Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(55)

“Cam, I can’t . . .I can’t . . .”

Pulling all the way out of her, he teased the opening of her sex until she opened her eyes.

“I love you,” she said. “Come with me.”

It was the selflessness of her request that pushed Cameron over the edge: for him to find his pleasure with her because she loved him. And Cameron let go, thrusting into her body over and over again until she screamed his name in joyful release and he groaned that he was hers until the end of time.





Chapter 12


As she often did, Margaret dreamed of green-eyed children with thick black hair zigzagging through rows of grapes while their father, with his deep, thundering laugh, chased after them. Their giggles were high and happy as they squealed, “Mommy!” barreling into her arms as their father—her beloved Cameron—swooped them all up into his strong arms, his smile promising an exquisite forever.

And then the children faded away, running merrily back into the vines as Cameron’s arms remained around her, his lips hot at the base of her throat, then sucking at her breasts, licking the sensitive points until she—

Opening her eyes, she found Cameron’s head bobbing gently beneath her chin, her breast in his mouth, his fingers gently teasing and pinching her other nipple. Her body was wet and ready for him. Tired, yes, but prepared and needy. She threaded her hands through his hair, groaning with pleasure as he slid into her waiting body without preamble or permission, knowing he was welcome, believing as strongly as she that it was where he belonged.

Still half asleep, she closed her eyes as he slowly pumped into her, touching her womb gently with the tip of his sex, then pulling away. And suddenly she thought of those green-eyed children again, laughing with glee, and she gasped, pushing at his shoulders.

“Cameron! Cameron, stop! Wait!”

He went rigid above her, looking down at her with horrified eyes. “Am I hurting you?’

She shook her head. “No. No, but I . . . Oh God.”

He slid out of her, hovering over her body, worry overtaking his face. “What, baby? Tell me. Now.”

“Cameron,” she started, “I . . . I’m not . . .”

“You’re not in love with me.”

“Of course I’m in love with you, you idiot! I’m not on birth control!”

He was already still, but his body went rigidly still, terrified still. His eyes searched her face desperately.

“What?”

“I’m not . . .” She licked her lips nervously, her body quivering from deprivation, desperate to be filled by him again. Did he feel it? Could he feel the trembling of her flesh—so close to his—that longed to suck him back inside and feel him moving within her? “I’m not on the pill.”

“Christ,” he muttered, falling onto his back. As he stared at the ceiling, panting, he laid a palm on his forehead. “Why didn’t you say something?”

The chill in his voice hurt worse than she could have imagined. Was the thought of having a child with her so repulsive? Tears sprang to her eyes, and she pulled the sheet over her exposed breasts.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I . . . Fuck, the truth? I wasn’t thinking about anything except how badly I wanted you.” He sighed loudly. “Fuck.”

Margaret sniffled softly, rolling to her side and putting her back to him. The reality? After their lovemaking earlier, she could be pregnant right now. Though it was unlikely, based on her cycles, technically it was possible. And though having a baby was an almost aching desire, she wouldn’t have necessarily chosen to get pregnant unengaged, unmarried, on the very first night that she and Cameron had sex.

Then again, her life wasn’t exactly going according to schedule right now. Quitting Story Imports and making The Five Sisters her life hadn’t been an immediate plan either, and yet, when she thought about her future now, she was happier than she’d been in a long time. And truthfully, having Cameron’s children had been one of Margaret’s most secret, most favorite dreams for a long, long time.

It really came down to one question: was she ready? If she was pregnant with his baby right now, was she ready to be a mother?

The truth washed over her like warm rain, divine and wholesome and inescapable: She was. She was ready. Though her father would disapprove, it didn’t matter. The life Margaret wanted—the life she could love with every fiber of her being—was finally falling into place, and a child with the man she loved would only make it more perfect. Even if Cameron didn’t want the child, she did.

His hand was gentle on her back. Soothing. Placating.

“I’m so f*cking sorry about this.”

He was sorry. Oh God, had it ever hurt so badly to hear that word? Leaning away from him, she couldn’t help the tear that slid over her nose, onto her pillow.

“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. I promised you were safe with me. I promised you would have no regrets, and—”

Wait a second! Wait a— She flipped back over to face him, her brows furrowing with confusion.

“Cameron, why are you sorry?”

“Because you could be pregnant. Because I could have gotten you f*cking pregnant, and I—”

“Wait. Are you . . . I mean . . . just tell me this: do you want kids?”

“Yeah. I mean, of course . . . someday.”