Page 49 of Craving

“You made me a cake.”

He knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were blurry, and there was something strange happening with his heart. His throat was a mess of tightness, like burning-hot gravel had lodged itself halfway down.

“It’s your birthday,” Camilla said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

Marlon hadn’t had a birthday cake since he was fifteen years old. Twenty-two years ago today. He closed his eyes and made a wish, then leaned over and blew out the candles.

“Happy birthday,” Camilla said, then yelped when Marlon caught her in his arms.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her like he needed to taste her lips to survive. Hell, that’s how it felt. He was coming apart, and the only thing that would fix it was having Camilla in his arms. She made a soft noise against his lips, smiled, and kissed him back.

He was clawing at the hem of her dress when she pushed at his shoulders. “You need to eat your cake.”

“I will,” he promised. “But I want to eat you first.”

Laughing, she swatted his hands away. “Cake, Marlon.”

“After.”

She relented, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. His hands skimmed up beneath her dress, climbing up to the waistline of her sheer black tights. With a rough couple of tugs, the tights were around her knees and his hand was at the apex of her thighs.

They both groaned.

She was wet and warm and soft, and all Marlon wanted to do was shove himself inside her until he came. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, and Camilla had made him a birthday cake with a family recipe. She’d bought candles for him. She’d taken time out of her day because she’d been thinking about him. She’d known it was his birthday, and she’d done this. For him.

He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it was better to come home to an empty house.

“Oh,” Camilla whimpered as his hand stroked her. Lips falling open on the sound, she gripped his shoulders for balance.

Touching her felt better than he could have imagined. Marlon lost his mind for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of her skin against his, relishing her noises, her facial expressions, her panted breaths.

He needed this from her. Needed her pleasure, her lust. Needed to be the man to satisfy her.

“Love the way you feel,” he told her, voice low. “Can’t wait to get inside you.” He entered her with his fingers for emphasis.

“Marlon,” she gasped, eyes dazed. “Please. Now. Right now.”

Those breathless words nearly convinced him, but he wasn’t going to fuck Camilla on the kitchen counter their first time. What he felt for her was too big. He wanted their first time to be perfect.

Plus, less chivalrously, he liked the way she begged.

Instead, he got on his knees and shoved her tights to her ankles. His mouth was on her a moment later, and they both stopped talking for a while. Things got frantic then, as he tried to get closer and she was near her peak. Her hands were tugging at his hair, his hands were gripping her ass, and they both were making unintelligible noises.

But it wasn’t enough. He could sense her frustration. Knew she was getting desperate. Impatient, Marlon ripped her tights off one leg so he could spread her wide, then grabbed her around the waist, collapsed on his back on the kitchen floor, and brought Camilla with him. She landed in a heap on top of his chest, all breathless giggles and wild hair.

“Get up here and ride my face,” he growled, lifting her by the waist to bring her up to his mouth.

“I can’t—”

But she did. And she was perfect.

A short while later, they ate cake, and that was perfect too.

SIXTEEN

Camilla’s lips were still tingling after Marlon’s goodnight kiss when she closed her bedroom door. She wished she had the courage to invite him in.

But if Camilla invited him into her bed—into her heart—would she still have the courage to stand on her own two feet if their budding romance crumbled? She’d spent her entire adult life clawing her way to independence. Refusing her parents’ golden handcuffs meant making sure she could stand on her own. Leaving her first boyfriend had meant promising herself she wouldn’t be at a man’s mercy again.

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