Page 32 of Brazilian Surrender
Chapter Ten
Camila licked the corners of her lips to fetch the last drops of him.
Smiling, she laid on the bed next to him and her sex throbbed even though he hadn’t touched her. She had never felt compelled to swallow a man’s seed before. During her time kissing his marvelous dick, it occurred to her she wanted all of him.
Now, as they both stared at the ceiling side by side, an eerie sense of peacefulness sneaked up on her. Whenever she was with him, she was safe. Cherished even, though he didn’t say romantic things or promise her anything he couldn’t deliver. But some moments betrayed her, like when their gazes collided and she’d felt such a strong emotion her face tightened and she almost cried. Naming such sentiment would be crazy and premature. All she knew was she’d never experienced it with any other man.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know,” she said, betting he had lots to tell her that didn’t even scratch the surface. A light conversation would follow, maybe a couple of laughs, and she hoped more sexy times. “Tell me something most people don’t know.”
“I…never made it to lunch,” he said, his voice strained.
“Excuse me?” she said, glancing at his profile.
He continued staring up, avoiding her, but she could tell the planes of his face hardened. Tension charged the air, the easiness of seconds ago vanished like a thin piece of lint in the ocean. “The day Ellen and Trevor died, I was supposed to meet her for lunch. We had been seeing a counselor because she resented how much I worked, and I wanted us to work it out. I understood her reasons. I loved her. After a heated argument, we had sex that morning. I got to work late and got caught up with things. We had arranged a lunch date downtown, but I had to text her and cancel. I didn’t even fucking call. She stayed home and told the babysitter she’d keep Trevor with her. That day, someone from a gang I helped put in jail came into my home and killed them both in the kitchen.”
She swallowed the razors in her throat. She itched to stretch out her hand and squeeze his shoulder lightly, but if she tried to push him past what he was comfortable with, she may keep him from talking. She couldn’t imagine the pain and guilt he must have dealt with. “I could say I’m sorry, but sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. It must have been so devastating.”
“All I wanted to do was to keep working. I didn’t want to stop and think or feel. I didn’t sleep for days. After a couple of months, I ended up leaving the NYPD. I couldn’t go on anymore.”
She turned to her side, propping herself on one elbow and cupping her chin as she looked at him. He faced her with a dark expression, and it took every ounce of restraint she had not to caress his cheeks and hug him. She couldn’t. Nothing she ever did would erase that horrible, tragic part of his past. “Tell me about your son,” she whispered.
“Trevor was three,” he said, and instantly a smile broke his lip, the contours of his face softening. “I took him to soccer class every Saturday morning. We used to have our own handshake, and I made up different voices when I told him bedtime stories,” he said, his voice choking up for a bit. He averted his eyes and continued. “That was the best part of my day.”
“I’m sure it was the best part of his day, too.” She closed her eyes and imagined a sweet, blond guy giggling at his father and kicking a ball with him in the backyard on a sunny day. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her forehead tightening. That little boy would never play with his father again. She opened her eyes and wiped the stray tears from the corner of her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
Silence descended upon them. She scooted closer to him, resting her hand on his and half-expecting him to roll away from her. To her relief, he didn’t. She saw him glance at their hands, then shift back into remoteness again. Her fingers brushed his, as if she had to move them to make sure that moment happened. He shared sad, private things with her, and she had no idea where to go from there but hoped deep in her heart he wouldn’t resent her later.
“Now you tell me something about yourself, and make sure it’s not depressing,” he said in a lighter tone, giving her a sideways glance.
“I like to put ketchup on my pizza,” she said, telling him the first thing that came to mind.
“What?”
“It’s a Brazilian thing. It’s very common to put ketchup on pizza and I didn’t lose that, although sometimes I avoid it when other people are around to not gross them out.”
“Good call. What else?”
“I suffered from dyslexia as a child but came up with coping mechanisms to be able to read and learn,” she said, and the darling memories of her oldest brother, Bruno, helping her with her homework after school stabbed at her mind. “I never thought I’d graduate from school, let alone earn a bachelor’s degree in psychology.”
“You must be a hell of a shrink.” He propped himself on his elbows. A cocoon of intimacy and warmth enveloped them and she wished he’d never leave.
“I will be when I’m done with my internship.”
“What else?”
“Besides my horror dating stories?” She chuckled. Of course, she’d had some positive dating experiences, but bringing those to bed was a moot point. Not only could none of those guys ever compare to Jaeger, but he already knew too much about her. She could be the head expert, but he had access to hacked information, background checks, and an entire team. If he wanted, he could get the dirt on her first kiss. “How about you? What kind of woman do you usually date?” she asked, assuming he’d dated after his loss. It’d been five years…
He frowned. “It’s more a couple of friends I can call for hookups here and there. Not the type of dating you probably mean.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Well, what else did you expect? Long stories about walks on the beach, hearts, and flowers? His honesty was a refreshing change from guys who would say anything just to get in her pants—it’d been that way from the beginning. Yet, a small voice inside her said she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself how unimportant she felt. He had sex with other women, and he had sex with her. Nothing more to it.
“In fact,” he continued, “I can’t remember the last time I slept next to someone. That’s not usually my style.”
Her heart sang like a damn opera soloist. A small light flickered at the end of the tunnel and, knowing her overly optimistic self, she knew she’d latch on to hope like a hungry baby to a breast. “I hope I don’t snore.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “No. You’re quite the agreeable bed partner.”
“Good.”
