All Over You (All Falls Down #3) (15 page)

"Cam," I breathe when he yanks my shirt off to pull my nipple into his mouth. How can he possibly want me again already? We've had sex three times since we got here! He's insatiable.

"Never was before you," he mumbles around my breast, making me aware of the fact that I said that out loud. "Never wanted anyone like I want you, kitten. You've already got my dick addicted to you."

When he slips his hand between us, brushing his fingers through my folds, I realize that his dick isn't the only thing addicted.

"Um, you passed my car," I say early the next morning as Cam drives past the parking lot on campus where my car is parked, thankfully still safe and sound.

"We gotta do something before we get your car," he tells me.

"Okay…"

He doesn't take the hint and explain what we have to do.

I bite back the immediate urge to demand answers, wanting to prove to him that I can relax and trust him to take care of me. It frightens me a little how
much
I trust him. With my body. With my future. Maybe even with my heart.

God.

What is he doing to me?

And why is a big part of me perfectly happy to let him
keep
doing it?

Before I can figure out that particular answer, he pulls up in the small lot near the Residential Life Office on the Hill where the dorms are located. He whips into a parking spot before turning the engine off and looking over at me.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, my gaze shifting between him and the students meandering away from their dorms toward early morning classes. Most are bleary-eyed, plodding along with their heads down. They don't pay us any attention whatsoever. That doesn't settle my stomach any.

Cam holds out a key in the palm of his hand. "This is the key to Clark's dorm. I picked it up yesterday before I hunted you down."

"Oh."

"I need you to come in with me, kitten," he says softly, no doubt sensing my hesitation. "You know the people in your life better than anyone. If there's anything in there to help identify who is behind this, you may notice it when I wouldn't think anything about it."

I'm not so sure he's right about that―after all, I missed the fact that someone has been pretending to be me for a God only knows how long―but I want to go in anyway. Even if we find nothing inside to help us, I can't help but want to know more about Rory. Maybe that desire is morbid given the situation, but it's true nonetheless.

"Okay," I agree, taking a deep breath.

Cam rewards my little act of bravery by flashing his dimple at me again.

I think I'm obsessed with that little indention in his cheek. He's gorgeous anytime, but when those gray eyes light up and that dimple appears, he's devastating. Every time I see it, my heart races and I want to do whatever it takes to make him show it to me again and again.

If the amused grin he shoots me is any indication, I think he knows it, too. The cocky bastard.

"Which dorm was he in?" I ask as we walk toward the dormitories. With thousands of students opting to live on campus every year, housing units are scattered all over the Hill in a sprawling community of multi-storied units complete with courtyards, walkways, and a maze of roadways in between. Out of necessity, the units are all co-ed, allowing the university to house as many students as possible.

"Sproul Hall." He glances around as if trying to locate the dorm in question.

"That's Sproul," I tell him, pointing toward the massive building.

He examines the complex for a moment before cutting his eyes at me. "Where did you stay when you were here?"

"I was in Canyon West for two years, and then in Rieber Vista and Courtside my final two years." My gaze drifts toward the buildings in question, a weird sense of nostalgia sweeping through me. It's been two years since I walked the Hill. New housing units are in various stages of completion, with others under renovation, but the area hasn't changed much. The place is as familiar to me now as it was then.

My life as a college student was far from easy. I spent most of my time running from classes to modeling jobs to my father's nursing home. I survived on limited sleep and a laundry list of strict rules enforced by the agency. But even then, life was a lot less messy than it is now. I almost miss the security that came with knowing my place and what was expected of me, and I never thought I'd say that.

"Where did you go to college?" I ask after a moment, pushing away thoughts of my life as a student.

"San Fran State," he says.

"What did you study?"

"Criminal Justice." He pauses to let a group of students go around us. "I minored in Psychology."

"Really?"

He nods.

"No wonder you're so good at your job," I tell him, not really surprised by his revelation, but impressed by it. He does nothing in half-measures, I'm quickly coming to realize. I have a feeling he rarely ever fails when he wants something. The way his mind works is fascinating to me. He's all in, relentless when it comes to solving a problem or getting what he wants. I see that single-minded drive every time he focuses his attention on a task as if he can see it laid out in front of him like the pieces of a puzzle. He's able to make connections that most of us would miss, especially when it comes to people.

In a matter of days, he was able to piece together my life and figure out that I wasn't the woman behind the messages to Rory. He
knew
me before he ever met me. If anyone can help me clear my name, it's him. I have no doubts about that. He seems to know exactly how to accomplish his goal, even if he has to break the rules to do it. And I don't think he necessarily sets out to break them; he just doesn't concern himself with them, especially if they don't suit his purposes. He's a man on a mission, and he doesn't give a shit what anyone has to say.

That confidence is sexy as hell, and a little awe-inspiring.

"I am good at my job," he says quietly. His words aren't boastful or arrogant, but honest. He's telling me what he knows to be true because he's fought to make it so.

"I know," I agree when he holds open the door to Sproul Hall for me. I slip inside and then pause with my head down as a group of students pour out of the elevator, headed our way. No one pays any attention to me as they stumble past, murmuring their thanks to Cam for holding the door. I still don't take a breath until the last kid steps outside, though.

"Welcome," Cam murmurs to the group and then he's beside me again. He doesn't touch me, but just having him near eases a little of the anxiety pulsing through me. "You okay, kitten?" he asks, his voice pitched low so only I can hear him.

"I keep expecting them to grab pitchforks," I confess on a strained whisper.

He frowns, his brows pulling together. "You haven't been charged with anything yet, kitten."

"Doesn't matter," I mumble, pushing the button for the elevator. "Rumors about my supposed relationship with Rory are already spreading, and that's all most people need to form an opinion. It's human nature to rush to judgement, especially when someone dies."

He doesn't dispute my claim. I think he knows he can't.

People don't wait until a trial to decide whether someone is innocent or guilty. They make up their minds based on rumor and media speculation, never even considering what happens if they're wrong. Most figure life just goes on for the wrongly accused and no one gets hurt. They're wrong, though. Life
doesn't
continue uninterrupted. Even when found innocent, a cloud follows those suspected or charged with a crime. I haven't even been charged yet, and my life has already been derailed.

"If they're angry, it's because they're hurting," he says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the elevator wall. He looks at me from beneath his lashes, his head tilted so he can see me. "People aren't logical when they're grieving."

"I know," I murmur as the elevator climbs toward the sixth floor. "I don't blame them for feeling the way they do. A good kid took his own life, and, as far as anyone who cared about him knows, I'm the person who pushed him into doing it. They should be angry about that. What Fake Ivy said and did to him is beyond awful." I wait for Cam's nod of agreement before continuing. "Knowing he had people in his life who cared enough about him to be angry on
his behalf is comforting to me. The thought that he may have jumped from that bridge believing no one cared about him because of her kills me. No one should ever have to wonder if they're wanted or needed, or if they're loved. I hate that she hid behind my name while trying to strip that sense of belonging away from him."

"Jesus," Cam says and then smashes the button to stop the elevator.

It shudders to a halt, jarring me.

Before I can ask him what he's doing, he's on me, pinning me to the wall as his mouth crashes down on mine. My hands instantly find their way into his hair, holding him to me as I kiss him back with everything in me. My heart hurts for Rory, the emotion choking me. I give it to Cam, breathing it into him and letting him carry some of the weight for me as my pulse pounds a frenetic rhythm. He takes it without complaint or reservation, demanding more, more, more.

Heat unfurls, warming me from the inside out. I tug his hair hard, trying to get closer to him. I want to crawl inside him and curl up, far away from the painful reality chipping away little pieces of my soul. I want him to make me forget what's happening to me.

"Fuck," he grunts, grabbing my hands and pushing them into the wall beside my head.

He holds me there, keeping me still as his tongue dances along mine. He bites my bottom lip and then cups my face between his palms and slows his assault.

Every time he kisses me, it's different. He takes me to some new place every time his lips touch mine. He's masterful, and this time is no different. This time, his kiss is slow and gentle, healing…exactly what I need.

"Cam," I whisper against his lips, dizzy with desire.

"So fucking sweet," he mumbles and then kisses me again before dropping his forehead onto mine, his breathing ragged. "Had to kiss you."

We stand there for another moment before he reluctantly steps back.

His gaze runs over me, hot and wild, and then he shakes his head, his expression mystified. "Never met anyone as sweet as you before. Don't know how I'm supposed to make it through the day without being inside you, kitten," he groans. "My dick knows what heaven feels like now, and he wants more."

My stomach flips at his words. Every time he hits me with one of those half-formed confessions, I melt a little. He could talk to me like this every day of forever, and I'd still want more. He's tender and filthy in turns, and it's intoxicating. Desire is stamped across every line of his face, and I find my body responding. It's primed, more than ready to remind his dick of what being inside me feels like.

"So do I," I tell him, boldly holding his gaze. "You feel so good when you're inside me, Cam. I can still feel you." That's nothing but the truth. A dull ache has taken up permanent residence between my thighs. It's pleasure and pain, a reminder that he's been there, and a protest that he isn't there now.

"Fuck." His head thumps against the wall.

I grin, pleased to see that my words affect him as much as his affect me.

"Gotta be good," he mumbles, and I think he's talking to himself. He stands there for a long moment, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, trying to regain his composure. And then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

He tilts his head down until those gray eyes meet mine again. "Soon," he promises, and then he reaches out and smashes the button to get the elevator moving again.

I nod, fully intending to hold him to that promise.