“All I Want for Christmas is You” Mariah Carey
I hadn’t ever considered that Cam would see the tattoo. Not even in my wildest dreams was she really between my thighs, with her gaze skimming from the tattoo, up my body, and back again. But here we are, and there it is.
“It hurt,” I answer simply.
“I’m guessing you don’t mean the tattoo,” she says as her finger lifts from the water to trace the ink.
The warmth is blissful. Cam’s long finger close to my dick is even better. It’s my turn to close my eyes and relish her touch.
“No, though that didn’t feel great either.” I’m almost shaking under her delicate touch.
“I’m sorry,” she breathes.
The moon has disappeared but in that moment my whole world lights up. “Me too.”
“Is it a reminder to never speak to me again?” she asks with a tremor in her voice.
I have to pry my eyes open to look at her. “No. I honestly don’t know why I wanted it.” And that’s the truth. “But sitting here, now, I think I picked it so I’d never forget.”
She smiles and I slide into the pool with her. I gather her in my arms and crush her against my chest, forcing the water to rush around us. The warmth of the pool is nothing compared to the warmth spreading inside of me, fueled by the feel of her skin.
I effortlessly carry her over to the most hidden corner. A very small part of me is disappointed there is no moonlight to dance on her perfect tits but the gentle squeeze and roll of her hips quickly makes me forget.
“Tell me about your tattoo.” I lean in to kiss her.
“Funny, for a second, I didn’t think you noticed.” Her giggle turns into a groan the longer I tongue her neck.
“I noticed the first night when you hugged Trigg over the bar.”
“Bet you didn’t want to see it then.” Her fingertips dig into my shoulder blades.
“Actually, I did. I wanted to punch myself for wanting it, but I jerked-off at the thought of it the next day.” I’m immensely pleased when she groans again and halfheartedly smacks my shoulder.
“So, you gonna tell me or should I put you up on the ledge and take a look.” I push my hands under her ass and start to lift.
She scrambles to stay in the water and squeals. “It’s smoke. It’s smoke,” she repeats frantically.
I sink back down into the water with her. “Why smoke?”
“My entire business is built on smoke. On how I handle the barrels and the flavors I get from them.”
Just when I think I have my shy girlfriend back, this mysterious woman in front of me says that. Words that remind me I can’t have that Cam back, that I may not want her, but Camilla…
“You think it’s weird we both ended up working with wood?”
She quirks her head to the side for a moment, the telltale sign cogs of her brain are whirring.
“I think it’s kind of awesome.”
And that does me in. This woman, the one who makes bourbon and has a smoke tattoo and will skinny dip with me is my soulmate. She’s the other half of me split away and somehow returned. I don’t need to ask more questions or hear more stories. We’re something as steadfast and certain as my declaration that I would have married her.
That I will marry her.
I think she feels it too. The way she looks at me, the way she holds me, the way she melted into me this morning and stayed there all day.
“I think you’re kind of awesome.” It’s corny as hell but I mean it.
Her only response is reaching down for my dick and grabbing it. Without hesitation, she guides me into her. She was never forward, never sure in bed, but this is another one of those changes I’ll gladly embrace. I laugh and moan all at the same time, and she seems to understand perfectly, giggling, as she starts to rock her hips against me. Water sloshes around us as she pins her shoulders back against the wall and uses the leverage to screw me.
And as if God or the universe or maybe even my dad has heard every prayer I’ve ever murmured, the clouds shift and the moon shimmers across the pool, casting a crisp silver light onto the swell of her breasts.
We’d stayed in the pool for hours. She’d let me have her twice in between the best conversations I’ve had in my life. They weren’t positively illuminating or deep philosophical ones, but they were with Camilla.
And Camilla Collins is something else. She’s absolutely flooring in business and in bed. Okay, it was a glorified hot tub, but still.
Her parents’ house is coming up and the thought of turning right flips my stomach. I can’t drop her off. God, I hate that she’s even over in the passenger seat.
“Come home with me,” I beg. “Stay with me tonight. All I want for Christmas is to wake up with you.” I sound like an idiot and I don’t give a damn.
“Do you really think a line that cheesy is going to work on me?” Her smirk is tugging on the corner of her lips.
“Fine, would you prefer something along the lines of I’m locking the doors and taking you home, whether you like it or not.”
I reach over and squeeze her thigh. She swats at my hand but it’s only half-hearted. She’s not going to make me pull over, she’s not even going to protest.
My hands quake a little when we pull into my driveway. Not once have I had Cam in my bed. Outside, backseat of her car, my car, on the quilt, and in a hotel but never in mine. Never have I had the distinct pleasure of waking up next to her without twenty-five of our classmates nearby.
She reaches over and laces her fingers into mine, squeezing as if she can interpret my jitters. If anyone can, it’s Camilla. Silently I put the car in park and shut it off. The moment the electricity fades from the dash, it crackles between us.
“Stay there. I’ll be right over.”
I kick myself for not kissing her before jumping out of the car. I kick myself for not kissing every inch of her since she walked into The Barn a few days ago. The moment I throw open her door, I do my best to fix that, leaning in and cradling her cheeks, I pull her lips to mine.
When I’ve taken a few more delicious kisses, I breathe, “Best. Gift. Ever.” She brings the whipped out in me, but when she throws her arms and legs around me, I’m more than okay with it. If more guys got girls like Camilla, they’d be moronic cornballs too.
It takes every ounce of control I’ve ever had to keep myself from kicking in the door. But more than getting her in the house, I want to keep her there and doors generally work well for that. I set her down just inside and study her. She’s gorgeous. Almost too gorgeous. I turn, needing something to steady myself, something like a beer. I need a moment to adjust to this…fantasy coming true. I’ll come in five lousy seconds otherwise.
When I walk back, she’s playing with the edges of her sweater and rolling around on one of her tiny little heels. God, those heels make my head spin. I lean back against the white wood trying to steady myself. I reach a beer out to her as my eyes wander over her body. She blushes furiously beneath my lazy gaze.
“What are you doing over there?” she asks shyly.
“Watching you.”
She smiles but tries to sink down into her coat collar.
“No, Camilla, don’t hide.” I push up from the wood and take the two steps to hold her. “I want to remember everything the first time I get to have you.”
“You’ve had me. Plenty. Twice tonight…” But then her voice fades off. She realizes what I’m talking about and burrows her head into my shoulder shyly. “You called me Camilla.”
I can’t help the husky chuckle that rattles my chest. “Yes. Yes, I did.” I weave completely around her body which no longer seems so fragile. “Because I was in love with a young, straightforward, pretty girl who dreamed of big things named Cam. But tonight, I fell for a wise, warm, complex and breathtaking woman who makes dreams come true named Camilla.”
I expect her to blush but, as she’s done so many times, she surprises me. She steps back and lifts onto her tiptoes, which considering the heels said something, and cradles my face.
“Funny because I used to love a young, straightforward, cute boy named Jay. But a few days ago, I fell for this loving man with a giant heart and dreams that rival my own. He’s shockingly and painfully attractive, too.”
In a page out of Cam’s book, I try and burrow into her hand to hide. She doesn’t let me. She brings her lips up to mine, somehow finding that last inch to reach.
Shit.
I’m going to devour her.
Camilla kisses my neck then along my jaw as I shove her jacket off so I can peel her clothes off piece by piece. When I pop her bra off, her breasts sway ever so slightly. She gets me so damn hard, and with her pants still on. Her skin begs for kisses. Any and everywhere I can reach. Including tight little nipples that I don’t remember being so pert or responsive.
She claws at me in the best way, raking manicured nails through my hair and down my back. I can’t help but bite. Camilla groans and shoves her tits deeper into my mouth.
Oh, holy fuck.
I grab under her ass and lift her, carrying her easily to my bed. My bed. I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet. When I lay her out, I kiss beneath her bellybutton and the skin is trembling so furiously it vibrates against my lips. I keep my mouth on her as I slip the stilettos from her heels. Damn, am I sad to see them go.
But I can’t cry over their loss, her skin is a buffet in front of me as I all but yank off her pants. She giggles as her knees knock together. I let them be as I kiss along the length of her pale skin. We’re different this time, a fantasy fulfilled, and everything is heightened because of it.
“Damn, Lamby.”
My fingers are attracted to the smoke drifting up her side the way hers had been to my thirteen. It circles just below the crease of her hip then, in the softest wisps, glides up and over her ribs. Just below her chest a tendril curls underneath her perfect breast and another around. A wild twist of white and gray weaves back to her shoulder, tracing and skirting her shoulder blade.
“Whoa.” I can’t help myself.
My lips have to trace it too. She lets me for a while, but when my lips go from ink to tit, she begs, “Please, AJ.”
Please, AJ.
Good God.
Yes.
To anything.
And with that, I slowly strip until I can nestle naked in between her thighs and start the roll of my hips. We lose ourselves in each other. Repeatedly.
No one in the history of sex—Hollywood, porn, or otherwise—has ever been as good in bed as Camilla. She’s wild but bends completely to my will. Her hips roll and she can clench all the muscles between her thighs on command. She likes to grip onto me, tightly. Sometimes too tightly. I find myself hoping the angry red scratches from her nails mar my skin like our tattoos so I’ll never forget.
I make Camilla come three times. I know because she doesn’t have some raucous loud screech fest. She can’t breathe, and her body goes rigid when she loses her voice. She gasps a few times, pleasure mixed with agony and syllables that vaguely resemble my name. Her nails claw into me while her hips jerk against mine. One time she even bites my chest, right above my heart. That’s when I finally let myself go. I come brutally, my vision even blurs along the edges.
I collapse on top of her and she doesn’t even try to get me to move. When I do roll off her, she simply comes with me. For a little while she’s just tucked in the crook of my shoulder but then she nestles in so deeply, we’re entwined. I hold her all the more tightly until her breathing softens.
Her raven locks are a silky sheet across her shoulder. The edges kiss the tattoo. I mean to brush them aside, but start playing with them instead as I watch her. The gentle rise and fall of her ribs makes the smoke dance beneath my hand and I let out a deep breath.
She is perfection.
Merry Christmas to me.