Page 8 of Craving

Moonlight shone on her hair, her skin, her body. She looked like a goddess sent to destroy him. She blinked those big blue eyes at him and gave him a soft smile. “Goodnight, Marlon.”

Camilla slept badly. The conversation in the living room had thrown her for a loop. She’d overstepped by asking him not to have overnight visitors; she knew she had. It wasn’t her house, and she had no right to dictate to Marlon who he hosted. Or got intimate with.

It was reasonable to ask him not to shove dirty thongs between the couch cushions, but she’d taken it too far. She shouldn’t have said anything at all.

As she twisted and turned in her beautiful bedroom, Camilla replayed his words, felt the memory of his touch on her bare skin. It was well after midnight by the time they went to bed, and it was even later when she fell asleep. But her body was used to a very early rise, and it hadn’t gotten the memo that she wanted to sleep in.

So, with dawn lightening the sky outside, she woke tired, bleary, and incredibly horny. Rubbing her thighs together, Camilla tried to ignore the sensitivity between them. The ghost of Marlon’s touch lingered on her ankles, her calves, her knees. She wanted to feel him everywhere.

Marlon was exactly the kind of man Camilla didn’t need. He was serious and growly and obviously used to getting his way. Camilla had been dealing with men like that ever since she started her business. She’d taken loans from men like that. She was looking forward to enjoying a life free of their shackles.

But there was something in his eyes, in the tenor of his voice. Marlon’s presence ignited a spark in Camilla’s body that had lain dormant for a long, long time. Maybe it was the tender way he’d tended to her feet, the way he’d done it without hesitation, like it was his duty to make sure she was taken care of.

For someone so utterly independent, someone who had moved out at seventeen, put herself through culinary school, and endured all of life’s trials since then, that was an experience that didn’t come around very often, if at all.

Marlon’s gentle care, given to her wrapped up in a gruff package, seemed to be the key to Camilla’s most lustful desires. She felt like a tightly wound spring, ready to explode. She was wired and tired and a little embarrassed.

Reaching between her legs, Camilla let out a sigh as she touched herself. She just needed to take the edge off, to feel normal again. Ever since Marlon had set those glimmering hazel eyes on her and agreed to let her stay in his perfect house, she’d felt off-balance.

An orgasm would help. She could set her body to rights, and her mind would follow.

It was easy to imagine what could have happened last night, in another universe. Marlon would have stripped her sweatpants off her legs and taken her right there on the couch. His big hands would have spread her wide, and he’d have let out one of those low groans at the sight of her. Maybe he’d have turned her over his knee for being so demanding, for making him promise things in his own house. His big, broad palm would sting when he spanked her, his voice rough in her ear. The thought sent fire racing through her, her hand working hard between her legs until she gasped and arched off the bed.

Body limp and mind blank, she drooled on her pillow for a few minutes while her brain rebooted.

It wasn’t until rational thought returned that Camilla’s cheeks burned.

This was very, very bad.

She groaned, curling onto her side, and regretted ever bringing up the thong with Marlon. She could have simply stuffed it right back in the couch cushions and pretended it didn’t exist.

Instead, she’d insisted on a stupid house rule, and now neither of them would be getting any satisfaction. All she could think about was the brooding, growly man down the hall denying himself for her sake. Embers of lust still glowed inside her at the thought. The way he’d looked at her with darkened eyes, how he’d stroked her skin like he couldn’t help himself.

Had she made a mistake? Had she crossed a line already, before she’d even spent a full twenty-four hours in this house?

She snorted at herself. That was a no-brainer. Of course she’d crossed a line, and she’d made it worse by masturbating to the thought of him.

But Camilla couldn’t let things get awkward between them. Staying here was a godsend, and she wouldn’t blow it. A place to rest her head while she built up a bit of cash and looked for a more permanent place to live was exactly what she needed right now, especially after she’d just escaped the sharp, snapping teeth of Stirling’s worst loan shark.

She exhaled and came to a decision. No more overstepping the boundaries of a regular roommate relationship. No more talking about sex. No more masturbating at the thought of Marlon touching, teasing, and tormenting her.

Her temporary sex famine had begun. Celibacy would be the armor she wore to protect herself against the ravages of Marlon’s gaze. She’d abstain, and she would be stronger for it.

Resolve strengthening, Camilla swung her legs off the bed and sat up. She went through her morning ablutions as quietly as she could, then crept downstairs to the kitchen. Even though she’d only briefly been in here last night, her shoulders relaxed.

Kitchens were where Camilla felt most comfortable. While her body settled, she inhaled deeply and spun around the space, taking in the energy of the heart of the house. She didn’t have to go into the bakery today, having recently hired a new employee to take over weekend shifts, but her fingers itched to feel flour and sugar and butter between them.

Setting the coffee maker to brew a new pot, she hunted through the cupboards until she found what she needed. Marlon had all the basics, but she could tell he wasn’t a baker. His bag of flour was so tiny it almost made her laugh, but it was enough. He had a muffin tin, but no muffin liners. She’d have to butter and flour the molds. In the depths of the freezer, she found an old bag of frozen blueberries. Her muscles eased completely, and Camilla got to work.

Forty-five minutes later, the scent of blueberry oatmeal muffins filled the kitchen. She pulled them out of the oven to cool, refilling her coffee mug for the third time. The carafe was empty, so she made another pot. She wasn’t sure when Marlon would get up, but it wouldn’t do to have him wake up to an empty coffee machine. Finding the striped mug he’d used last night, she set it beside the coffee maker so it would be ready for him.

She was just drying and replacing the big metal bowl she’d used to mix the muffins when she heard shuffling footsteps approach. Marlon rubbed his eyes and frowned at the muffins cooling on top of the oven. He sniffed, blinking, then shifted his gaze to Camilla.

Did she imagine the way heat flared in his gaze when he took in her appearance? Probably. She was just wearing her sweatpants, the same tee as last night, and her favorite floral apron with the white ruffles along the hem and neckline. She wasn’t exactly a paragon of fashion and sensuality.

Her orgasm from this morning was obviously still messing with her mind. Cheeks flushing, she lifted her chin and met Marlon’s gaze. “Good morning.”

“You baked muffins.” Marlon was still staring.

---