever stop kissing him? He tastessogood. His large hands hold me to him. I’m pressed flush against him and I can feel . . .everything.
I grip his biceps, pulling him closer as his tongue pushes into my mouth. I’m so hard, he has to feel it, but right now I can’t pull away. I don’t have space to feel embarrassed about it, because Cam, my very straight friend, is hard too.
I want more of his taste, his kisses, his hands on me. I don’t know what’s happening. I almost think I’ve made this up in my head. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.
“Bo—” His large hand moves down my body, gripping under my knee to pull my thigh up around him and fitting himself into the cradle of my hips. He says something hushed in Spanish that I can’t grab onto. I know as much Spanish as he knows Cantonese, but I don’t want to miss a second of this fever dream.
“What did you say?” I ask against his lips.
“I said you feel so good.” His eyes open, and I hate myself for even asking because those golden eyes begin to clear, his brain coming back online, broken away from the trance he was just in. It’s like the entire room stills, the air between us charged, and all he does is stare at me, his eyes wild with questions I don’t think I can answer. I’m not drunk; I sobered up long before I fell asleep. I’m sure he did too, it’s been hours. “Cam . . .”
He nods, blinking and looking around, and I lose his grip on me. Only a little, enough to let my thigh slip off his hip. “Don’t overthink,” he whispers, but I can see his mind through the panic in his eyes. He’s freaking out.
Silently Cam gets up, grabbing his nightlight and plugging it in, then he shuts the TV off. He leaves the room, going into my bathroom and shutting the door a little too hard. With him out of the room I can breathe easier. I get up to stretch this feeling out of me, then look back at the bed. “What kind of sorcery are youdoing?!” I hiss at it. My bed is cursed! First I touched his dick, and now I know what his lips taste like.
