And then he showed her, kissing her slowly and deeply, running his hands over her curves, peeling off clothes layer by layer. She ran her hands under his shirt, over the smooth hills of muscle, surprised at how soft his skin was over the hard, toned flesh.
Hadley swallowed, struggling against the heat that was building inside of her. Cam kissed her cheek, her temple. “I want to kiss every part of you,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to her neck, making her head drop back on the pillow. She was becoming boneless, heat rising everywhere, and she was adrift somewhere, aware of nothing but his kisses, completely transfixed under his spell.
“You can…You don’t have to do a lot of…warm-up. I’m…I’m ready.”
He drew his head up and, frowning a little, assessed her.
“What? What is it?” she asked.
“You never tell a tight end how to catch the ball,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “So let me do what I know how to do, okay?”
“I just didn’t want to take too much time.”
He scowled. “First I’m going to explore every inch of you. And then I’m going to do that over again. All. Night. Long. So there is no such thing as taking too much time.”
“You’re a little cocky,” she said, a fierce blush overtaking her at his words.
“I never brag,” he said solemnly. “I let my actions speak for themselves.”
“I know how to do a few things, too, Mr. Tight End,” she said, running her hands over the contoured muscles of his butt.
He tossed his head back and laughed. From his position over her, he looked at her, quietly assessing. “You’re quivering,” he whispered.
“Just a little,” she said.
He placed her hand on his arm so she could feel the soft covering of hair, the tense length of flexed muscle. “I am too.”
Their gazes locked, and that familiar feeling—connection, acceptance, honesty, despite everything between them—was nothing short of terrifying, and it shook her to the core. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. She was trembling under his touch, restless, struggling to give him pleasure, too, but he gently brushed her arms away.
“Your turn right now. Let me…let me do this, okay? Tell me if you don’t like it.”
Her hands grazed restlessly over his pecs, his stomach, his back. He was so gentle, so loving, and the worst, most devastating thing…so kind and familiar. Long ago, he’d treated her with the same…reverence—the exact same care he demonstrated with her now—and he was slowly driving her mad.
“I’m ready,” she said, trying to fight the waves of pleasure that were mounting inside of her. “You don’t have to keep—”
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” He flashed a boyish grin. “I have to show you that I learned a thing or two in all this time, don’t I?”
Then the world’s most famous tight end showed her how good he really was at catching the ball and running it over the goal line.
* * *
A long time later, they lay together in the dark, the dogs fast asleep at their feet. Bowie’s soft snores filled the room, and Jagger, who took up almost the entire bottom half of the bed, twitched his limbs, probably dreaming of chasing seabirds in his sleep. But Cam didn’t mind. Hadley lay her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist, their fingers laced together. For the first time in months—since his injury, really—all the noise in his brain had stopped. The noise that told him to hurry up, make a plan, divide and conquer. And the silence had brought a sense of calm that he hadn’t felt in ages.
He glanced down to find her looking up at him. “You’ve gone quiet.”
He always knew when her moods changed, something she’d always had a hard time hiding from him. She gave him a squeeze. “Just thinking how that was pretty good.”
He laughed. “Pretty good? Hmmm. If you’re only going to give me a B, I’m going to have to try harder. Like, right now.”
In one quick move, he rolled them over so he was on top and kissed her neck until she started laughing. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to get a big head. It was amazing, all right?” She bit her lip. “How was it for you?”
Couldn’t she tell by the dumb, contented expression that must be all over his face? He’d known good sex but this was great sex coupled with an insatiable, desperate desire to please her in every way he knew and to stay here with her body curled into his. He was dazed. He was drained. He was stupidly happy. “Let’s just say I’m lying here plotting what I can do to get you to call out my name like that again.”
That earned him a punch in the arm.
He saw she was waiting for a real answer. One he was afraid to give. But then he thought that she deserved one. Especially if, as he suspected, that ass Cooper had also been an ass in bed.
He smoothed her hair back and cradled her beautiful face in his hands. “When I was eighteen, I thought I was the luckiest guy alive to be with you. What we had between us was always easy and fun and…natural.”
“We were just kids,” she said with a shrug. “What did we know?”
“We knew we cared for each other. And maybe that’s what made it so…good.”
“Thanks for saying that. But you didn’t really answer the question about…now.”
“Footballers have great instincts,” he said. “Sometimes you just know.”
“Know what?” she asked.
“Every baller has their sweet spot. Where in their hand the ball feels just right.” He gathered her in. “You’re my sweet spot.” He kissed her forehead before lying back on the bed beside her, a little anguished that he’d been so honest—and that she’d gone completely quiet. “Now what are you thinking about?”
“No one’s ever compared me to a football before but…I like it.” She reached up and smoothed his hair.
He shot her a grin. “Any time a baller uses a baller analogy, that’s pretty profound.”
She chuckled. He lay there with her in the quiet, happiness rolling over him. After a while, she spoke. “Actually, I am thinking of something. Christine and Drew.” Christine and Drew? Now? “He came back after college and started coaching, and she came back to work at the library. I was wondering…what that would’ve been like, if we hadn’t lost all those years.”
“I was thinking that could’ve been us,” he admitted as he absently played with a lock of her hair.
They could’ve had three kids, a house…and a lot of years together.
“I’m not sure if you would’ve been happy with me,” he said. “We probably would’ve ended up back here after college. My career might’ve dominated everything, including the choices of where we lived. We would’ve bought a house, probably oceanfront, and you would’ve been a football wife. I can’t really see you being a football wife.”
“Me neither.”
“There’s a positive side, you know,” he said. “We left. We learned things. And we found each other again. Besides,” he said, “with me, the best is definitely yet to come.”