22
CAMPBELL
Blaire was still in my arms the next morning. I’d had her several times before we passed out, utterly exhausted sometime in the early hours. And yet I woke up, starving for her.
“Babe?” I murmured against her bare skin.
I kissed her shoulders, shifting lower to press a kiss to her side, stomach, waist.
“Mmm,” she muttered incoherently. She reached for me in her sleep, and I kissed her again.
“Babe?”
Lower. Still lower.
She groaned but said nothing.
I hooked one of her legs over my shoulder as I settled myself between her legs. My body ached for her in a way I hadn’t remembered was possible. When I thought about me and Blaire in high school, I’d always assumed it was just the rush of hormones that made everything so intense. No one had known about us, and we had been in
