Hot Commodity (15 page)

Yelping out a startled scream, Olivia jerked back and stumbled into Cameron. He caught her by the waist and gathered her close enough to press his aching cock to the crease in her warm ass. She slapped a hand over her mouth and tore away from him, bracing both hands to the door as she peeked out the peephole.

"Oh, my God," she rasped in a breathless whisper. "It’s her."

Cameron let out a low chuckle of amusement, feeling no compassion for what he knew had to be a traumatic moment for his wife. So, Mommy had come to call and Baby Olivia had a gentleman guest in her hotel room. Someone call the hangman.

"Olivia?" that irritatingly shrill voice of Vivian’s sliced through the door like it was tissue paper between them instead of solid pine.

"Yes?" Olivia called and anxiously shook her hands at her side as if trying to shake off water.

"Open the door," her mother demanded.

Olivia stuck a fingernail between her teeth and looked momentarily sick. Not much caring for that sudden grey pallor, Cameron leaned forward and stirred her hair with his breath as he whispered in her ear. "You just got out of the shower. Only wearing a towel."

Not bothering to look back at him, she rushed out in a raised voice. "Uh, I can’t. I just got out of the shower, Mother. I’m not...I’m not decent."

Grinning because she’d used his excuse, Cameron patted her hip encouragingly and decided she should never take up professional lying. The poor girl sucked at telling fibs.

Wanting to help her stay honest, he went about making her as indecent as she claimed to be. Keeping his hand on her hip, he bunched as much fabric into his hand as he could gather. The hemline rose a few inches, revealing slim, petite ankles.

"Why did you leave the reception?" Vivian asked through the door, her tone irritated. "I told you to stick around in case Banks asked for another dance."

"Uh…"

Hiking up her long nightgown another foot, Cameron leaned forward

until his chest brushed her back. "You heard me say I had a headache and then saw me leave. There was no reason for you to stay."

"Banks told me his head hurt, and he was going up to his room. So, uh, I had no reason to stay," she parroted through the door.

"Good girl," Cam whispered and hummed under his breath in approval when he lifted the skirt up enough to reveal her thong. Oh, yeah. She had a grade-A ass. He hooked his fingers in the thin excuse of a waistband and slid the panties down.

She jerked in surprise as if she’d just then realized what he was doing. Then she pressed her hands against the door again and arched as if trying to assist his endeavors. He grinned and kissed her shoulder in thanks.

"As long as you didn’t give him the headache with your incessant chatter during your dance," Vivian grumbled loudly.

"Blame it on the champagne," Cam suggested, tunneling his fingers into the crack between her buttocks and following the line down until he hit moist heat.

Olivia hiccupped a sound of need and surprise, but spread her thighs a few more inches to give him room to explore.

"I, uh, uh, it was the alcohol," she managed to stumble out as she leaned her forehead against the door and lifted on tiptoes, displaying her ass to him in open invitation. "You should’ve seen how much champagne he was guzzling. I think the alcohol made him sick."

Cameron slid two fingers inside her and she moaned loudly, pulling taut and rolling her forehead against the door as if thrashing it back and forth.

"What was that?" Vivian asked.

Olivia tried to freeze at her mother’s questions, but Cameron slid all the way out, only to push back in again, making her spasm and slap her hand over her mouth.

"Tell her you yawned," he suggested, loving this more than he could ever imagine. The only thing to make the moment better would be if he had his dick inside her, taking over for his fingers.

She looked so damn good, spread and moaning for him, he had to look away to keep from coming in his shorts. But when he glanced to the left, he caught sight of the necklace she’d been wearing earlier as it lay negligently tossed onto a nearby dresser. He reached for it with his free hand.

"Sorry, Mother. I just yawned. I...I’m so…" she gasped and tried to sink her fingers into the surface of the door to grab hold of something, but only clawed the surface with her nails. Cameron wondered what Roark had to think of that sound as he nudged a few more pearls between the lips of Olivia’s sex.

She bucked back against him. "Tired, tired. Oh, I’m so tired, Mother. I just...Oh, my God," she whispered. "Stop, Cameron. You have to stop."

But even as she gasped the plea, her body arched and gyrated against him, demanding more. He listened to her physical order instead and filled her

completely with the rest of the necklace.

"I just need some rest," she called in a very high voice.

"Well, don’t keep your lazy ass in bed all morning," Vivian said. "We’re leaving at nine."

And with that, the bitch was gone. Cameron barely heard the tread of her shoes moving down the hall. Hell, he barely heard Olivia’s sobbing breaths as she begged, "Please, oh, Cameron. Please."

His heartbeat thundered like a roar through his ears and he strained against his zipper. He could only concentrate on removing those damn pearls so he could get inside her himself. He reached into her gently and hooked the strand with his finger. She bucked and cried out. Easily, he removed the first bead, the second and third following, bumping and sliding against every nerve ending inside her.

"Oh, oh, ohhhhh!" She moaned and thrashed.

He kept tugging, wrapping his hand around her waist to hold her steady as she came apart in his arms, screaming her release and spasming against him.

A good thirty seconds after he freed the last pearl, her body finally went limp and pliable. She slumped back against him, her head falling dead weight onto his shoulder. He could see the side of her face as she panted. Her hair had matted itself to her damp, sweating cheeks.

"Your mommy’s gone," he murmured, smoothing her nightgown back down to cover her as if he’d never touched her and then reaching around to wipe the hair out of her eyes.

She blew out an exhausted breath, shuddered one more time, and slowly turned to look up at him through dazed, glossy blue eyes.

Cameron’s heart pounded against his ribs. All her luscious curves screamed sinful, hot sex but the wide-eyed innocence in her gaze made his chest ache. There was a purity inside her he suddenly wanted to possess. It was something vivid and alive. Almost edible, like he could gobble her whole to consume it.

He’d break her and destroy her wholesomeness if he took it, but the hell of it was, at the moment, he didn’t care. Why should he be the only ruined soul in this room?

And besides, the second her eyes collided with his, he knew she’d let him do anything he so desired to her, any way, anyhow, and for as long as he wanted. For a brief moment, his heart stopped beating and every molecule in his body aligned perfectly with hers. He could smell her release, her light perfume, the soap she’d used to wipe the make-up off her face a few minutes earlier, and the arousal she had for him. Still.

God, she wanted more. She wanted him inside her. It was so obvious he could read every thought in her head, spelled out in those huge, expressive blue eyes.

Swallowing loudly, she slowly asked, "What...what was that?"

He gave a lazy, yet self-satisfied shrug. "Just a little fun with jewelry." After a wink, he added, "You should see what I can do with cherries and chocolate syrup."

Her breath rippled out an unsteady breath and her eyebrows lifted. But before she said anything, she pressed her lips together and swallowed. It was amazing to watch her try to pull her wits together, to regain her control, and fail. He idly rested his shoulder against the wall as he watched, ready to take his time and savor her with a slow seduction.

"You’re certainly a fickle man, aren’t you?" she murmured, not looking at him but down at her hands where she’d stamped little half moon shapes into her palms from her fingernails.

Arching his brows, he caught a lock of her hair and wound it around his finger. "How so?" he couldn’t help but ask, curious where she was going with this.

Her eyes lifted a moment only to skitter away again. "In Vegas you couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Not that I blame you. I wasn’t exactly very nice to you, but you were pretty mad at me."

Cameron shifted, hoping she didn’t catch the restless move. "I don’t want to talk about that particular discussion in Vegas."

 
Olivia looked up and watched him study the way her hair tangled though his fingers. For once, he had no idea what she was thinking, and it frustrated him.

"So, why don’t you hate me anymore?"

He shrugged, and now it was his turn to avoid eye contact. "I’ve had time to cool down. Besides, what you said…" He finally met her gaze. "I deserved to be put in my place. I was acting nasty and rude. And I wasn’t mad at you really. I was more upset with myself. I just took it out on you."

She didn’t respond as she studied him with blue eyes that melted something hard and cold that had lived in him for years. Ten years to be exact.

Cameron usually didn’t like to talk about his feelings. He hated opening up to people. But then, usually, the only people who cared enough to want him to open up were his family, and he didn’t want to hurt them by revealing how messed up he’d become.

The woman in front of him wasn’t family, though, and for some reason, he suddenly wanted to ease some of this constant pressure off his chest. So, he glanced away and confessed, "You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought. Why did she kill herself? What did I do wrong? What should I have done that I didn’t?" He shook his head, letting the agony of those thoughts press against his throat, constricting his airway. "Toward the end, I got so tired of it all. I was sick of trying to make her happy, worn-out from watching every little thing I did and said. I just wanted a break. I wanted…" He shook his head, and his eyes slid to Olivia. "I don’t know. I just keep wondering what would’ve happened if I hadn’t slacked off, if I’d

just kept at it, kept working to make her smile."

When Olivia’s eyes filled with pity, he wished he’d kept his damn mouth shut. She started forward. He shook his head to stop her, lifting his hand to ward her off. When she kept coming, he took a step in reverse. "I wasn’t mad at you in Vegas," he repeated.

"I was still wrong," she countered. "I shouldn’t have spoken ill of your wife. I’m just used to…"

His eyes narrowed. "Used to what?"

She shook her head and lifted her fingers toward his face.

He caught her wrist and eyed her uncertainly. "What’re you doing?"

Her grin hinting at amusement, she said, "I thought you came here looking to get lucky."

"But I don’t want sympathy sex," he growled, dodging her hand as she reached for his hair once again.

"You want sex though," she countered flirtatiously, her grin doing crazy things to his already stiff member. "How about I throw in the sympathy for free?"

"Damn it," he hissed, grabbing her other hand when she refused to back off. "I don’t do pity. This is just about physical relief and a couple of mind-blowing orgasms."

She let out a husky laugh that went straight to his loins, damaging them even more. His balls tightened almost painfully and the zap of awareness that shot through his dick had him turning titanium hard. He wanted to strip her and lay her on the bed more than anything. She was wet and open down there, warm and ready for him. He didn’t want to talk anymore. It was time to get busy.