Sunday

Havermouth, Three Weeks Before

They slept wrapped in each other and Cameron woke still clutching Aislen to him, her breath warm against his chest and one of her legs trapped between his, as if in his sleep he had sought to hold her in place. Her scent filled his sinuses and his c-ck throbbed in demand as he pressed his face into her hair and breathed more of her into him, an addict inhaling his drug.

F-k. It was a silent moan, dragged through him from his balls upward, a craving need for this to be the start of things to finally going right for them. Please, let Heath have been right, let this work, let them make her see… Please, goddess, let them finally have the life that they were meant to have. He wanted that life so badly that its absence was a wound within his heart.

He wanted a romance movie, he thought. He wanted her to wake and smile, to reach for him with love in her eyes, and for them to kiss and make love slowly in the intimate warmth of the morning. He wanted her to want