Page 57 of Craving

Marlon paused, watching her as she reached a hand out over the blankets like she could hold him back, even in her sleep.

And how was he supposed to resist that?

EIGHTEEN

Camilla woke up feeling deliciously warm. There was a body curled around her back, tucking tight against her. Marlon, she thought, smiling to herself. Her hand reached up to cover the back of his as he spooned her, fitting perfectly all down her length. His knees were cradled behind hers, his front pressed all down her spine. She could feel his breath ruffling the hair on top of her head.

Nothing had ever felt better.

“Morning,” Marlon said, his voice deliciously fuzzy with sleep.

“Morning,” Camilla replied in an equally scratchy tone. She smiled to herself, snuggling deeper in his warmth. “You’re comfy.”

He chuckled, a warm, round sound that vibrated all the way down her body. Then he shifted, coaxing her onto her back as he lifted himself up onto his elbow to look down at her. His hand slid up her stomach, brushing the outer curve of her breast, and came to rest on the side of her neck. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” she answered, letting her own hand trace the muscles of his arm as his thumb brushed her jaw. They moved slowly, deliberately, exploring this new comfort and contentment. “You?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” he told her.

She reached up and touched his beard, and Marlon turned his head to kiss her palm. A zing of heat went down her spine and settled at the base of it. He stroked her jaw, then moved his hand down to her chest and over her breast. His thumb stroked softly, slowly.

Hunger opened a vast pit in Camilla’s stomach, and she knew she didn’t want food. Her hands went on an exploratory mission as Marlon stroked her breast, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his jaw, his arms. Marlon let out a shuddering sigh, as if her touch were a drug.

When he made to lean over her, she put a hand on his lips. “Wait,” she breathed, then wriggled out from under him and dashed to the bathroom. She was halfway through furiously brushing her teeth when he appeared in the doorway, his boxers tented, his brow raised.

But he moved casually, as if he didn’t have a huge erection and as if she hadn’t just run away from him.

“Morning breath,” she said around her toothbrush.

“Good call,” he said, then grabbed his own toothbrush. He met her gaze in the mirror as they brushed, and somehow that heightened the gnawing hunger in Camilla’s belly. Brushing teeth wasn’t supposed to be sexy. But Marlon’s gaze was full of promises, and she knew that as soon as she was done, he’d make good on them.

Heat bloomed low in her stomach, and she welcomed the ache between her legs.

She was sick of waiting. Sick of wanting. Their game had turned her on, but after last night, she was ready to lie with Marlon. She was ready to take him inside her body, to reach her peak with him thrust inside her. She wanted that wholeness—wanted it with him.

The moment she’d spat out her toothpaste and wiped her mouth, Marlon’s hands were on her hips. He pulled her close, his grip sliding to her butt. She wore panties and a T-shirt, having half-undressed last night before passing out. His hands were hot on her bare skin, and when he kissed her, he tasted like mint.

Camilla pressed her body against his, feeling every hard plane of him against all her softness. He gripped her ass and squeezed, groaning, then lifted her with one easy motion.

She laughed, wrapping her legs around his hips and crossing her ankles to anchor herself. “I’m too heavy,” she protested.

“You are not,” he growled. “Stop squirming. I won’t drop you.” He stalked out of the bathroom and carried her back to bed. That was a special thrill all on its own, a little vanity that made Camilla hot all over. She’d never been carried anywhere, and Marlon was making a habit of hauling her into his arms whenever he could.

Dropping her on top of the covers, Marlon reached behind his head and ripped his shirt off in one motion. His muscles shifted and bunched while he did it, his whole body a masterpiece.

And all of it was within reach. Camilla grabbed at him, pulling him down on top of her. His skin burned hot, and she moaned against his lips as he kissed her. Her hands swept over his back, along his spine, looped around his arms to clutch at his shoulders, slid into the thick locks at the nape of his neck. She touched him like she was starved for him.

She was, she supposed. They’d been craving each other for weeks now, teasing and taunting and playing. But when Marlon levered himself up and tugged impatiently at her shirt, Camilla knew the time for games was over.

“No teasing today,” she told him, trying to sound stern. “I want you too much.”

Marlon’s lips curled as he pushed her onto her back, his hand coasting over her breast and down to her waist. He was kneeling between her legs, both of them only in their underwear, and she knew, by the look on his face, that she’d just guaranteed that he’d tease her until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Marlon,” she complained, but all he did was sweep his hand down her stomach and onto her thigh. Both hands started stroking softly, tracing the lines of her full-coverage underwear like it was some kind of La Perla lingerie masterpiece and not part of a cotton multipack. His fingers slid down the gusset, knuckles brushing where she needed him most, and a plaintive noise escaped her throat.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, voice rough. His knuckles moved up the gusset of her panties and back down again. “What do you want?”

“I want you inside me,” she huffed, petulant. “Right now.”

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