Camille

“Would you like some more coffee, Ronan? I can make a fresh pot if you’d like.” My mother flits around our tiny kitchen like she’s serving the King of England. “The last one was a little strong. Did you think it was strong? Let me make another pot.”

“Mom.” I laugh.

Ronan smiles. “I’m fine, Linda. Thank you.”

“Calm down,” I say. “Come sit with us. Your food is getting cold.”

Ronan returned from Washington last night, and Mom gladly allowed him to stay with us.

Her alarm sounded at six AM this morning, promptly followed by clinking and clamoring in the kitchen as she prepared a breakfast feast.

Completely unnecessary, but totally her.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever had Mickey Mouse waffles.” Ronan saws a chunk off of Mickey’s ear and forks it, his strong jaw flexing as he chews.

He’s so handsome like this, stripped down, gray sweats and a white t-shirt, his hair a mess for reasons that bring an immediate blush to my cheeks as we dine with my mother.

“When Camille was nine years old, I took her to Disney World.” Mom grins, and I brace myself for a story I’m sure is going to embarrass the hell out of me. “Oh, Ronan, she was the sweetest little thing. It rained on us the whole time, but my baby never stopped smiling. And how could she? Gosh, I’d give anything to relive that week all over again.”

She rests her chin on her hands and stares across the table.

“I’ve never been there,” Ronan says. “But I can imagine how magical it might be for a child.”

My mother swats at his hand. “Get out! You’ve never been?”

“Never had the chance,” he says.

Last night, Ronan told me about growing up at boarding school, how homesick he was the first few years, and how he never really felt close with his family because they were never together. I suspect the main reason he wanted to follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps was to feel closer to them the only way he could.

“My goodness, well you’re just going to have to tag right along with us when we go next month.” Mom grins. “We’re still going, right?”

I nod. “We are.”

Ronan glances at me. He doesn’t smile, but I see a relaxed contentedness in his blue eyes that I’ve never seen before.

Mom checks her watch, pops up from the table and dabs her mouth with a paper napkin covered in flowers. “I’m running late for the library.”

“You don’t have to be there for another twenty minutes,” I say.

“Ten minutes early is still late to old Mrs. Edna Roush.” Mom swats her hand. “You know how she is. Hasn’t changed a lick in fifteen years.”

“Have fun,” I say as she steps into a pair of quiet-soled shoes and swipes her keys from the counter.

“I’ll see you two just before supper tonight.” She smiles, pausing by the door leading to the garage. She likes Ronan, which says a lot, because as sweet as my mom is, she doesn’t warm up to people that easily and she trusts no one. Mom nods and disappears into the garage.

I watch Ronan finish his breakfast, his napkin in his lap and his knife in his left hand. Even the placement of his orange juice glass is proper.

“What do you want to do today?” I ask, taking in the view of the exquisite man sitting beside me.

He finishes his bite and leans back. “Hang out with you. Do normal things.”

I laugh. “What kinds of normal things?”

“Anything we want. But first . . .” Ronan pushes his chair from the table, reaching for me and pulling me into his lap.

My hands hook behind his neck, and I lean in for a maple syrup-flavored kiss. I grin when his fingers trail underneath my shirt. The hardness that begins to poke from his low-hanging sweats is an open invitation I’ll gladly accept.

He closes his fingers around my ponytail and tugs until my head tilts back and my neck is exposed. Hot kisses pepper a trail from the underside of my chin down the side of my neck, and then along my left collarbone.

“You’re so fucking worth it, Camille,” he breathes between kisses. His hands unfasten my bra before sliding around to massage my breasts with his strong, soft hands. “You should know that.”

I pull his scent into my lungs over and over, my hips circling in his lap as a flood of arousal invades my sex. This man sends my body reeling like no one else can.

Ronan grips my ass, lifting me as he rises, and carries me upstairs to my room where my bed is all kinds of disheveled from last night’s romp. He flew in late last night, and we burned the midnight oil as if it were all going away the next day.

You don’t know what you have until someone threatens to take it all away. And then you fight like hell for it.

That’s exactly what Ronan did. He fought for me. I’ll never know what he saw in me that night at the masquerade ball, but I’ll be forever grateful he never stopped searching.

“You’re completely insane, you know that, right?” I laugh as he tugs his sweats down and I reach for his swollen cock.

“How so?” He crawls over me, yanking down my pajama pants and pulling me closer. My legs relax, spreading wide as my pussy pulses with pure anticipation. Ronan was inside me less than eight hours ago, and still I crave more of him.

“For leaving Washington.” I cup his face, pulling it close and kissing his perfect mouth. “For standing up to your family. For choosing me over everything.”

His lips graze mine before our tongues merge.

“No, Camille, I’d be insane to let you go. I’d be insane to walk away from the possibility of a future I might actually enjoy.”

My belly flutters.

“Are you still moving west?” he asks, gripping his cock and teasing it against my seam. He runs the tip up and down as I squirm.

I nod, biting my bottom lip as my nails dig into his biceps.

“Good. I’m coming with you,” he says, pushing himself farther inside. His rock hard cock fills me as he moves deeper. My hands drag along his back, resting at the smooth dip above his tight ass. “Say the word and we’ll go.”