Down London Road (On Dublin Street, #2)(117)

As he tormented me with the tantalizing nearness of his erection, I whined against his mouth and his answering smile was smug. He pulled back and brushed his fingers along my cheekbone, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly pushed his cock inside me. He shifted, bracing his hands on either side of my head, and then began to move. His thrusts were gentle this time, languid, and the tension coiled to an excruciating level.

‘I love you,’ he breathed harshly.

I pulled my knees up more, to allow him in deeper, as I cupped his face in my hands. ‘I love you, too.’

I gasped as he rotated his hips, starting to lose focus as the sensations of our lovemaking gained dominance.

‘I love to f*ck you,’ he whispered in my ear, his voice gravelly with emotion. ‘But I love to love you, too.’

I nodded, understanding completely.

Cam kissed me deeply again, his thrusts growing more frantic as the tension increased inside us. Our skin was clammy with sweat as we slid against each other, our panting breathing mingling as our lips brushed back and forth with the movement of his body over mine.

Chasing climax, I tilted my hips up with force, meeting Cam’s next plunge with a slam that snapped the coil. Sparks flew apart in the wake of its destruction and I cried out his name as I came, my sex pulsing around him, my lower body shaking from the climax.

Cam suddenly arranged my hands above my head on the bed, pumping into me harder as he held me down. He came with a guttural shout of my name, his hips jerking against mine as he flooded my womb with his release.

He collapsed on me and I felt a twinge of pain in my ribs. Almost as if he felt it too, Cam rolled on to his side, still in me, and pulled me against him, hooking my leg over his hip.

I felt another spark of pleasure between my legs as his cock twitched inside me.

‘Well worth the wait,’ he sighed happily.

I nodded against his chest, thinking about all the wrong guys I’d dated before him. ‘Definitely.’

Two weeks later

Cam and Jo’s flat

Sweaty, tired, and covered in tiny flecks of paint from the gentle spray of the roller, I let myself into our flat and leaned back against the door with a contented sigh.

Uncle Mick had just dropped me off at home after our first day on the job together. We were decorating one of the show homes in the new development Mick had been contracted for. Today we’d painted all of the ceilings. Tomorrow and the next day would be more painting and then we’d get on with the wallpaper the designer had chosen.

‘I’m home,’ I called, kicking off my work boots and unsnapping the straps on my overalls so they hung on me like baggy jeans.

‘In here,’ Cam answered from the bedroom.

I strolled along the hallway, pulling the bandanna off my head and thinking how nice it was to feel this exhausted. It was an accomplished kind of exhausted and I loved it. I stopped in the doorway of the bedroom to find Cam sitting on the end of the bed with his hands behind his back.

Our room was now a weird mishmash of my stuff and his, but I didn’t care. I just loved that when I woke up in the morning it was to a warm arm wrapped around my waist and usually a welcome morning erection nudging me in the ass.

I wouldn’t swap it for anything.

The move had gone well for the most part. We were both pretty laid-back about the small things, so sharing space wasn’t really an issue for me and Cam, and Cole had recreated his bedroom from upstairs in Cam’s guest bedroom in record-breaking time. He seemed to be perfectly happy with his new home, and glad that our room was on the other side of the flat from his.

I was glad for that too.

Mum, on the other hand, was still pulling the silent treatment, refusing to talk to me whenever I popped upstairs to bring her groceries and clean the place.

Guilt would not find me. Not because of her.

Admittedly, though, some days were easier than others.

However, everything else had gone smoothly. Everyone was happy for us. Well, except Blair, I imagine, but since Cam had been as good as his word about breaking contact with her, I didn’t know that for sure. The only argument we’d had so far was about a week ago when we’d been watching a movie and Malcolm had called me. I took the call. Malcolm had just wanted to chat, a chat in which I told him I’d moved in with Cam. Silence had fallen on the other side of the line and when Malcolm finally spoke, offering me congratulations, it was with such false cheer that I knew I’d hurt him. Again. Before I could respond – not that I knew what to say – he had made his excuses and hung up.

When I returned from the kitchen, I was promptly manhandled by Cameron into the bedroom, where he tried to calmly (and was unsuccessful in that endeavour) ask me what Malcolm wanted. It ended in an argument. Cam argued that since he stopped talking to Blair I should stop talking to Malcolm. I argued it wasn’t the same thing since Blair was in love with him. Cam argued that Malcolm was in love with me. And since I thought he might be right, I let him win the argument, assuring him I wouldn’t speak to Malcolm any more. I didn’t think that would be a problem. I had a feeling that was the last call I would ever receive from Malcolm.

As fiery as the disagreement had been, once it was done, it was done. We settled into our routines quickly, and so far, I would say the moving in thing was an absolute success. The following Saturday we were having a little flat-warming party so all our friends could visit and make sarcastic comments about how sickeningly in love we were.