Challenge (29 page)

“It’s not a horrid idea when you put it like that,” he says with a thoughtful look. “What did your parents say about that bus incident?”

I shake my head. “I never told them. Their work is their priority, so I’ve never really had a relationship with them like that where I shared school stories. And my grandmother was so old, I couldn’t stomach the idea of telling her that sort of thing. She would have lost complete faith in humanity.”

He gets a desolate sort of look in his eyes. “I can’t imagine what that kind of family would be like. Bloody hell, mine knows everything about me at all times. We are in each other’s business, in each other’s homes, eating weekly meals together, traveling together, and going over match footage. Vi gives the best gifts, and Tanner is constantly pranking everybody. Gareth has such a large heart, but it’s silent and that makes me scared for him. And Booker is still so impressionable. Ensuring he’s on the right path is so important. My family, Indie…I cannot escape them even if I tried. Your upbringing is like another world to me.”

His rant is unexpected; my reaction to it even more so. His long string of words feels like a knife repeatedly jabbing my heart with every bullet point he ticks off. They sting, even though I know he doesn’t mean for them to. He’s obviously releasing something that weighs heavily on him; but, out of nowhere, the twelve-year-old girl inside of me begins to weep, which is odd because I’ve never allowed myself to feel upset over something I’ve never known. My family is my family. I don’t know any different. I’ve created a life of near solitude for myself, so why are his words cutting me so deeply?

My face heats as the presence of tears swell in my eyes.

“Fuck, Indie.” Camden’s face falls as he drops his fork. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor, and he rushes over to me. He squats down beside me and cups my face in his hands. “I don’t know what I said. Christ, I’m so pent-up about my family lately, I think I blacked out. I didn’t think.”

I stiffen and turn away from him. “Please don’t look at me,” my voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

“God, no, Indie. I have to look at you. I caused this. I am such an idiot. Please. Look at me so I can make this better.”

“There’s nothing you can do to make it better.” I laugh-cry an awkward, mortifying sound. “This is so stupid.”

“No, it’s not. If it involves anything about you, it can’t possibly be stupid.”

“Please, Cam. Just go. I need some space.” This is worse than the time I told him I was a virgin. I want to die. I want to crawl into a hole and die.

“No,” his voice is earnest. “You don’t need space right now, Indie. Let me show you.”

“Show me what?” I huff in frustration and snap my eyes to meet his.

My embarrassment is almost snuffed out entirely by his expression. I don’t see sorrow or pity or judgement. I see…more. Unexpected…more. I gaze into the sapphire depths of his irises and I feel…lost.

Camden’s eyes follow the movement of my teeth chewing on my lip. His dark lashes fan his cheeks in that utterly beautiful way he has about him. Swallowing once, he strokes his thumb down my cheek over and over, watching me as if he’s trying to count every freckle on my face. Finally, he pulls my mouth to his and brushes his tongue along the opening of my lips, requesting entry. I comply because I’m desperate to feel like anything other than that lost, lonely girl I reverted into thirty seconds ago.

His hands move down to my thighs, and he deftly turns the chair so he’s now centered between my legs. When I grip the back of his head, he suddenly lifts me up and we’re moving, my legs tightening around his waist as we go. His hands slide up the bottom of my shirt, stroking the small of my back and dipping down into my underwear as he stops beside the wall.

Holding me with one hand, he pulls my bed from the wall and lays me back on the lowered mattress, keeping himself on top of me. His lips persistently kiss away at all my heartache. My thighs clench him to me, relishing the feel of his weight. His pressure. His closeness. It’s comforting. It’s soothing. It’s all-encompassing. I yearn for him to fill a space in me that I didn’t even realise existed until this moment.

What happens next is like nothing I ever imagined. Expected. Or asked for.

Camden Harris makes love to me.

Slow, tender, passionate love.

He gently peels off every article of my clothing and then his own. His eyes hold me so captive that I can’t even bring myself to glance at his body on display before me. His muscles were something that I admired before. They distracted my thoughts on more than one occasion. But right now, all I can look at are his eyes on mine as he lowers himself onto me.

The firmness of him against the softness of me.

His blue eyes swim back and forth, sparkling with something. Something profound. Something I want to feel with my bare hands. Something I want to reach out and pull inside of me—to hold and to cherish, even if it is just for a short time.

He inhales sharply when his naked tip brushes between my legs. His voice is rough and pained when he says, “Indie, you don’t even know what you are. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

My breath comes in harsh and goes out shaky.

“I’ve never, in my life, cared like this,” he murmurs against my lips. “I feel different with you.”

My abs tighten against his body when his thumb trails over my nipple.

“You’re different,” he whispers into my ear. “You’re special,” he says against my cheek. “You’re challenging.” He closes the space between us and kisses me deeply.

My eyes flutter closed and, with every stroke of his tongue, I inhale his words of affirmation. I accept them with each burst of oxygen.

Tears slide down my temples and into my hair over the realisation that I’ve never felt this level of devotion before, both for him and from him. It’s more than I’ve ever felt about anything in my entire life.

He moves his mouth down and kisses every inch of my body, whispering reverent words against my flesh. Slowly, they begin to chip away and break down the dark, secret place in my heart.

“I can’t believe I get to see you like this.” He moves back up to my face. “You’re raw. Open. But only to me.”

I swallow hard and give him the slightest nod. It’s so subtle that no one else in the entire world would notice it. Only him.

In this moment, we’re beyond the words of everyday life. We’re communicating more than vocal abilities allow.

And when he pushes into me, hard and bare, with zero barriers left between us, the entire act is not mind-blowing.

It’s life-ruining.

It’s as if I’m on a merry-go-round that is moving so fast, the world is a blur all around me. The only thing in focus is the man sitting on the ride beside me.

When I finally allow myself to come apart from his words and his touch, I throb everywhere. My body trembles from head to toe. The ache in my chest is so strong it feels as if it could arrest at any second.

Then, just when I think things can’t get any worse—when I’m certain I can’t possibly feel anything more—he lies down beside me, pulls me into his arms, and softly whispers into my ear, “Thou art mine.”

I
NDIE LETS ME HOLD HER
until she falls asleep. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t ask for space. She doesn’t even go to the bathroom to clean up. She just curls up inside my arms, silently asking me to hold her. To be close to her.
To not give her space.

No words are exchanged over what I revealed while we made love. I think that’s what we did at least. I’m not even sure I fully know what I admitted. I just did what my body demanded that I do. It wasn’t a premediated act. It wasn’t me trying to be Penis Number Two. It was spontaneous and extraordinary.

The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is the sting of tears behind my closed eyes as a painful realisation overcomes me.

I wake to a noise and crack my eyes open just in time to see the bathroom door shut. The sound of rain pattering outside fills the quietness of her flat. The grey, hazy morning light casts a foreboding sensation over me. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s only six-thirty in the morning. I roll on my back to assess my injuries.

Knee feels fine.

Head feels groggy.

Heart feels fucked.

With a heavy sigh, I drop my feet to the floor and slide into my black boxers, wincing at the memory of the fact that I didn’t use a condom last night. I’ve never not used a condom with anyone. Ever. How stupid can I be? We hadn’t even talked about birth control and I just pushed into her, completely bareback, like the biggest arsehole on the planet. I sit back down and drop my head in my hands, wishing someone would punch me in the face.

Despite all of that, a more poignant thought pushes itself to the surface—the thought that had me overwhelmed and moved me into a place I never thought I’d be with a woman. It’s what enabled me to breathe in the scent of her all night long and fantasise about how life could maybe be different. And that maybe different is okay.

I want her.

In the early morning light of day, with no tears in her eyes, and no roaring desire to comfort her and make her feel special, I still want her. I want her for more than what our arrangement originally stated.

I want her for many, many days.

Maybe an infinite amount of days? Hell, I don’t know. Wanting someone like this is new to me. The passionate footballer inside of me is screaming,
long term
, which is insane. And utterly mental.

But I’ve been awakened by Indie and I have to tell her.

The door opens and my head snaps up to see her pause in the doorway. I stand up from the Murphy bed positioned right in the middle of her small studio. She’s so close but feels so far away. She runs a bare foot up the back of her calf, her legs naked beneath a long grey tank top. Her red, curly hair is knotted on top of her head and thick black-framed glasses line her pensive brown eyes.

“Can we talk?” I ask and make a move toward her.

“Yes, but just…don’t touch me.” Her words sting and she rushes out her next sentence. “I can’t think straight when you touch me, Camden.”

I can respect that I guess, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t still sting. She drops down on a wooden kitchen chair and pulls her legs up to her chest, yanking her tank over her knees. I’m standing six feet from her but can see the regretful look in her eyes, plain as day…and it guts me.

Swallowing slowly, I say, “Indie, I need to know. Are we…safe? I didn’t use a condom and, fuck, that was so wrong of me. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I know I’m clean, but are you on anything?”

Her head tremors with an awkward nod. “Yes, we’re fine. I’m on the pill.”

I sag with relief but still register her clipped tone. Knowing that was the easy question would be comical if I was in a laughing mood. But the tightness of her posture gives me an uneasy feeling.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her carefully. “What are you thinking?”

As if her words have been on the tip of her tongue, she asks, “Was all of that an act last night? A performance? Were you trying to draw a foul?”

Wounded, I reply, “No.”

She stares back at me accusingly. “It wasn’t?”