Page 31 of Craving

The drive home gave her time to prepare herself. Yesterday had thrown her for a loop. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marlon’s hands. Marlon’s lips. The insistent press of Marlon’s cock against her stomach.

It was a terrible idea to get involved with him. Or, rather, get more involved with him.

He’d used that house rule like a weapon yesterday, and Camilla had nearly melted into a puddle right there on the living room floor. She wanted Marlon with an intensity she’d never experienced before.

But maybe it was a good thing they’d stopped. Maybe the rule could serve as a desperately needed handbrake, because obviously her body was completely out of control.

Her mind, thankfully, was still partially operational. Camilla knew that these next few weeks were crucial. She couldn’t afford distractions or slip-ups. Her business was on the line.

What if she followed her lust, got caught up in Marlon, and let sales slip the tiniest bit at the bakery? She’d lose everything.

Now was the time to focus on her business, her debt, and her future. Men shouldn’t be part of the equation, especially not when they held the keys to her temporary home.

The risks of getting involved with Marlon were just too high. Their kiss had rocked her world, and she’d nearly had an orgasm from him playing with her breasts, but that was as far as things would go until her life was more stable.

Even though it really did feel like she was ravenous—and not for food.

She opened the front door to the smell of coffee. Down the hallway, through the open kitchen door, she saw Marlon moving around the space. He wore plaid pajama pants and a white tee. His feet were bare. Her heart gave a sharp squeeze.

It was a lot easier to tell herself to stay away from Marlon when she wasn’t in the same house as him.

“Morning,” she called out, then dumped her gym bag by the console table at the front door. She walked to the kitchen and smiled when Marlon handed her a cup of coffee. It was in the polka-dot mug, which she’d started thinking of as hers.

But the mug wasn’t hers, she reminded herself. None of Marlon’s stuff was. She needed to stay focused on what was important. Business. Life. Stability. Independence.

“How’d you sleep?” Marlon stirred the oatmeal he was cooking on the stove.

“Like the dead,” Camilla replied. “I was so tired after all the work we did yesterday.” And she made herself orgasm until she passed out, but she wasn’t going to mention that out loud.

Marlon’s laugh was warm, his eyes glimmering like he might be reading her thoughts. He tipped his head toward the living room. “Ready to get back to it?”

She groaned theatrically, which made Marlon chuckle harder.

“Food first,” he said, which proved that he might indeed be the perfect man.

Sipping her coffee, Camilla took a seat at the kitchen table and watched him cook. This was another reason not to get involved with the man: She loved these moments. She’d never felt at home as much as she did right here, at the kitchen table, with her polka-dot mug in her hands and Marlon at the stove.

This one little vignette was everything she’d ever wanted from her life, as simple and unambitious as that might be. A warm kitchen, beautiful scents, comfortable company. A home—and, if she were honest with herself, a family.

“I think we can get the moldings on the walls, get everything primed, and get the first coat of paint down,” Marlon said. “We might have to wait until next weekend to do the lighting. I can get one of the electricians from my company to help us with the chandelier.”

“Sounds good.” Camilla smiled as he put a bowl of oatmeal down in front of her. He brought mix-ins to the table—fresh berries, brown sugar, cream—then took a seat at his chair across from Camilla. She dressed her oats and took a bite, sighing in contentment.

It had only been a week since Camilla had moved in, but their routine was quickly becoming precious to her. Maybe this was why her body was confused. She’d never had this kind of companionship with anyone before. Not with her family, not with any previous partner, not with friends. She’d always been the one to take care of others. She baked, she cooked, she took care of her home and her business.

No one ever took care of her.

Her first boyfriend—the one she’d dated when she was still a teen—had treated her like little more than a live-in maid and walking vagina. She hadn’t moved in with a boyfriend since.

But Marlon didn’t wait for her to make breakfast. If he was up first, he’d have her cup next to the coffee maker, just like she’d do for him. He cooked and cleaned up after himself. He picked her up from work when he said he would.

No wonder the man turned her on. He was the only person in her life who’d ever bothered to care for her.

But Camilla needed to leash her wayward impulses. There was too much on the line to throw it away over some famine-induced horniness and a few thoughtful favors. Was the bar really that low? A man could make his own coffee and wipe down the counters after he cooked, and Camilla was ready to fall on the ground with her legs wide open?

Ridiculous. She needed to focus on what was important.

So, after she finished her breakfast, Camilla took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to his. “Marlon,” she started. “I’d like to talk about something.”

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