Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I close my eyes. Try to envision my best friend. The night Ty slipped me my first drink, the party where I got too pissed and he carried me home, the look in his eyes when he told me he had Winter transferred.
Then the image slips.
And I'm here, with Sienna.
Her fingers curling into my neck.
Her lips on my lips.
Her body melting into mine.
Another kiss that leaves a mark on me. Then more.
Her knickers in the pocket of my slacks. My hand between her legs. Her groan in my ear.
Dirty.
Depraved.
Tender.
Intimate.
Confusing as fuck.
My mobile buzzes.
The screen flashes with a picture message.
The same as the last, only her tank top is nowhere in sight.
Sienna Simms, topless on my cell phone.
Fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
Sienna
Light streams through my window. Casts subtle highlights and shadows all over the room.
It's enough I see my reflection.
Light, barely there against the window.
In full detail on the mirror.
My light brown hair brushed behind my shoulders. My feet on the hardwood floor. My tank top three feet away.
The image in front of me is the same as the image I sent Cam—
I'm in only my black panties.
My flush spreads over my body. Cheeks, chin, chest, stomach. All the way to my toes.
Every part of me is on fire.
I did that.
Of course I did that. What else would I do? Let him throw down this I can't fuck you; I have to save you from my evil sexual powers bullshit?
No way.
And now…
I can't read Cam. I'm not sure if he's preparing a gentle letdown or wrapping his hand around his cock.
Mm-hmm. What a beautiful image.
Not all that probable.
But more likely than him calling Ty.
Cam isn't a rat. He's not going to tell Ty. Not these details.
But he might say no, I can't, I'm too fucked up. Some other bullshit.
Or maybe nothing.
He's not replying.
Okay, it's only been a minute. It doesn't mean anything. Necessarily.
Maybe he's awestruck.
My boobs are just that amazing.
That's possible.
Totally possible.
Finally, my cell buzzes.
Cam: You need to stop.
Sienna: Is that what you want?
He's quiet for a minute. I sit on my bed. Slip under my white comforter.
No matter how hot and humid the weather, I've never slept naked. It's always felt wrong, strange, overly revealing.
Right now, I want to be naked under these sheets. I want to be naked with him. Not just because I want to see him or touch him or fuck him.
All those other implications too.
I want to know him. All of him. In this overwhelming, all-consuming way.
Cam: I can't be what you want.
Sienna: You don't know what I want.
Cam: I do.
Sienna: I didn't ask you to marry me. I didn't ask you for anything.
Cam: You sent me a picture of your tits.
That's true.
Cam: I know you want me. I want you too. But I'm not crossing the line.
Sienna: I didn't ask you to.
Cam: Bullocks.
Sienna: And you aren't doing the same? You're still flirting with me. I warned you too, Cam. If you really mean it, if you just want to be friends, then stop flirting with me.
Cam: Okay.
I wait for him to expand or explain or negotiate some clause that allows him to come over here and fuck me.
But he doesn't.
Chapter Seventeen
Sienna
After a night of sleeplessly cursing Cam, I greet Monday morning with a glare.
Coffee.
Where is coffee?
Every shop within two blocks of an NYU building is slammed during the fifteen minute break between classes.
Most settle ten minutes after class starts, but I don't have the ten minutes to wait.
I walk a few extra blocks to the San Francisco chain with incredibly overpriced iced coffee.
It's six dollars for twelve ounces, but it's so fucking good. New Orleans style. With chicory, cream, and extra sweetness.
All the good things in the world. Coffee, sugar, and ignoring Cameron Hunt.
I try to push him out of mind as I walk to class, find a spot in my giant lecture hall, take notes on statistics.
And then in my tiny discussion class, the much despised requirement Writing the Essay. I try to channel Indigo and her desire to dive into deep intellectual thoughts, at least where music is concerned.
Instead, my head fills with thoughts of Cam.
Him, in his hotel room, dripping wet from a shower, dropping his towel and wrapping his hand around his hard cock.
In my bedroom, backing me up to the wall, pulling my panties to my ankles, ordering me to come for his viewing pleasure.
In Ty and Indigo's apartment, on the couch, the two of us a tangled mass of limbs and groans.
Fuck.
Class ends and I wander to lunch, buy another coffee, find a spot at the park.
It feels different in the day. The sky is a bright blue; the square is humming with students, and Cameron Hunt is officially not happening.
My mind wanders until I'm due in my next class, but I don't head to the lecture hall. I check my cell and find a text from Cam.