The Innocent: Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Index

Chapter 8

Kyla

The song I was playing on my guitar ended, and before I could set the instrument down, Camille asked, “Can you play that one that goes,” she hummed out a short tune, “that one’s my favorite.” She was laying behind me while I sat on the edge of the bed, her side pressed up against my back. I began strumming the song, but it wasn’t as upbeat as usual because I wasn’t putting much effort into it, and I felt her head turn to look at me. She gave me half a minute of playing before she said, “You’re not singing it.”

“Sorry,” I said, but my playing stopped.

She sat up, propping herself on one arm and scooting closer to my back while her other hand set on my hip. She pressed a kiss to the scar on the back of my left shoulder, exposed by my tank top, and then set her chin against it. “You’ve been quiet since we left the junkyard last night,” she said. “What’s wrong?” I thumbed the high E string, trying to decide if I even wanted to say it. It was dumb, and what happened last night wasn’t about me. “Kyla?” Camille’s hand left my hip and reached around, setting on mine to stop my picking at the string.

“It’s my fault,” I admitted.

“What is?”

“Constance,” I murmured, “being after you.”

She sat up all the way and froze for a moment like she was considering how to respond. She slid off the bed, watched me prop my guitar against the wall because I knew it’s what she wanted, and then stepped between my legs. She made sure to catch my gaze before saying, “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” I argued, eyes dropping to my lap. “You wanted nothing to do with this. You were scared because magic almost killed you, but I forced you to do it anyway and now she wants to kill you.”

Her lips pressed against the crown of my head. “Hey,” she said, “look at me.” It took me a few seconds to meet her eyes. “You’re not forcing me to do this. You’re doing it because you believe in it, because it matters to you.” I didn’t say anything, and my focus wanted to leave hers, but then she said, “When I was at the junkyard the first time, I almost left,” and my brow furrowed with surprise. “Constance went in there,” she explained, “and the shotgun went off, and I almost ran because I was scared. But I went in because it’s what you would’ve done. Because stopping her is the right thing to do, the brave thing, and I believe in it too. I made this choice… and it’s one I might have to keep making because of fear, but I will keep making it.”

“But if I stayed away from it like you wanted,” I said, “if I just let the Council handle it, then maybe-”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she interrupted. “I have a class with Constance, she knows me regardless. And she isn’t after me because we’re trying to stop her, she’s after me because I fucked up. Because I killed a man. That is not your fault.” She reached up to cup my face. “If anything, I’m less afraid because my life isn’t in the Council’s hands. It’s in your hands, and like you said, you value it more than they do.”

“And Abby’s hands,” I pointed out, “and Luna’s.”

“And they value it too,” she said, letting her hands fall to my thighs, “just like you do.” She squinted one eye in thought and teased, “Well, maybe not Abby as much...”

“She does,” I laughed. “She likes you, I can tell.”

She smiled and folded her fingers with mine. “I don’t want you to give this up.”

“Are you still scared?” I asked. Her gaze dropped as she nodded. “I won’t ask you to do anything else you’re afraid to. I’m sorry I did.”

“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head. “I think you were right when you said I couldn’t back out when people needed me just because I was scared. I don’t want to back out. You should ask.”

“I got an idea, then, for next time.” I paused, but she stayed quiet to let me say it. “You know how the connection’s stronger, and we can feel pain?” She hummed. “If we get into something you don’t like, or you’re too scared and I ain’t there, press your nail into your palm so I’ll feel it. If I’m there, we’ll leave, and if I’m not then I’ll do it back so you know I’m coming. So you don’t got to be scared. One time for I’m coming, and two times for hang in there.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I’ll be okay. We don’t have to.”

“No, come on,” I urged. “Try it.” I set my teeth in a begging smile. “Please. I’ll feel better knowing I ain’t making you do this without some solution.”

“You’re not mak-”

“I know,” I said. “I know, but you’re totally behind me in solving this case, and I want you to feel like I’m behind you, too. Even if it’s something small like this.” She laughed again, but finally gave in and pressed the nail of her thumb to the palm of her other hand, watching me to see if I could feel it. I couldn’t. “Harder.” She dug a little deeper, but it still wasn’t enough. She pressed a bit more, and finally there was an uncomfortable pressure in the palm of my own hand. “There.” I grinned. “And I’ll do it back.” I did the same, pressing with my nail until she glanced at her hand because she could feel it.

“It’s a good idea,” she said with a smile. “Thanks.”

I returned the smile, but it faded soon after. “So…” I met her gaze briefly before looking back down. “You don’t blame me?”

“Not even a little,” she replied.

“…I just want you to be okay.”

“I’m okay,” she assured me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. She planted another kiss on my cheek, trailing pecks across the bridge of my nose to the other side of my face. “I’m okay,” she repeated. She brought my hand up to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low cut of her shirt, setting it there flat so I could feel her heartbeat. “See?” It was steady. Strong. Familiar. Her forehead set against mine, and the comfort of her reassurance already felt so good that I couldn’t keep my eyes from drifting shut. “I’m okay,” she said again, and then her lips met mine. The kiss was slow and tender and sweet, further promise that she didn’t blame me for this, but amidst the kiss she reached for the bottom of my tank top. She pulled away as I let her lift it up and over my head, and as she tossed it to the floor behind her, she passed a direct look over my upper body. “I’m more than okay.”

I laughed, slinging my arms around her neck to pull her back to me, and there was a wave of need in the connection as her hands set on my bare waist. One there never would’ve been if she were too afraid or worried about what could happen. “Oh, I felt that,” I smirked, bringing my lips in close to hers. “You’re just fine.”

“Told you.”

She kissed me again, lips parting so I could feel the tip of her tongue graze my teeth, and maybe this was what I needed. More than her just telling me she was fine and that she could handle the fear and the risk, the kind of reassurance I needed was her showing me. It was her hands sliding up my ribs and around my back, undoing the clasp of my bra so she could slip it down my arms and reunite it with my shirt. It was her laying me back while her lips left mine for my neck, for my chest, for the bullet scar in my ribs and the birthmark beside my belly button. It was her allowing me to feel in the connection that she really didn’t blame me for the danger she was in, and worrying about it wasn’t how she wanted to spend our Saturday morning, and it didn’t change how she felt.

Nor was it about me, and my comfort. It was her life being threatened. I should be reassuring her, showing her that everything was okay and making her feel safe. And I would. I’d show her with sex, and then affection, and then by solving this case and stopping Constance without her ever getting hurt.

She kept pressing gentle pecks to my stomach, the easiest place for her to kiss without being on the bed, but I wanted her closer. Wanted her skin. Her heat. I rose just enough to reach down, past her shoulders to the hem of her shirt, pulling it toward me and sliding it over her head. After I threw it away, I cupped her face, guiding her away from my stomach and up so I could get what I needed. So I could give her what she needed. She climbed up willingly, placing herself between my legs while she settled above me, and that was what I’d wanted. The weight of her against me. The heat of her bare chest on mine. Her parted lips taking mine in such an earnest kiss it stole the breath from my lungs.

One of my hands went to the back of her head, tangling in her blond curls to encourage the depth of it while my other explored every part of her it could. I cupped her jaw, followed the bend of her neck to caress my fingertips over the smooth skin of her naked shoulder. I traced inward along her collarbone and down the center of her chest, dropping my hand between us. She lifted off me just enough to give me space, shifting her weight to one elbow so I could caress the muscled lines of her abs. So I could touch all the places I knew would get her going. The places that would stagger her breathing, and make her mouth part even more against mine so she could try and get air. The places that would coax her tongue past my lips with every ragged exhale, so I could lose myself in her taste.

I followed her ribs around to her back, trailed the curve of her waist to her hip and worked my way back in. Her skin was so soft that I couldn’t do more than graze or I risked missing out on its delicacy, and her responses in the connection were like electricity against my palm. It tickled her when I ran a single digit across the center of her stomach, and the tingling of it radiated in the pad of my finger as she released a breathy laugh against my lips. It sent jolts to her chest when I skimmed the flesh along the inside of her hip, tracing the waistline of her pants, and the echoes of pleasure coursed through my own veins.

Best of all was when I ran my hand back up to her chest. I filled it with a breast and her stomach erupted with a warmth that flushed through her, and that I felt in me. It forced a weakened huff of air onto my lips, the start of the breathlessness I’d been seeking, and I loved this. Loved the feel of her plump skin between my fingers, and how she pushed into my grip every time I grasped and massaged. Loved the press of a firm nipple against my palm, and how I could lighten my hold to skim over it, or graze it with my thumb. I loved the way her teeth scraped my bottom lip to tell me that she loved it too, or bit down every time I did something particularly right.

And her free hand wasn’t idle. It was all over my thigh. It caressed upward from my knee to my hip, ran back down along the inside between my legs, teasing a touch that I was already impatient for. It moved behind my knee, guiding my leg up so it cradled her waist and gave her room to reach my backside, where I knew she’d linger because it was a spot she loved. She rounded the swell of it, following to where it ended at my thigh and then grazed back up. Her palm admired the shape of me, mapping the curved planes at the rear of my lower body, moving up to fondle my hip and then working back around. She grabbed, clutching to pull me closer while she ground down against me, and my chest thundered with appreciation for the push.

She fit so perfectly between my legs. Fit against me so well that if I angled my hips just the right way there was friction. Sweet, glorious friction. It wasn’t enough, but it was enough that my breathing was getting labored. And it wasn’t just the feel of her moving against me. It wasn’t just the friction, or the heat, or the moisture forming at my core. It was her. Her rhythm, her skin, her heartbeat, all melding so perfectly with mine that I couldn’t tell if my hips pushed because hers did or the other way around. I couldn’t tell if it was her pulse or mine that skipped when the tip of my tongue met hers, or where her flesh ended and mine began. It wasn’t the friction. It was feeling her in every cell of my body even when we still had some of our clothes on. It was the connection setting her alight in my blood, in my soul, until we were one. Until her wants and needs and emotions were mine, and mine hers, and I needed her release just as much as my own.

With the next drive of her hips, my hands left her head and her chest to grab her waist. I shifted her sideways off of me, and she dropped onto her back right ways along the bed while I got to my knees between her legs. Her hips rose off the mattress when I reached for the hem of her pants, letting me slide them down her thighs, and then her knees, until I could slip them off her ankles and toss them to the floor. I couldn’t help staying knelt there and running my hand up the inside of her thigh, exalting in her indifference toward undergarments which allowed me to admire the beauty of her without barriers.

Camille was gorgeous. I’d always thought so, but it still amazed me that I could act on any desire she stirred in me. I could explore her with my hands, or my lips, or my tongue – her long legs, her sculpted abs, her modest breasts or her muscled shoulders. I could touch and kiss and relearn all my favorite spots a hundred times over, until I knew her body better than I knew my own. I could memorize all the deep, rich tones of brown in her mahogany eyes or each defined line of her powerful anatomy.

I drank in the sight of her so long I forgot she was watching me. Until she said, “I love the way you feel when you look at me like that.”

I met her gaze, taking in the adoration in it while my lips pulled into a smile. “I love you,” I said, and I dropped forward to kiss her deeply. Her hands cupped my face, returning it for a minute before I pulled away to set my forehead against hers. “My heart wants me to kiss you for hours,” I whispered against her lips. She hummed and gave me a brief peck. “…But my tongue wants other things.”

She smiled into the next peck she gave me, but there was a flair of desire in the connection, and her hands left my face to set against my shoulders with a slight pressure. “We can kiss later.”

I laughed, but left her lips to start trailing kisses down the length of her body. I pressed open pecks along the column of her throat, down the center of her chest and up along the swell of a breast, letting my tongue sample tastes of her along the way. A lick at her pulse point, soothing a nip at her collarbone, one teasing flick over a nipple, brief touches between my open lips as they landed between her hips. I scattered kisses over that delicate skin until her left hand cupped my face, then I kissed her palm, her wrist, the tattoo on the inside of her forearm. Her impatience carried through the connection, and I recognized it in the overly subtle request of her touch, of her hand combing through my hair, but I was enjoying myself too much to rush.

I adjusted deeper on the bed while my lips wandered down the side of her hip, down the top of her thigh and to the inside of her knee. That knee bent out at the same time her other did, opening herself up to me, but I ignored the plea and grazed the tips of my fingers up the inside of her thigh instead. She squirmed against the touch, and even more when my mouth began to follow its upward trail, and I ran my fingers back down the inside of the opposite thigh. Her hands were fisted in the sheets so she wouldn’t beg with a grasp or push, but the tension was tight in her abs. It was in the occasional shift of her hips and the way her heart raced faster the higher my lips got.

I pretended I couldn’t see her looking at me while I dropped my kisses a few inches back toward her knee, pretended I couldn’t picture the need in her eyes. But I could feel it, and it wasn’t all hers. Every few seconds, I couldn’t help glancing between her legs, tempting myself with the sight of how much she wanted this. Every breath I inhaled, I took through my nose, letting her scent wash over me until it was like a fog in my head. Until my mouth watered and the pure desire to taste forced my lips to wander back up.

The final kiss I pressed was to the bend at the apex of her thigh, but it was close enough that she whimpered, and I didn’t have it in me to resist. I looked up to meet her gaze, to see how she was holding her head up and to see the anticipation in her eyes, watching while I dragged the flat of my tongue through the moisture at her core. Her head lolled back as a relieved moan left her throat, and the wave of pleasure that rolled through her was powerful. It crashed through me at the same time as her taste washed over my tongue, and my thrill met hers so blissfully in the connection that I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I don’t know if it was because of that burst of feeling, or if it was because I circled the tip of my tongue over her clit to start a pattern, but the hard breath she let out stuttered through her lips. My eyes were closed, but her hips shifted and I knew her back had arched, and I forced them open again so I wouldn’t have to imagine how amazing she looked. I wanted to see the flutter of her chest, and how her head was tossed back, and how the muscles in her arms flexed as her hands gripped tighter in the sheets. I wanted to watch her mouth hang open as my tongue fell into the rhythm she loved, wanted to see the subtle twitch in her jaw because some part of me wasn’t there for her to bite down on like she craved, or how I could just barely see the crease that formed between her eyebrows every time I hit her favorite spot.

Even though what I was doing was all about her, she wasn’t the only one getting something out of it. As much as I loved making her feel this way, and hearing the moans she made or the half-breaths she released, her pleasure was mine in the most physical of ways. Every stroke of my tongue was met with a building pressure that tensed deep in my own stomach. Each time the bliss forced a stunted noise from her chest, echoes of it sparked in my own lungs. Every time my tongue dipped to her entrance to collect more of her taste, she clenched so hard that my own body pulsed in response. The connection was so strong and Camille felt so amazing that I reached up for her hand, and she untangled her fingers from the blanket to fold them with mine. To make sure I felt every thrilled squeeze she made and had something to grasp too, because the demand for release low in my belly grew with every second her taste was on my tongue.

“Kyla.” The raspy sound of my name made my stomach flutter, and I glanced up to give her my attention, but her actually looking at me buried between her legs forced a whimpered moan from her lips. She couldn’t keep her head up, and it fell back again as her chest heaved with the struggle for air. “Don’t finish with me,” she forced on a breath. My heart lurched with the sheer need for it, my body’s rebelling plea to let it happen. She felt it, and drew in another breath to say, “Please, I want to touch you first.”

It would’ve been so easy to finish with her, whether I’d been touched yet or not. God, I wanted to. I hadn’t even tried to resist the building release in the connection. Hadn’t been bridling its effects on me or keeping it from making me react. I’d been basking in it, gladly letting it carry me with her toward the end so that her plea was a request for torturous self-control. But I could do it. I would do it, for her. Because it’s what she wanted, and I knew there’d be no sweeter relief than when her fingers finally brought me to climax.

So I braced myself for the restraint. I clutched her hand a bit tighter, and slid my other beneath her thigh to wrap it around to her hip, gripping to hold her to me and anchor myself. And I focused all my efforts on taking her to the end. I stopped wandering for her taste and trained my tongue on her clit, using my grasp at her hip to add pressure and weight, and increasing to the tempo I knew would take her right to the edge. Her reaction was instant. Her hand squeezed mine hard as her hips left the mattress and a stuttered profanity fell from her lips, and my clasp doubled to keep her from pulling away from my mouth.

My eyes wandered up her torso while my dedicated tongue worked her over, staring in awe at how beautiful she was when she let go. I savored it until the very moment I couldn’t. Until the connection spiked and she reached the peak and I had to slam my eyes shut to focus on not falling over the edge with her. It wasn’t easy. She let out a loud moan as she passed that peak and went into climax. Her free hand grabbed the back of my head as she bucked, and I let go of her other hand to grab her hips with both, clutching her to me so her uncontrolled movement wouldn’t tear her from my touch. I stopped my rhythm just to press against her, to feel the pulsing waves that rolled through her and ended in the powerful throbs against my tongue.

It wasn’t easy. She was clenching and whimpering and quivering with each tremble that went through her, it was so sexy and I wasn’t even looking at her. Every sound, every motion was unchecked and filled with pure, unfiltered bliss. Each tide of the tensing muscles in her body surged in my veins like a flood of heat. Even though they were just hazy reflections of what she was feeling, they were still strong enough to make me weak with pleasure, but I wouldn’t let that dull what I gave. Every time her pulsing slowed, I gave a gentle lick to keep her going, to draw out more of the breathless whimpers, to feel her hips rock in my hands and her fingers tangle even more in my hair.

I indulged in her in the connection as much as I could allow myself, and cherished the way she assaulted every one of my senses until she settled back into the bed. Until she let out an exhausted sigh and her fingers combed through my hair to smooth what she’d mussed. It wasn’t until then that I finally had the control to open my eyes. I looked at her face and caught the amount of satisfaction in her expression, and couldn’t help grinning as I pressed a kiss where my tongue had been. Her shoulders rose an inch above the bed as she twitched from the sensitivity, but she let out a long, low hum as she laid back again.

I wiped my chin on the back of my wrist while I crawled up to lie over her. Her eyes were shut, and I might’ve thought she was passed out if she wasn’t smiling. “Camille,” I chuckled, pressing a kiss to her nose. She hummed again. “Endearing as it is that you’re so easy to please, I got a problem that desperately needs seeing to.”

She let out a huff of laughter, but her hand met my stomach as she said, “Let me see how desperately,” and she slid it straight beneath the lining of my pants and underwear, knowing exactly where to find what she was looking for. And I wasn’t expecting her to go right for it – she loved to tease – but she found a generous amount of moisture and used it to slide the length of her finger over my clit. I was so worked up, so on edge from not being able to finish with her that the simple touch robbed me of strength. My head dropped against her shoulder as a pleading whimper left my throat, and she chuckled beside my ear. “Yeah, that’s pretty desperate.” Just when I was about to beg, she circled that sensitive point of nerves slowly once, twice, pressed a wet kiss to the shell of my ear, and whispered, “Lie down.”

Her hand left me so I could drop off of her and lie at her side. She rose, undid the button of my jeans and slid them and my underwear down at once, tossing them sideways onto the floor. She fell forward, straddling one of my thighs so she was off-center enough to touch me, and she braced herself on her forearm while her lips found mine. I didn’t need to protest the distraction of a kiss, or remind her of how badly I wanted her. She knew. She felt it, and her other hand moved over my hip and between my legs. But just when I expected her to touch me and bring release, one finger began sliding into me so slowly that I felt every inch.

It was so damn good to have her pushing inside me, and I took in such a heavy gasp as my head tipped back that it pulled me away from the kiss. She withdrew all the way to the tip of her finger before my body fully adjusted to the overwhelming sensation, and she lined up a second and drove both back into me. It forced all the air from my lungs in a loud moan, and the extreme pleasure of it curled me into her as I clenched around the humble width of her fingers. My arms flew around her, one hand clutching at her head as she buried her face against my neck, while my other grasped at her back. My shoulders curved toward hers as they left the mattress, clinging to her as closely as possible so I could get contact and heat, and my leg she wasn’t straddling hooked around the back of hers.

I sucked in stunted gulps of air as she drew back and pushed into me again. As the staggering pleasure of her thrusts hit me as deeply as her long fingers would allow, sending stars shooting behind my eyes and causing an astounding burst of pressure between my hips. I wanted that feeling to be constant. Wanted the breathtaking force of her thrusts sending steady floods of warmth through my veins until there was too much tension and heat in me to contain. And she knew it, and she didn’t just pick up a rhythm fast enough to give me what I wanted.

She curled her fingers with the next reverse draw, dragging them against my inner front wall to hit the most sensitive place she could. That was constant. With every push and pull, that drag was there throughout the entire motion, hitting a spot that made me both weak and desperate at the same time. I wanted more of it, and even though it already had me moaning and whimpering with every jagged breath I released, I couldn’t help moving my hips. They fell into rhythm with her hand, rocking against her to meet each drive and take her as deeply as possible.

It was everything I needed until her mouth touched down between my pulse point and jaw, until I realized how much I needed that too. My fingers grasped at her head to encourage the open kisses and the brief suction of her lips. The gentle nips and the scorching graze of her tongue. As much as I’d wanted to finish with her the first time, I was glad she asked me to wait until I’d been touched. There was nothing better than her lips and tongue and fingers working me into a mewling mess, and there was only one thing better than her finally making me come. It was shared release that left us both satisfied.

I was too weak under her touch, too lost in the pleasure of her and how much I needed this to reach between her legs, but I could feel her in the connection. She was struggling not to let the euphoria that crossed over interfere with what she was doing. She was breathing hard against my skin, and I had no doubt that if I did touch her, she’d be throbbing. She was building again as I did, gleaning pleasure from every rock of my hips into her hand.

I was too far gone to touch her, but she was straddling my thigh in just the right place that if I lifted my knee… My thigh rose perfectly to meet the wetness at her core, and I got more of a startled reaction than I expected when I pressed against her. Her teeth bit down on my neck as she released a muffled whimper into my flesh, and the rhythm of her fingers hitched, jamming so wonderfully against my sensitive front wall that my nails dug into her back.

I curled even further into her so I could reach her ear with my mouth, clutching her to me and panting until I had the breath to plead, “Come with me.”

She lifted enough to find my lips with hers, taking my mouth in a searing kiss while her fingers pulled out of me to find my clit instead. She set to circling that bundle of nerves with the virtue of experience, and I moaned against her tongue as the touch melted all the tension she’d built and threw me right to the edge. It didn’t help her precision that my hips kept rocking with her pattern, but I didn’t stop because it moved my thigh between her legs. It provided all the friction I could give to make sure that when I went barreling into climax, she was right there with me.

It was clear that she appreciated it, too. Her teeth were always an indication of pleasure, and every few seconds she broke from the kiss to grip my bottom lip between them. As much as I loved the sting of her bite, or how soft her lips were after a nip and the slick feel of her tongue when it found mine, I didn’t want her to hold back. Not like she would if she kept kissing me; if she had to think about how rough she was being or anything but the finish.

With my hand still tangled in her hair, I used that grip and what was left of my focus to move her away from my mouth. “Here,” I breathed, directing her out along my collarbone, and it was like the final piece slipping into place when her teeth sank into the ball of my shoulder.

It caused me to draw in a deep breath as I reached the peak, as my hand gripped the back of her head with reception and every muscle in my body seized with the pure bliss I already felt. Then I went stumbling over that peak into the overwhelming ecstasy of the finish. The breath I took left my throat in a cried-out moan as all the heat in my body flooded to Camille’s touch, and the surge of her climax crashed over me in waves as her hold on my shoulder strengthened.

I’d grown to love the bite as much as I loved her kiss, and her touch. It anchored me to her in a physical way when every other sensation threatened to lose me in the connection. It kept me feeling her and her body and the constant stroke of her hand when the pulses that barreled between my legs and my chest and my head left me incapable of thinking. When I couldn’t control the sounds I gifted the ceiling or the rocking of myself against her because all I could focus on was the staggering satisfaction of finally reaching the end.

And it was infinitely more satisfying when she was there with me. When the pleasure rolled through her and echoed in me, so that just when I thought I was coming down, she fueled another round of waves and moans and sent me spiraling all over again. It lasted so long, and by the time we started fading into weakened throbs, I gained the mind to notice the little things. The vibrations of the waning noises she was making, which tickled beneath the prick of her teeth at my shoulder. The humid heat of her breath against my skin. The air cooling the moisture every time she shifted on my thigh. The sated exhaustion seeping into every fiber of muscle I had, and the similarly quenched fatigue that coursed through her.

It ended all at once, and her jaw released and she pressed a kiss to my shoulder before collapsing on top of me. Neither of us said anything. Between panting for breath and the lingering contentment in our chests and between our legs, neither of us had the energy. We just lay there, her nuzzled into my neck where I knew she was basking in my scent, me with one hand dropped to the side of her arm and the other at the small of her back, cherishing the weight of her above me.

Minutes passed before Camille shifted, lifting enough to peck along my jaw. I raised my hands to cup her face, directing her lips to mine instead. The kisses were soft, slow. Lazy and easy but still so full of affection. I was prepared to follow through with kissing her for hours, but she set her forehead against mine and asked, “What do you want to do today? It’s almost lunch, and we can try and investigate more…”

She didn’t want me to give up on helping, and though my heart soared with appreciation, I wasn’t making today about me. “I think we should stay here,” I told her, bringing one of my hands between us to trace a finger down her chest, “find ways to keep ourselves busy if you get restless.”

She pulled away to look me in the eyes. “Really?” And I almost felt guilty for the uncertainty in her expression, like she thought this morning had been a nice enough break, but I was ready to get back to work. It was all the more proof that I needed to show she was still a top contender on my priority list.

I hummed in reply, pushing myself up to catch her lips in another brief kiss. “Maybe I’ll play that song for you again, and actually sing it this time.”

“Okay.” She grinned, but it faded a moment later when her stomach gave a gravelly rumble. “Lunch first?” she laughed.

I grabbed her face and pulled her down for one last deep kiss. “Lunch sounds good.”

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