I shake my head once, ridding the imagination from my mind. She looks at me expectantly, her eyes wide with confusion.
“Hm?” My brain’s still playing catch-up, trying desperately to wipe the thought of her moaning underneath me, to form anything else coherent at the moment.
“Why would you rather let everyone think there’s nothing to you other than being a dick instead of maybe letting yourself be a little more…human?”
I shrug, not wanting to have this conversation with her. Quite frankly, I don’t want to be doing anything with her. I need to get away immediately. I’m not thinking rationally. My libido has taken over, and I can’t stop imagining shutting her questions down by having my cock down her throat. “Have you ever thought that maybe I am just a dick? The fact that I don’t like to just sell art but I also like to create it doesn’t change that.”
“If you say so.” The sarcastic tone of her voice tells me she doesn’t believe me for a second. I want her to think I’m just an asshole. If people think you’re a pompous jackass, they have low expectations of you. I don’t like expectations—then I feel like I have to live up to them. The thing about other people’s expectations is that you’re never really able to live up to them. You’ll end up disappointing them, and then you feel like shit for doing so.
“Can I ask you one thing?” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of it.
When I find her eyes again, I’m struck by how close we are. She’s now sitting up, bringing us too close together. If I leaned in slightly, I might feel her breath mingle with mine. Her scent would surround me, more than it already is. The idea of it sent my senses into overdrive from the moment we started this stupid day together.
“I won’t tell you my secret recipe for chocolate chip cookies,” she mutters. I wonder if her half-assed attempt at a joke is a defense. I know it’s something I’ve done when things don’t feel like they’re under my control and I desperately need to get a grip on the situation.
This seems like one of those situations. We’ve both leaned in slightly. I can see the slight tinge of pink on her cheeks, despite it being the start of fall. We’re so close I can make out her individual eyelashes. Every time she blinks, her long lashes kiss the apples of her cheeks. Her lips have a sheen to them from her licking them with anticipation. Does that mean she’s imagining kissing me the way I’m imagining kissing her?
“To be honest, I don’t give a damn about your cookie recipe. I don’t enjoy baking.”
The swells of her breasts almost spill out the top of her shirt. My fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to run along the soft, exposed skin. Would she tremble underneath my touch? All I’d have to do is reach out to find out…
“Ask your question.”
I don’t ask my question. It’s escaped to the back of my mind. At the forefront is the need to lean in closer. Maybe after just one kiss, one swipe of our tongues against one another, I’ll be able to get her out of my mind. I’ll escape to New York tomorrow and forget all about the woman who drives me mad in more ways than one.
Against my better judgment, I reach up and sweep a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. It didn’t seem to be bothering her, but I wanted the excuse to touch her. To finally feel her skin under my touch.
Her chest hitches at the contact. We’re both caught in the moment, staring into each other’s eyes, wondering who will completely cave first. It’s a constant push and pull with us. I’m not a man who likes to lose or a man who gives in to temptation, but for her, right now, I might be.
My thumb skirts along her cheekbone as I memorize the feel of her soft, flushed skin. I won’t allow myself to surrender to this again. I need to commit every single moment to memory before I come to my senses all over again.
“Camden,” she breathes, leaning into my touch.
God, she’s reactive. Her chest heaves, and her lips part, just waiting to press against mine.
“Yes, shortcake?”
“What are you doing?” I wonder if she realizes she’s leaned in closer, placing her lips inches from mine.
“I’m thinking of doing something incredibly fucking stupid.”
“Like?”
“Like tasting that sharp tongue of yours. I can’t help but wonder if your insults won’t bother me as much if I get to taste them.”
My pinky and ring finger press into her neck. Her pulse thrums erratically against them, giving away that she’s lost control just like I have.
“We shouldn’t.” There’s not an ounce of conviction in her voice, despite her words ringing true. I absolutely shouldn’t want to kiss the woman who’s driven me mad from the moment I first met her. But lust isn’t logical. She’s temptation and lust all wrapped into one, and for once, I’m dying to give in to it.
“You’re right about that,” I say, my voice low.
“I want to.”
“Why do I want to give you what you want for once?” My thumb traces over her cupid’s bow before running along her top lip. Her lips part even wider. I continue my path down, pushing her bottom lip as her saliva coats the pad of my thumb.
I’m about to trap her mouth with mine when she takes me by surprise. Her mouth opens even wider. I let my thumb slide deeper into her mouth, feeling the scrape of her teeth against my skin.
Her lips close around my thumb. My cock stirs as I imagine her in the exact same position but with my cock between her eager lips.
The moment her tongue runs along the pad of my thumb, I’m pushing off the quilt and getting as far away from her as possible.
21
PIPPA
My body freezes as I watch him rush away from me. I can’t move. My entire body is flushed, and my lips are still parted as if they were closing around his thick, calloused thumb.
It feels like freezing cold water has been thrown on me, and I don’t know how to react.
I was about to let Camden Hunter kiss me. In fact, I think I was close to begging for him to press his lips against mine just once. I lost total control of myself the moment he got too close to me.
The entire day has felt different. Hate was mixing with lust, and when I felt his breath hot on my cheeks, I forgot every reason why I shouldn’t let him kiss me and only focused on the one reason he should—because for one moment, there was nothing more I wanted than to know what he tastes like.
I bet he kisses angrily, with a pent-up rage that is all-consuming. I bet he fucks like that, too.
And for just a moment, I was desperate to know what it felt like to feel his anger in a different way. The rushed movement of his lips, the punishing bite of his teeth. I wanted to feel it all.
We were so close, until we weren’t. One moment, my thighs were pressing together to try and soothe the ache between my legs; the next moment, all I saw was Camden’s back as he got as far away from me as possible.
When I finally get my shit together, he’s already disappeared down the hill toward where we’d tied up the horses in a small meadow. I push hair from my face, trying to cool my flushed skin. The sun beating down on me doesn’t help, despite the chill in the air thanks to the mountain breeze.
Part of me wants to let Camden go. I want to be glad that he stopped us before anything could have happened. We don’t like each other in the slightest. There’s no reason we should ever kiss. But no matter how hard I try, there’s a tinge of disappointment in my chest because I wanted so badly to know how he kissed, how he tasted, what sounds he’d make if my cheeks hollowed out around his thumb.
It doesn’t take long for that disappointment to turn into anger. It must be something he’s good at, being such an asshole that it gets my blood boiling. I angrily shove myself off the ground before snatching up the quilt and our coffees. I hold them tightly against my chest as I head in the direction Camden just traveled.