Chasing Love's Wings (19 page)

My hands slide down her neck, over her shoulders, and it takes me all of two seconds
to realize that she is naked. My erection is hot and hard once again, and I take her
breasts in my hand and squeeze. She doesn’t flinch, but the moan she lets out tells
me that something is off. I pull my head back and look at her. “Did I hurt you?” She
shakes her head. “Then?”
 

“They’re just tender.”

“Oh, too much playing with them?” I cock an eyebrow at her.
 

She smiles. “It’s never too much, but they are very sensitive.” I use my fingers to
lightly graze the peaks of her nipples, and they harden instantly and she moans.
 

“Mmm, I could get used to this.” I sit up slightly and, very gently, take one into
my mouth, gently sucking and licking. Her hand goes into my hair and her hips start
to rock back and forth across my erection. I reach between us, pulling him free and
lining him up. She slides back onto him slowly. I release her nipple and lick and
kiss my way to the other. As soon as I take it into my mouth she slides down my cock
hard and fast. I hiss and try to control my sucking. I don’t want to hurt her; I want
this to feel good.
 

She doesn’t stop her motions, sliding up and down my cock. I can feel her hot wetness
sliding down onto my balls, and I know she is beyond turned on. Her pace increases
from want to need, and I release her nipple and slide my way back to the other. Gently
rubbing the one I just left with my thumb, I feel her nipples harden further, and
the faint red blush washes over her skin. The muscles in her pussy clamp down hard
and her body stiffens. “Tristan. Oh God,” she moans as her orgasm takes her.
 

In her post-orgasmic weakness I roll her over. Now she is underneath me and I start
to move in and out slowly, allowing the tight muscles from her release to relax and
fade away to my slow assault.
 

She moans and I move faster, desperate to get her off one more time so that I can
join her in her release. She doesn’t disappoint me, and when I am near explosion she
begins to arch her back and all her muscles tighten. “God, I love you,” I breathe
as my orgasm takes me — and her — beyond the moon.

TWENTY-SIX

******

Cami

******

Have Tristan and I really been having too much sex? Is that even possible? The tenderness
I feel in my breasts and even down below tells me that yes, I really can have too
much sex. But the moment anything starts between us, all tenderness is gone and replaced
by my overwhelming need for him.
 

It is after noon when we finally emerge, showered and ready for the adventures of
today. It is his birthday, and I want to give him two of his presents. The last one
will have to wait until tonight.

We’re in the sitting room and this morning, before I started my torture, I came out
here to set up the first two, and he sees them sitting on the coffee table in the
sitting room. “I told you not to get me anything.” He laughs.
 

“Yeah, we know how well I listen. Open them.”
 

He smiles and hops onto the couch, almost like a kid at Christmas. It is sweet to
see. Despite all of his ‘No birthday party or presents’ arguments, I can tell this
really does mean something to him and I’m happy to see it. He goes for the big one,
which is fine. I like the idea of him being excited for the bigger and better.
 

He tears into the paper to find a long tube, and I suddenly start panicking, not sure
how this is going to go over, but I can’t help but be excited about it too.
 

He gives me a quizzical look, but I encourage him to open it and he does.
 

Inside the tube is a thick stack of papers. Well, they are large pieces of paper rolled
up. He pulls the papers free of the tube and looks at me, trying hard to figure out
what it is. I smile, and he unrolls the papers, moving the other present and laying
them down on the coffee table.
 

Clipped to the top page is a cream-colored piece of paper. He leans forward to look
at it closer.
 

Across the top, in fancy script, it says,
Deed
.

“Cameron Celeste Enders, what have you done?” he says, but I can tell he’s not mad.
 

“Turn the first page,” I say and smile.
 

He looks back to the documents, reaches for the first large page, and turns it over.
 

“Oh my God,” he breathes.
 

I look over the piece of paper, and drawn out in black and white is a large drawing
of the front of a large, two-story colonial. There is a rounded rotunda for an entrance,
with pillars from the ground to second floor. The house has several peaks in the roof,
and it is very much a beautiful house.
 

“What have you done?” he asks, almost sounding angry. I look at him, shocked, but
he’s not angry.
 

“Do you like it?” I ask, hesitant of his answer.
 

“It looks gorgeous.”
 

“Keep looking.” I encourage him to turn the page.
 

The next page is an overhead layout of the interior design. From the rotunda entrance,
to the left is a library, and straight ahead is a stairway that leads to the second
floor. Running next to the stairs is a hallway that leads to the master suite, the
two-story living room, the dining room, the kitchen and a family room. The house wraps
around to the right, where it extends into a three-car garage. Across the back of
the house is large deck area, suitable for sitting space, along with a built-in grill
and bar. Beyond the plans is a pool.

“Jesus, Cami. Before I go any further, what is this all about?”

“Nope, keep looking.” He gives me a look of
You can’t be serious; I need an explanation here.
But I shake my head and make a show of zipping my lips.
 

He turns the page; it is the second story.
 

Upstairs there is a railing opening to the two-story living room, along with three
additional bathrooms, storage and walk-in closets. If you follow the plans to where
the garage is on the first floor, it says,
Studio
.
 

His eyes look from the plans to me and back again. I knew this was going to capture
his attention, so I tell him, “Turn the page.”
 

He does exactly that, and it is all laid out. I watch as he reads the descriptions
of the layout and then looks to the computer-drawn images of what the studio will
look like. He looks up to me again.
 

“I remember you once told me that acting wasn’t necessarily your passion. Producing
and directing, however, are another story.” I can’t help the tears that creep into
my eyes as I take in his awed expression. “So, for your birthday, I am not only giving
you your own studio, but I am giving us a house. Built from the ground up. In Los
Angeles.” He abandons the plans in front of him and he crawls over to me on his knees.
I can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, and I’m a little scared.
 

“What about the condo?”
 

I shake my head. “Nothing has changed with the condo. I will keep it because I would
really like to still live in Phoenix. But I understand that your career, as well as
mine, is really in California, and we will need to be there a lot more than we are
now. So rather than live out of hotels while we’re there, I thought that a place that
is ours—” I put emphasis on
ours
. “—is what we needed.”

“Cami, I don’t even know what to say.” His eyes are filled with fear, and it worries
me.

“Do you not like it? They’re just plans, we can change it.”

“Stop right there. I absolutely love it.” He kisses me. “I love it just as I love
you. It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know. But the condo is mine. Designed for me, not for us, and while I absolutely
love having you there, I feel as though you don’t feel at home sometimes and I wanted
to give you a place that really was your home.”

“Cami, I feel at home wherever you are, whether it is in the middle of Montana, or
in your condo in Phoenix, or even here in Tarah.” The fear in his eyes is replaced
by the look of love that I’ve come to adore about him. A look that is just for me.

“There’s more. To the house.”
 

“I don’t care.” He smiles.
 

I giggle a little bit. “But really, it’s kind of cool. Please look.”
 

He kisses me then pulls back, but he takes my hand, bringing me with him, and we both
kneel over the coffee table. He turns the page. The next page is the entire layout
of the property. He uses his finger to go from the house to the deck to where the
pool is. Then, surrounding the pool and some distance away, at least enough to give
us some privacy, are three smaller houses.
 

He looks at me.
 

“The designs aren’t done because it is up to them how they want them to look. They’re
our best friends’. Travis and Mick are handling their own builds, paying for their
own houses to be built. Tyson and I have worked out an arrangement.”
 

“No, I will pay for Tyson’s house. It is the least I can do for all he’s done for
me.”
 

I smile and kiss him. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
 

“The entire lot is about sixty acres and is on the outskirts of L.A. I needed an escape
from the city, but...turn the page.”

He turns the page and he quickly realizes what he’s looking at. “Cameron Celeste,
are you kidding me?”

I laugh. “No. I love the ocean and the beach too much.”
 

He kisses me again. The front side of the house faces west, and about fifty yards
away is a beach and the ocean. “I know this is a gift, Cams, but how much is this
going to cost?” I knew that was coming — I’m not dumb — but I’m not sure if he is
going to like my answer.
 

“The property or the build?” I stall.

“Let’s start with the property. Sixty acres of oceanfront property in California is
— wow, Cams, that’s huge.”

“Well, it is technically two lots. The lot that our house is on, ending about here—”
I point on the map to the middle of the pool. “—is the only ‘ocean front’ part of
the property. That property set me back—” I pause and scrunch up my nose. I don’t
want to tell him. “—about eighteen million.”
 

“Jesus. And the other lot?”
 

“Six.”

“Million?” I nod. “And the build?”

“That depends. Estimates right now — for the build only, no equipment or furniture
or anything — stand at about fourteen.” I flinch, hoping that he doesn’t freak out
on me, considering that the price tag, right now, stands at forty million.
 

I can see the shock on his face. “You cannot afford this.”
 

I stand. Money is not something that Tristan and I have talked about and I’m not sure
he truly understands my wealth. But I guess now is the time to really explain it to
him.
 

“Tristan, take a seat.” He looks at me. “Up on the couch.” I grab a cigarette off
of the mantel across from him and light it. I take a deep drag and hold it, just for
a second, composing myself. “We’ve never talked about this, mainly because, as far
as you’re concerned, I don’t feel it is my business to know your financial situation.
But I do know that if you can afford Magic Mick to do your financials you’re not poor,
and even if you were, it wouldn’t matter to me.” I look at him, hoping to get the
message to him that I love him for him, not for his career and certainly not for his
money. I think he understands, so I continue. “When Bobby died, for the lack of a
shorter explanation, I was left with what I thought was half of his net worth. At
least now I know it was probably only about a third, given his current living situation.
Anyway—” I take another drag; I’m getting off track. “—the money I’ve spent so far,
and will spend to build this house, does not even begin to eat up the money I inherited
from him. It barely makes a dent, and I am more or less using interest that I’ve earned
on that money to build this house.” I look at him and his eyes widen a bit.

“How much are you talking about?”
 

“Are you sure you want the answer to that question?” His hesitant nod says more than
his words do. “Two hundred million dollars.”
 

“Jesus,” he blurts.

“Mick has invested the majority of it, and the money I spent on my condo in Phoenix
and that I spend on a daily basis comes primarily from my trust money, which is far
more than I ever needed in a lifetime to begin with. Couple that with my own shares
in Bold, complements of Bobby’s disappearing act, and I make on average about fifty
grand an hour and I do nothing to earn it. So to answer your question, yes, without
a doubt I can afford this house, and a whole lot more.”
 

He doesn’t say anything for some time, and I do not blame him for that at all. I finish
my cigarette and light another one. He is watching me, wondering what I’m thinking,
no doubt, and right now, I am concerned that I’ve freaked him out.
 

I let him sit there until I’m done with my second cigarette and then I can take the
silence no more. “Say something,” I blurt.
 

He doesn’t say anything for a few more seconds, and they feel like hours. “I had no
idea.”
 

“You had no idea because flaunting my money is not something I do, Tristan. It is
what it is, and there is nothing I can do about it. Short of give it all away to charity
or something like that. But it is a part of who I am, and it will always be such.”
I watch him carefully.