Brain: At least we agree on that! Get that O, girl. Pleasure that clitorusaurus-rex.

"Stop it!" I laugh aloud.

"What?" Cam says, pulling away.

"Not you!" I lift my hips so he can keep going. I need him to keep going.

"But you just said—"

"Shut up!"

Brain: You're mean.

Body: Shut up, Brain. He loves it. I love it. Look at him go.

"Ahhh!"

Body: Oh shit, she's so close.

Brain: Leave her alone now, let her have it.

"Ahhh!"

Body: Fuck. Oh my God. This is—there are no words.

I thrust my hips, my fiery furnace now fucking his face.

Body: Stop with that shit.

"Fuck, Cam! I'm gonna..."

Body: GO! GO! GO!

"I'm gonna..."

Body: FUCK YEAH!

"I'm gonna..."

Body: Holy shit. I've never felt like this... this could be... is it?

"HOLY SHIT. I'm gonna come so hard all over you face."

Body: Shit. This is the biggest orgasm she's ever had.

"I'm gonna..."

Brain: Come. She's gonna come!

"COOOOME!"

My body vibrates while he holds me in place, his mouth never leaving, his finger never stopping, not until the last wave hits and I flop on the bed.

"Fuck me..." I moan in pleasure.

"I plan to," he murmurs.

I smile, even though I can't see him. "You, Cameron Aladdin Gordon, are a goddamn stud."

EPILOGUE

ONE YEAR LATER

-CAMERON-

It was hard, but I did it. I graduated.

Luce got her degree in journalism and joked that she'd probably never use it. It was funny until we had moved back home into the cabin for a few weeks and she realized just how limited journalism jobs were, especially close to home.

I applied at about ten architecture firms, all of which contacted me for an interview. I even got offered a few of them, but it meant moving, or travelling, and none of them offered enough money to do either.

I helped Tom out with a few of his projects for the first couple months. He paid me more than he should, which meant that it was more than enough to float Lucy and I, especially considering we were living rent free.

After weeks of staying home, Lucy started to lose her mind. And then she found a project. The only bookstore in town—the one her and her mom used to spend hours at on the first Sunday of every month—was sinking. It wasn't making enough money to survive and it was going to close down. Lucy, being Lucy, got emotional and used those emotions to fight for it. She spent every day there helping when she could to keep it open. When nothing worked, she started a campaign. She organized an event where some of her favorite authors showed up, signed their books, and spoke to the attendees. She even convinced them to donate their books so that all the money went back into the store. The owner, a tiny old lady who only went by Ma'am, and was way beyond her retirement years was so thankful for Luce's efforts. But it still wasn't enough. She cried when she found out. "It's not about the store," she said that night. I held her to my chest while she sobbed silent tears. "It's about the memories, Cameron."

The next day I worked on site with Tom and told him about the store closing and how upset Lucy was about it. I told him that she spent most of the night telling me stories about her and her mom going there, and how she remembers her mom buying her her own copy of Little Women. She said it was one of the greatest days of her life.

A week later Tom asked us to meet him there. We had no clue what it was about. So when we walked in after hours and saw him sitting next to Ma'am at the tiny reading corner she had set up, we were confused to say the least.

We sat down opposite them and waited.

Ma'am had tears in her eyes, but Tom didn't speak. He just pushed a bunch of papers our direction.

They were ownership papers to the business and the building with our names already printed on them. "All you have to do is sign," Tom said.

Lucy cried.

I had no idea what was happening.

"You bought me a book store?" she wept.

My eyes narrowed before realization set in.

"No," Tom answered. "I invested in a book store." He leaned back in his chair and eyed us both for a moment, gathering his next words. "Actually, I have my own reasons for doing this, but yes, the bookstore is yours, Lucy."

She cried as she signed the papers. I don't even remember signing my name, but I'm sure I did.

After Ma'am said her thanks, she asked me to walk her to her car. "She doesn't know does she?" she asked while I held her door open.

"Know what?"

"That her mom named her after me. My name's Lucille, but no one has called me that since her mother passed."

"No, Ma'am," I replied. "She has no idea."

"Good." She smiled. "You can be the one to tell her."

When I went back into the store, Lucy was on her feet. She was still crying, but it was the good kind. "We can do so much with this space," she announced excitedly. She went behind the counter, found a pencil and notepad and handed them to me. Then she proceeded to walk us through her ideas. Tom and I followed, our smiles almost identical.

"Please draw my vision," she asked me, and so I did.

For two hours we walked around the space while she went through, in detail, what she wanted. I sketched what she described while she looked over my shoulder, telling me what to change and what was perfect. Not much needed changing—seems our visions were similar. Tom walked around with a measuring tape and his own notepad, writing down things that needed to be fixed or built. She wanted to include a little café, one where shoppers could sit down and read for hours and hours. She walked around animated, so lost in her excitement and ideas that I found myself right there with her... just as excited as she was. "I want a reading corner, baby," she whispered when her dad was out of earshot. "One where I can do story time for the kids. I want a huge armchair and they can all sit in front of me while I read to them. Can you design me a sign for above the chair, one that says 'Kathy's Corner'?"

I smiled down at her, watching her eyes fill with tears again. "That sounds like an amazing idea, babe."

When she was done, she stood in the middle of the store and turned a full circle. "I can't believe it," she said. "This is all mine."

Tom rubbed his hand across his beard. "Well, not all of it," he mumbled. "Follow me."

Luce held my hand as we followed him up the creaky stairs in the back office of the store. It led to an empty, open room. In the middle were a table, three chairs, and a lamp.

"Are we being interrogated?" she joked. I'm glad she found it funny, because even though I've known Tom seven years, he still scares the shit out of me.

"What do you think?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Think of what?" she said.

He nodded his head at the two chairs opposite where he was now seated. "I figure this can be the new office space for Preston and Sons."

"So you'll be working here, too?" she asked.

I pulled out her chair before sitting down next to her.