The Story of Me (Carnage #2)(94)
He closes his eyes. “Kitten, just carry on with your story for f*ck’s sake.”
“I don’t know. I just think because everything I did was controlled by what the boys were doing, it sort of made me rebellious; meant that I was always pushing the boundaries.”
“There’s no ‘sort of’ about it, Kitten. You are rebellious. You do push boundaries. You’re strong willed, defiant and would rather cut your nose off to spite your face than do as anyone tells you to, but I love you, regardless.”
“Well, gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“What can I say?” he shrugs. “You let me stick my fingers up your arse. If you let me stick my cock up there, I might even consider marrying ya.”
“You can f*ck right off. That thing is not going near my arse, not ever.” He gives a small smile.
“You don’t want to marry me then?” Wow, we’ve gone from anal to marriage in one sentence. Only Cam could do that.
I shake my head slowly. “You don’t even know me, Cam.”
“Oh, I do, Kitten. I know you inside out.”
“And you still want to marry me?”
His eyes wander over my face, finally coming back to rest on mine. “Yes, I want to marry you. I want to own you, possess you. I want the whole world to know you’re mine. Like I said earlier, I want a house, a big one and I want to fill it with our children. We’ve both lost so much, Kitten. I’m not losing you again. I can’t. It’d kill me.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if we can’t make babies with our super sexy sperm and eggs?”
He kisses my forehead, then my nose. “Then it’ll just be you and me, and we’ll love the f*ck out of each other, regardless.” A tear runs from my eye, over my nose and plops onto the pillow. “Don’t cry, Kitten. We’ll make this work. We’ll get the best doctors involved and we’ll get us some babies. We’ll fill that house with noise and chaos.” He kisses along the path of my tear. “We’ll get our happy ever after. I promise you that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When I wake in the morning, it’s to an empty bed again, but this time I can hear Cam in the shower. There’s music playing and I can hear him singing along to an old song by the Real Thing. I lay and giggle to myself at his terrible voice. It’s deep and out of tune, but he seems to be enjoying himself.
My scalp suddenly tightens as I think about what we discussed last night. I’m on exactly the same page as Cam with regard to not hanging about. He wants it. I want it, and we’re both adults, why should we wait? The only issue I have is if I get married, I will have to change my name, and then that will be it, the last part of Sean gone, and I don’t know if I can do that. I can’t keep his name; that’d be disrespectful to Cam, but I feel so guilty about replacing it. It would feel like I was replacing him, and I’m not. I couldn’t. What I have with Cam is different to what I had with Sean. I love them both passionately, but differently, and I know that’s not going to sit well with some people, but that’s just the way it is. I still feel guilty and I’ve wondered to myself these past couple of days if I would feel less guilt if I’d fallen in love with someone else, Roman for example. Would I feel less guilty if I had fallen in love with a complete random who Sean didn’t know?
Probably.
Definitely.
Most likely.
Definitely.
Because the problem is, you see, in all honesty, I hadn’t just fallen in love with Cam; I already am and always have been in love with him, and I know this makes me a bad person, a bad wife and a bad widow. I’ve spent twelve years denying what I feel for Cam. Twelve years denying I loved two men. No good would’ve come of admitting it while Sean was alive. I would never have left him. I couldn’t have left him, but in all honesty, if I’d given Cam the chance back when we first met, if I’d allowed myself to fall in love with him, then I don’t know if I could’ve left him for Sean the way I did. I really hate the way this makes me feel. I wonder if it makes me lucky or unlucky to have two loves of my life.
I climb out of bed and go into the bathroom to wee, smiling to myself at Cam’s out-of-tune singing. The music is coming from a pair of speakers hidden in the ceiling, but I’ve no idea where the source to the music is hidden. Without thinking, I flush the toilet and realise what I’ve done the instant Cam screams like a girl. I’ve obviously upset the balance of the water pressure and I wonder if I’ve scolded or frozen him.
“Fuck, brrr.” Frozen then. I smile as I throw my hair up on top of my head and secure it with a scrunchy and step around the glass brick wall into the shower, his eyes meet mine. “Now you’ve got the best of me, come on and take the rest of me,” he sings, thrusts his hips and points at his dick at the same time, “Oh, baby.” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“How old are you?” I ask rhetorically.
“Old as my tongue,” he starts, “and a bit older than my teeth,” we finish together. I’ve not heard that phrase since the last time I heard Cam say it.
“My God—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, “what do you want, Kitten?” I roll my eyes and open my mouth to speak when he continues, “Sex, what again? Oh, if you insist.” So of course, I oblige.