I wake up with a warm body pressed against mine. An arm is thrown over my middle, fingertips barely tucked in the waistband of my pants.
Camden stayed all night. I remember waking up multiple times throughout the night with his palm pressed to my forehead. As if he’d woken worrying if I had a fever or not. I haven’t had a fever since he first showed up yesterday morning, but the fact he spent his night ensuring I didn’t spike another one means more to me than I care to admit.
He slept with me all night. We’d spent so much of the evening kissing, making out like a pair of teenagers. Anytime I’d try to push it further, he’d stop me with promises of more when my body was ready for him.
It only thrilled me more, despite the aggravation that coursed through my veins at not being able to have him at that very moment. The night was perfect anyway. We spent it talking about my mom, his gran, and everything that led us to where we are now.
He’s far more fascinating than I thought he’d be. I carefully roll over, finding his eyes shut and the muscles of his face relaxed as he sleeps soundly. I think about everything I learned about the man holding me.
I learned that our birthdays are only a week apart. Except I’ll be turning twenty-four, and he’ll be turning thirty-seven. I look at him and can’t believe he’s closer to forty than he is thirty. Every part of me wants to reach out and trace his sharp cheekbones, straight nose, his chiseled jaw. I fight the urge, not wanting to wake him. I’m enjoying being able to look at him—soak this moment in—without him knowing. I’m sure women pay tons of money to have skin as flawless as his. There’s not a single wrinkle on his face as he sleeps, which is shocking; with the amount he frowns, he should have prominent frown lines. It’s unfair men don’t have to take care of their skin the way women do and their skin remains flawless.
One thing does take me by surprise. It’s a jagged scar that’s right behind his ear and travels to his jaw. It’s long, but the line is so thin that it’s hard to notice until you’re this close to him. My fingers itch to trace it. To wake him up and find out what it’s from.
I want to know everything about Camden Hunter. And while I learned last night that he spent his life looking forward to school because he was shipped off to boarding school, where he got away from his parents, and that he graduated top of his class, I still want to know more. He did fill me in that he would’ve been valedictorian, but his best friend beat him to it. I laughed, hearing about the stories of him and his closest friend, Beckham Sinclair. I remember him from Slopes the night Camden and I first met, but more from the time I dropped off cupcakes for Beckham’s wedding, where Camden was the best man—and a complete asshole.
I learned that Camden wouldn’t take any money from his family to start his gallery. And at first, he started online because he didn’t have the money to rent a space until a year after opening. He didn’t say it out loud, but I could tell that he wasn’t proud of his last name. That he still dwells on the fact he thinks some of his success was because of it.
Not realizing I’m doing it, I reach out and run my palm along his jaw. His facial hair scratches against my palm. His eyelids flutter open, the crystal-clear color of his eyes taking me by surprise. I’d never seen a blue so clear. I think I’d told him that last night as we drifted off to sleep, staring into each other’s eyes. They remind me of the clear waters I see in the movies from all the places I hope to visit one day.
“Hi.” His voice is rough and gravelly, the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
“Good morning,” I whisper, running my thumb along his cheek.
“You sleep okay?” I want to ask him question after question to keep him talking. I’m far too enthralled with hearing his morning voice.
I nod, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “I slept great. You?”
“I’ve never slept better.” He grins, turning his face toward the pillow as if he’s embarrassed by admitting that. His arms tighten around me, pulling me to his chest so I can’t see his face.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” I mumble against his strong chest. “I swear I remember you checking my forehead throughout the night.”
He puts his jaw over my head, fitting our bodies together like perfect puzzle pieces. “I did. But I still slept great. Except for your little snores.”
I gasp. “I don’t snore.”
He chuckles, his chest vibrating against my cheek. “Oh yes you do. It’s adorable, shortcake.”
Groaning, I pull away from him so I can look him in the eye. He’s grinning ear to ear, embarrassment prickling my cheeks as blood rushes to them from finding out I snored all night.
“I can’t help it that I’m sick! My throat hurt. That’s the only reason I was snoring.”
“I guess I’ll have to sleep next to you again to find out. I’ll have to test it over multiple nights until I make a final conclusion if you snore or not.”
My heart flutters in my chest as if I’m a silly schoolgirl again and my crush just looked my way. The more time we spend together, the more giddy I get around him.
“Should I take your silence as you telling me that I won’t get to test my theory? Am I not allowed back in your bed, shortcake?”
He spins us, his body rolling on top of mine, his weight pushing me into my mattress. “Think about your answer very carefully.” He grinds his hips into me, bringing attention to his morning wood.
I suck a shaky breath in, getting more and more turned on by the second by the way his hips rock against mine.
“That depends,” I manage to get out, trying not to moan when he peppers kisses along my neck.
“Depends on what?”
His hair is a perfect, tousled mess. It falls into his eyes, making him seem boyish. I like this non-perfect, more raw version of him. I could get used to seeing what he looks like every morning before he puts on a suit and gels his hair.
“It depends if you stay on my good side or not.”
His grin is wolfish as he holds eye contact with me for a moment before bringing his lips to the other side of my body.
Groaning, I look at the time on my phone. I should already be making a smoothie for the morning and heading out to the cafe. Since I wasn’t there yesterday, I don’t know what still needs to be prepared and what doesn’t. My employees are great, but I’m sure there’s still a lot more for me to do before opening this morning compared to other mornings.
Which means I can’t let Camden continue on the path his lips are moving. If I do, I might end up in bed with him all day.
“I have to get up,” I tell him, my fingernails skirting down his shirtless back. I like feeling his muscles against me. Having him in just a pair of boxer briefs as we greet each other in the morning. It seems so mundane. And definitely something I’d never expected. He was only supposed to be the grumpy asshole art dealer next door. Now, he’s the man with his lips pressed against my pulse, sending shivers down my spine.
“Stay in bed with me,” he counters, nipping at my ear.
“I have to work. You have to work.”
“Who cares about work? I’d much rather work your body all. Day. Long.” He punctuates every word with a kiss.
I squeeze my eyes shut, almost giving in to the temptation. My mind fills with all the possibilities for the day. We’d barely have to leave this bed. He could worship my body, let me worship his, until we finally felt what it was like for him to push inside me.
I’m busy thinking if I can call in sick again when I push against his chest. I don’t push hard, but my palms against his defined pecs make his lips pause, his head lifting.
“So you’re going to be the responsible one today?”
I laugh, nodding my head. “Apparently, someone has to be. Aren’t you a workaholic? I can’t believe you’re trying to get me to play hooky with you so we can have sex.”
Damn. He looks good with a grin. He’s so cocky and sure of himself, the smile making me squeeze my thighs together because of how much I love seeing the upturn of his lips and the gleam in his eyes.
“Fucking you all damn day seems like the perfect excuse to play hooky.”
I roll off the bed to get away from him, my feet barely catching me before I fall on my ass. His body is too defined—too hard in all the right places—to allow it to stay pressed against me. If I feel the ripple of his abs against mine or his cock grind against my inner thigh again, I might just close the shop down unexpectedly today and spend the daylight hours wrapped in bedsheets with him.
“You’re no fun, shortcake.”
I toss him a look over my shoulder, loving the heated way he stares at my body. “Never in my life did I think Camden Hunter would be telling me I’m no fun. People look at you and fall ill with boredom you’re so…well, boring,” I tease. I try to take a mental picture of what he looks like at this exact moment. The sheets are pulled down from me rolling out of the bed. They gather around his hips, giving me the perfect view of his shirtless body. He props himself up on his elbow, a few pieces of dark hair falling into his eyes as he aims a lopsided smile in my direction.
“I’ll punish you later for calling me boring. You won’t think that of me when you can’t walk straight because I fucked you so good. You’ll be reminded of the fun we had for days.”
My entire body heats because I think he means it. And I think I’m eager for it.
He must find my gawking amusing because he laughs, running his hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. “You better get ready for work, shortcake. You can’t ogle me all day.”
“You know, for you to fu…” My words fall short because I don’t know if I can say the word out loud to him.
“Fuck you?”
I quickly nod my head up and down again. “Yeah. That. For you to do that, I meant it when I said you have to work for it.”
He swings his legs over the bed, placing his feet on my fluffy, pink rug. His palm runs along his very obvious erection. “Let me take you on a date, then.”
I almost drop the hairbrush I’d just picked up from the shock of his words. “Date?”
He stands to his full height, reaching his hands over his head to stretch. My eyes get stuck on the trail of dark hair that runs into his briefs. I remember my fingers sliding over it the other night, leading me right to his awaiting cock.
“Yes. A date. You, me, and wherever you think we should go in this town.”
“You have to earn it, but I’m the one planning the date?”
He closes the distance between us, watching me closely as I run the brush through my tangled hair. “I have no problem planning the date, but I figured you’d want to decide. You know what’s best here in Sutten.”
It’s the way he says Sutten instead of saying this town or putting some kind of negative connotation on it. He says it casually. I could get used to him saying Sutten in conversation.
“Am I right?” he presses.
“I have some ideas.” There are so many places we could go. My mind runs rampant with ideas, trying to decide where I’d like to take him.
“I knew you would. Is this part of your ploy to get me to see the beauty in Sutten?” He says “beauty” sarcastically but not in a condescending way. It’s more playful.
“I guess you’ll have to find out.”
“I think I’m already seeing the appeal.” His voice is gruff, his eyes boring into mine with what I think—or maybe hope—is affection.
“Yeah?”
He grabs me by the neck, pulling our lips together. He lazily kisses me, like he has all the time in the world. The kiss stops, but he only pulls away slightly. “I could get used to this town. This place. You.” The last word is said quieter, like he’s unsure if he should be adding it or not.
I rise to my tiptoes, planting another kiss on his lips, giving him the only answer I can at the moment. “I’ve got to get ready now, or my new boy toy is going to make me late,” I joke, my lips moving against his.
“Boy toy?”
“Yep.”
He pulls my lip between his teeth, biting down to create the slightest tinge of pain. “You better start getting ready for work.” He spins me by my shoulder, pushing me into my en suite bathroom. I let out a loud yelp when he slaps my ass. “Our date is tonight. As soon as you’re off, you’re mine.”
“Are you leaving now?” I ask, keeping eye contact with him through the bathroom mirror, watching him pull on his shirt from last night.
“No. We’re going to ride to work together, you’re going to make me a coffee, and then we’re going to both do our jobs before I get you after the workday ends. You decide what we’ll do for our date.”
“And then what?”
He slides his legs into his jeans, looking up at me with a sly smile. “By then, I’ll have earned your pussy, baby. After our date, I’m going to fuck you all night—making good on the punishments you’ve earned.”
