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17
Willow
I’m almost lulled back to sleep again, but blood pulses underneath my skin. The delicious dull, ache and slight bruising are testaments to Camdyn’s dark passions. When Camdyn pressed my face to his cock late last night, his stony hands clawed me over. When he came in my mouth, his short fingernails broke my skin. The taste beguiled me. In that second, I craved the notion of Camdyn fucking me crazy. A hurt so raw blossoms over my throbbing pussy lips. He should’ve fucked me.
My hand moves past the razor of light coming from the curtains, which aren’t fully drawn. I seek out more of his madness. Dread fills my stomach. Where did he go?
While the boat rocks softly, I tell myself he’s nearby. Maybe he slept in one of the other rooms? Mouth pensive, I recall his arms wrapped possessively around me in my sleep.
Clutching the linen, I breathe in our sex. Or my sex rather. I drank him like water after nationals.
I settle onto my hip and reach over to push aside the curtains that hang over the bed. Along with the sunlight streaming into the room, I glimpse another boat. We’re docked.
He wouldn’t leave me.
I scamper to the nightstand and grab my cellphone. At a little after one p.m. on a Sunday afternoon, I doubt he has church obligations.
A low groan rides through my throat. “Christian.”
No freaking out. We’re not together. Bridge still intact. I’ll text him an apology about standing him up last night. Malice fills my veins as I read a savage text message.
“This motherfucker,” I whisper, glaring at my texted response to Christian around two a.m. “Lo can’t make it. Sleeping with a belly full of my nut.”
I glance up as Camdyn strolls into the room. He’s got a McDonald’s bag in one hand. In the other is a four-cup holder full of drinks.
“Not sure which ye’d prefer—”
“You’re dead to me,” I growl.
“Orange juice, apple’s my niece’s fav, iced coffee, and a black cof—”
“Cam!”
Cruelty laces into his bark. “What?”
I hold out my cellphone. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I brought you breakfast. Where are your manners, huh? Also, I’m not allowing your threat to sink in. Neither one of us wants me to respond.”
“You’re dead to—”
The bags and drinks drop from his hands. All his weight crashes on top of me. In a voice devoid of rage, Camdyn says, “I’m not the one you want to intimidate, Willow.”
I buck beneath his weight. “Let me go!”
“I’ll not be the dick who blames breakfast on you, either.”
“I said let me go. You mention food. Food that you dropped. Blame yourself, asshole,” I chortle. “How does food factor into my hatred for you, huh, Cam? Here’s a riddle for you: How many chicken nuggets are missing in your head?”
He grinds his sex into me and woah to my idiot pussy. “No nuggets. My GPA is higher than yours, Lolo. Four-point-three, to be precise.”
“Oh, you’re a sociopath?”
“No.” Again, his tone stirs my sex. “I socialized with your friend last night, indicating I’m not a sociopath. Apparently, Christian’s the schizoid.”
Exasperated, I shout, “Shut up!”
“I sent a courteous text—you’re very welcome. Didn’t connect in his fecking brain that you’re taken.”
