Wait for You, стр. 41

In an act of supreme bravery fueled by desire, I reached down and slid my hands under the hem of his shirt. Cam jerked as my fingers grazed his bare, taut skin. He stilled for a moment and then he pulled away. I almost demanded to know why, because I’d come this far to actually touch him and he was leaving me? What in the holy hell was up with that?

Cam reached down and pulled his shirt off, over his head.

Oh.

Oh.

My breath hitched as I soaked him in. Cam’s body was gorgeous. All smooth, tight skin stretched over rock hard muscle. I wanted to ask about the tattoo and if it symbolized something to him, but couldn’t force the words from my mouth.

He yanked the comforter down, and my heart jumped. Immediately, I thought about what I had done in the bed. Our gazes locked and I couldn’t move or breathe. He climbed over me, his arms caging me in, surrounding me in a way that made me feel small… and safe. My hands went to his stomach, flattening against his skin. The muscles of his abs spasmed.

Cam dropped his forehead to mine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I didn’t, but as he lowered himself onto me, I started to get a good idea. I could feel him against my stomach, through our clothes, hard and thick. I thought that would pull me out of the heady haze of desire, but it didn’t. Heat flared between my thighs, my pulse pounded throughout my body. I shifted under him, bringing him closer to where I ached for him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his large body shaking.

He captured my lips in a searing kiss as he settled between my legs, muffling the pleasant groan that had worked its way up my throat. His hips rolled into mine, and my nerve endings were suddenly on fire. The thin material of my pajamas were nothing between the hard, hot skin of his chest and mine. His hips made another slow thrust that had my toes curling as I gripped his sides. His kiss turned deeper, more urgent as he slid his hand from my cheek, down my neck. His hand brushed the swell of my breast, so close to the sensitive bud before following the curve of my stomach to the flare of my hips. He curved his hand around my thigh, lifting my leg around his hip. He settled deeper, pressing against my sex in a way that thrilled me at the same time it stirred a conflicting emotion. When his hips rocked again, I whimpered against his lips.

“I like that sound,” he said, moving his hips. I made it again, flushing. “Correction. I love that fucking sound.”

Sensations raced across my skin, building into an ache in my core. It was like the night in my bed but much stronger, more intense and so very real. His hand was on the move again, trailing up my side, jumping to my hand. His fingers tangled with mine for a second and then drifted up, under my sleeves as his tongue danced with mine.

Suddenly, he stilled above me and lifted his head. I forced my eyes open as I dragged in a deep breath. The look on his face; I didn’t understand it.

“Cam?”

Without saying a word, he lifted my arm and turned it over. My heart dropped. No. No. It was like slow motion. His fingers moved, thumb sliding over the length of the deep scar that cut across my vein.

He looked.

I followed his gaze.

Disbelief exploded, suffocating all the wonderful feelings that had been building in me. His thumb moved again, as if he was trying to wipe the scar away and then when it remained, he shifted his gaze to mine. There was no mistaking it. He knew—he knew what the scar was.

“Avery…?” he whispered, brows furrowed and face taut. “Oh, Avery, what is this?”

Horror swept the disbelief away, like a rolling tide. The pained expression etched into his striking face reached down into me, sinking deep with razor sharp claws and tore me apart. The look on his face, it… it destroyed me in a way nothing else could since that night on Halloween.

The scar—I never wanted anyone to ever see it, to witness just how weak I’d been once upon a time. It went beyond humiliation.

Tearing my arm free, I scrambled out from underneath him. My body flashed between hot and cold as I yanked the sleeve down over my bare wrist.

“Avery…” He reached for me.

“Please,” I said, pushing myself to the edge of the bed. “Please leave.”

Cam pulled his hand back. “Avery, talk to me.”

I shook my head, lip trembling.

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Avery—”

“Leave!” I jumped from the bed, stumbling back a step. “Just leave.”

Cam froze for a second, as if he was about to say something else, but then he pushed off the bed. He backed toward the door as a deep shudder started working its way through my body. With his hand on the door knob, he stopped.

“Avery, we can talk—”

“Leave.” My voice broke. “Please.”

His shoulders stiffened and then he did as I asked. Cam left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Chapter 20

I didn’t go to astronomy class on Monday or Tuesday. I just couldn’t bring myself to face Cam. Not after I’d seen the look on his face when he realized what the scar on my wrist was from. Not after having to pretend like everything was okay in front of his mom and dad before we left. Even though I’d only known them for a short period, I thought they were wonderful and hated the fact that I was leaving knowing the likelihood of ever seeing them again was low. Not after the tense, never-ending ride home Friday morning or when Cam had followed me up to my apartment and tried to talk to me.

And definitely not after he tried to come over Sunday morning with eggs and I didn’t answer the door.

I spent most of the weekend in bed, my eyes aching so badly from the nonstop sob-fest that I didn’t think was truly over. I’d avoided my phone. Brit texted. Jacob texted.

Cam had texted.

Cam had also tried to stop by Sunday night, Monday night and Tuesday night. Every time he did it was like a punch to the stomach.

I just couldn’t face him, because that look on his face had been as bad as the one on my mother’s.

It had been around five months after the Halloween party when I had decided I couldn’t take it anymore. The onslaught of emails, texts, phone calls, and Facebook messages had been bad, but at school, in real life? In the hallways, the bathrooms, the cafeteria, and the classrooms, people didn’t just whisper about what they heard happened when Blaine and I went into his bedroom. They openly talked about it in front of me. Called me every combination of lying whore you could come up with. The teachers didn’t stop it, neither did the staff.

So me and that picture frame that used to hold the photo of me and my best friend—the same girl who’d called me a slut that very day in the crowded hall at school—had gotten friendly.

My parents could barely look at me before I cut my wrist but after? In the hospital room, Mom had lost it. For the first time in, like forever, she had lost it.

She had stormed into the private room, Dad trailing behind her. Her sharp gaze shot from my face to my bandaged wrist.

Stricken panic had crossed her too perfect features, and I thought that finally, she was going to pull me into her arms and tell me that everything was going to be okay, that we’d get through this together.

That look of pain had given way to disappointment, to pity, and to anger.

“How dare you shame yourself and your family like this, Avery. What am I supposed to tell people when they find out about this?” Mom had said and her voice had shook as she struggled to keep quiet in the hospital room, but she lost control. The next words were shrieked. “After everything else, you go and do this? Haven’t you put us through enough? What is wrong with you, Avery? What is God’s name is wrong with you?”

The nurses had dragged Mom out of the room.

Strangely, what I remembered from that night had been that brief look of panic on her face and how I had mistakenly believed it had been there out of concern for me.