Page 54 of The Fix

She’d never felt relief before when a man kissed her, but that was exactly what she experienced when Rex’s lips met hers.

Relief and deep happiness, satisfaction, and the immediate response of her body.

The influx of joy was so overwhelming that she didn’t have room to doubt the rightness of this.

Of them. And as someone who’d feared physical touch for so long, it was a blessed balm that healed a part of her wounded soul.

I’m not broken. I’ve just been waiting for you.

And it wasn’t that simple, and she’d spearheaded the bulk of the personal work that had brought her here. But he’d bridged the small gap, and she was so turned on by one simple kiss that she almost wanted to laugh.

She turned toward him when they entered the bedroom and slowly backed up several steps. He paused, his gaze both heated and lazy, and the look alone notched up her arousal. She met his eyes. She’d meant what she said—she couldn’t look away.

I want to bare myself for you.

His eyes flared. It was as though he’d read her thoughts. And she was surprised that she liked that idea, but she did.

She’d never felt this way before, and it was another reminder of how safe Rex made her feel.

Maybe that was the missing link that had kept her stuck for so many years, and though perhaps it was somewhat obvious that a woman who had experienced what she had would need to feel safe, she hadn’t known until now exactly what that entailed.

But now here he was, in front of her, the living embodiment of everything she both wanted and needed.

And again, he was hot as hell, which certainly didn’t hurt matters one little bit.

Cami reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

This physical connection was important for her, but she was also gloriously shocked at how easy it was.

She held his eyes as she toed off her shoes and then unbuttoned her jeans and worked them down her hips, finally dropping them onto the floor so she could kick them aside.

She watched his throat ripple as he swallowed, and that small movement singed the ends of her nerves.

Everything about him was so masculine, and the way he reacted to her made her feel beautiful and more desirable than she’d ever felt in her life.

He went to step forward, but she stopped him with a small lift of her hand, and he halted again.

She could see by the bulge in his jeans that he was as ready for this as she was, but she also knew he’d move forward at whatever pace she set.

She unhooked her bra, and it slid off her shoulders and dropped to the floor, and then she lowered her underwear and felt it whisper over her legs.

He swallowed again, seeming to have lost his voice.

His gaze was filled with so much reverence she was tempted to look down at herself to see what he saw.

Certainly not the same old Cami she looked at in the mirror each day.

His expression spoke of so much more. This man, once a boy, had always given her so much grace and had seen more in her than she deserved.

And he made her want to be the best version of herself because it was like he’d seen her that way long before she’d earned it.

“You’re a work of art. More perfect than anything I’ve ever seen. You should be in the Louvre.”

A laugh bubbled up her chest, dispelling the slight nervousness she’d felt from standing before him bare.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He made her want to preen. It was ridiculous. And wonderful. She felt happy and free, and her arousal—and him, this man—fueled her confidence. A smile played at his mouth, sexy and knowing. He saw the way he made her feel.

He walked toward her then and pulled his shirt over his head as he approached.

God. Her mouth went dry, all thoughts of preening suddenly gone.

Now she could only stare. She’d seen his muscles through the T-shirts he’d worn, and the solid shape of him, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sheer masculine beauty of his bare chest. It was tawny and smooth, and she reached for it even before he was close enough to touch.

Her fingers brushed his skin, and he hissed out a quiet breath, and then she was in his arms, bare chest to bare chest, and his mouth claimed hers.

The kiss went on and on, driving her need for him to a fever pitch.

She felt him against her, hot and hard, and she reached down and unbuttoned his jeans and reached inside the waistband of his underwear and took him in her palm.

“Oh Christ, Cami,” he breathed against her cheek as he slid his mouth from hers.

She met his eyes as her hand moved over his erection, up and then down, his eyes growing lazier with each leisurely stroke.

And suddenly time stretched and slowed, the intimacy of the moment so profound that Cami felt caught inside of it.

She could only stare, his steady gaze the one thing keeping her from leaving the ground.

“You’re my dream come true,” he murmured. “I want you to know that.”

God, the sweetness of that. Of him. Because he meant it—she could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch.

And it was all the sweeter because she’d let him know her, let him see her, and neither of those things had changed his mind.

“You’re my dream come true too,” she said.

She meant it too. She hadn’t known herself well enough when they were kids to know how right he was for her.

But she did now. Thank you, God, for this second chance.

Thank you for bringing this man back to me for however long that might be.

He allowed her to touch him to her heart’s content, the deepening flush of his cheeks and the quickening of his pulse speaking of his pleasure and raising her confidence even higher.

When she stroked his shaft again, his head fell back, and he let out a groan that sounded pained and she loved it, but she also didn’t want this to end while they were upright.

She took his hand and they tumbled onto the bed, Cami laughing when Rex let out a teasing sound of pain as if he’d broken something when he hit the soft mattress. More sweetness—he was making this good , but he was also making it fun. He wanted her to laugh, and she did.

“I hope you’re not that delicate,” she said.

“Not even close.”

They spent more time learning each other’s bodies, fingers and mouths exploring every dip and swell.

They both lingered in the places they found enticing, his lips on the sensitive spot between her breasts, and then in the hollow of her hip before moving downward and nuzzling her between her legs.

She gripped his hair, feeling the swirl of an orgasm.

She didn’t want it, not yet. Everything he did to her was both too much and not enough, so she hung suspended, her breath stilted, skin flushed.

She needed him inside her, wanted him desperately to fill her emptiness, to hold her, to surrender to his control, to grip him as she came.

“Cami,” he murmured against her skin, lifting his head so his eyes could meet hers. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” she told him, and though her brain was foggy, and nothing seemed as important as feeling him inside her, she realized, somewhere in the back of her mind, that this was a man she could trust to take care of her in every single way.

He was not someone who would walk out the door, not under any circumstances.

He was a man who showed up, not one who left.

As if he’d heard her half-formed thoughts and sensed her surety, he moved up her body, nudging her legs open and then entering her slowly.

He held eye contact until he was fully inside, pelvis to pelvis as his body quivered and his lips parted on a pleasured exhale. “That okay?” he whispered, again, reverently.

“Yes, more than okay,” she answered.

Still he waited for a moment, searching her eyes, giving her a moment, even as his own body pulsed inside her.

And the way he was holding back for her brought her fully into the present.

She gripped the globes of his ass, encouraging him to move.

He groaned with relief, and then his head dropped to her neck, and he thrust inside her, his breath gusting against her skin. Oh. Oh God, that feels good.

She tilted her hips and took him deeper, and he cursed, the word a garbled groan that made her smile.

They rocked together, moving slowly at first and then faster, sweat breaking out on his back so that his skin was hot and slick.

This, this moment, it meant everything to her.

Her lust for him scalded away the fear. It burned so bright that the memories melted away.

It was only him. She lived in the moment.

It was breathtaking. It was primal beauty, pure and simple, and the natural rightness spoke to her body, but also her soul.

Whether he loved her or not, she didn’t know, but he made her feel that way. He made her feel worshipped and revered. He helped her step into her body—she’d never felt more present in her skin—and then she could hang on no longer.

She came first, in a lightning strike of mind-melting pleasure that caused her to cry out his name and grip his shoulders so she wouldn’t fly away.

She honestly thought she might. He waited for her, the bicep in the arm holding him up on the bed so flexed she could see his veins.

He’d been holding out, and when he finally let go, she felt it, not only in the jerk of his hips and then the hot splash of his release on her stomach as he pulled from her body, but in the loosening of his every muscle.

They breathed together, this feeling of wonder replacing the pleasure that had just spread through her limbs.

Okay, so that was sex. She let out a small laugh, and he lifted his head, and when he saw the expression on her face, he smiled too.

“Yeah,” he said, and that was all. His smile grew and so did hers.

Afterward, once they’d taken a shower together and soaped each other’s skin, she lay in his arms, reveling in the afterglow that still hadn’t faded. “I meant what I said earlier,” she told him, tilting her head. “I should have seen you back then. If I had—”

He put his finger to her lips. “Don’t do that, Cami. Things work out the way they’re supposed to.”

She nodded. She believed that, too, she supposed. Because here he was. And Cyrus too ... both felt like miracles. Things that she’d given up had been brought back to her, and she meant to cherish them. She used a finger to circle the small disc of his nipple and watched it pucker.

“So, the hitchhiker thing you mentioned,” he said.

“What?” She’d talked about a hitchhiker?

“A little earlier, you told me, even if I was a random hitchhiker on the road, you’d find me sexy.” When she looked up at him, she saw the corner of his mouth tremble.

She couldn’t help the answering smile. “Oh, that.” It wasn’t exactly how she’d said it, at least from what was now a hazy memory of her confession by the front door, her heart in her throat.

But she could see he was teasing her, and she liked seeing him this way—confident and flirtatious. She raised her brows. “What about it?”

“Is that like a fantasy?”

“How’d you know?”

“I think you told me.”

She laughed. “How far are you headed, mister?”

He flipped her over suddenly, making her screech out a small laugh. “Far, far away. It’s gonna take a while to get there.”

She laughed against his mouth as his lips claimed hers, and then they did it all again. It was even better the second time.

They slept, and they woke. Deep in the night, she told him about the crime she’d endured, not just the overview, but the details.

She described her desperate fear as she used the small mirror to flash a light at Mrs. Willoughby, and about the drugs that had been forced on her, and finally, the assault.

He held her as it all came out, and though it was agonizing to recall, she also found strength in the retelling.

Neither the words nor the memories destroyed her, and it was another victory she owned.

In the morning when she woke, Cami felt changed. Brand new. Somewhere in the night, she’d claimed complete triumph over her past.

And wonderful, patient, and strong Rex Lowe had helped that happen.