My throat felt tight. It made me unable to take another step. The way he looked at me made my chest ache, but not in pain. It was something my heart recognized, hoped for, but was afraid to look deeper into. He stretched his hand out to me, palm up, silently pleading. His eyes focused on my face. He didn't say a word. Mesmerized, I placed my hand in his, and he pulled me to him just as he sat on the counter. He gripped my hips and pulled me closer, trapping me between his legs. The movement caused his hair to fall on the side of his face. I wanted to run my fingers through the dark loose curls. I knew now how they would feel in my hands, soft and silky. His eyes smiled—so deep blue under the dim lights—even when his mouth remained relaxed. I was intoxicated by him. And then, "I've been wondering for a long time now," he whispered, "what you're like first thing in the morning." He leaned in to kiss me, but I swiftly raised my hand to cover my mouth, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I hadn't brushed my teeth yet. That didn't discourage him though. He kissed my palm, his lips making a lazy journey down my wrist. I gasped and pulled back a little when I felt the tip of his tongue lick my skin. I stepped back in response, but his hands on my hips locked firmly, preventing me from moving away. "Good morning, Kara." I felt attacked. How could a human being look so good? So early in the morning too. It should be a sin. "Ah—morning," I mumbled against my hand. His lips curved slowly. With his eyes locked on mine, he lowered his head and kissed my chin. "You look hot," he said. "Let's take this off, shall we?" My eyes widened. Take what off? First thing in the morning? Already? I mean... sure but— He circled my wrists in his big hands and placed them on my side, then he nudged the blanket off my shoulders. It fell on the floor, and this time I didn't pick it up. The blanket. Right. "I really like this dress on you." It was the pale pink dress I had on yesterday. I remembered I had sheer black stockings too, but they were probably ripped and discarded somewhere on his floor. My skin felt flushed and warm, and I leaned into him, seeking more of his touch. His hands stroked my shoulders reverently, sliding down my arms, down my sides until he was stroking my thighs. I closed my eyes as delicious goosebumps covered my body. He leaned his head forward, and his breath was warm and minty. My heart skipped as he skimmed his nose below my jaw, inhaling my skin as if he had smelled something delectable, before his mouth made a lazy journey along my neck. Then his lips closed around the tip of my ear and bit lightly. I shivered in response and placed my hands on his hard, thick thighs. Leisurely he ran a fingertip on the side of my thigh, riding up inside the skirt of my dress until it touched lace. My knees felt weak. Cameron was oozing with sensuality, and I wasn't prepared for the onslaught. "Kara, I want..." My palms flattened on his chest and I nearly moaned. I wasn't sure if it was the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of it. Or the feel of his finger teasing me, so close to where I felt swollen and sensitive. Maybe both. I rubbed my thighs together, trapping his hand between my legs. His laugh was low and husky and familiar. I rested my chin on his shoulder to get my breath back, unable to process everything I was feeling. It was a delicious attack to my senses, the feeling still new even after what we did last night. "I love it when you do that." "Do what?" I breathed. "Lean on me when you're feeling overwhelmed," he said. "As if you trust me completely." With teasing slowness, his finger played with the lace of my panties, flicking, circling. I closed my eyes and bit back a moan. "So...innocent." I had never met anyone like Cameron before. So raw, so sexual, and so explicit about his wants. What have I gotten myself into? I wanted him. And I was sure I could match him...when I was ready. When my head didn't feel like it was filled with wispy clouds, when I wasn't feeling too self-conscious. It was a new experience—this desire I felt so strongly for him. It felt good, so good, and so important. It scared me a little as though I needed to gather my thoughts and pick at them one by one. That or I'd jumped into madness. So I pulled back. "Coffee," I croaked. "Please." He smiled knowingly. He pushed away from the counter and went to open a cupboard. I watched as his back muscles shifted when he reached for a mug as big as a bowl, filled it with black coffee from a pot. "Want?" he asked as he turned, offering the mug to me. The steam from the coffee made a charming picture as it danced in the air. My gaze moved to the muscles on his chest for a moment, at the light trail of dark hair on his hard stomach before it travelled back to his blue eyes. His body was incredible. He raised a brow. "Like the view?" he teased. I bit my lip, ignoring the butterflies in my belly. I twitched my nose at him, grabbed the mug, blew on it, and sipped. At first, I just drank the coffee, not tasting it, just needing it to take effect on my system, but when I did, I nearly went to my knees and prayed. It was really, really good. I kept sipping until I almost finished the whole thing. My head cleared and I felt better instantly. I unburied my face from the mug and looked up. He'd moved back and was now leaning against the counter across from me in the small kitchen, with a secret smile on his sensual mouth. "More?" he asked. Definitely more. "More. It's really good." "How good?" He stepped closer. Closer until I could smell him. The scent of blue—ridiculous to call it that, but it was what my mind had associated with his scent. Ocean blue—fresh, cool, sensual. Intoxicating. Addicting. He topped off my coffee, put the coffeepot back to its base. Then he reached for the mug in my hand, and with his eyes in mine, took a leisurely sip. My lips parted, and his gaze slowly moved to them. His sharp jaw hardened before his eyes lifted back up to mine. Without a word, he handed the mug back to me and stepped away, putting space between us. He leaned against the counter, facing me, and crossed his arms over his chest. I blew out a breath. Man, I can't handle him. "What"–I cleared my throat—"time is it?" Instead of answering with words, he gave a small nod of his head toward the clock on the wall. It was 5:15 in the morning. "What time did you wake up?" "Four," he said. I took another sip of my coffee. "Can't sleep?" His eyes became heavy. "What do you think?" he whispered. I can't think. And when I couldn't think, my mouth felt the need to work OT.