Cameron's been watching you do the laundry for nearly five minutes now, his eyes glued the curve of your crotch as you load the washer.

Fuck. How does he tell you that sex is kind of... always on his mind now? He swears he wasn't a pervert before. Really, before you, he thought sex was overrated. Then their wedding night happened and, holy shit, his mind was been blown ever since.

Everything is erotic now. The way you walk, how you get dressed up in the morning, even the way you drink coffee. God, it all makes him so hard. But you didn't marry Cameron knowing he was a horny bastard. No, he can't tell you that his hormones are literally killing him now. Nope, his pride and dignity won't allow it.

But god damn, the way you’re leaning over that washing machine right now has Cameron rock hard and red in the face. He just wants to go up to you, pull down those jeans and–

No, no. Down boy, he chides himself. He should just leave, let you do your chores before Cameron jumps his bones.

But even as he's saying this internally, his body has different plans. Instead of walking away, he’s leaning against the doorframe now – stuffing his hands in his pockets to hide the tent forming in his jeans. "Hey, s-sweetheart..." he says as casually as he can muster. "Need help?"

What he means is ‘baby, please let me touch you’ but he can’t just SAY that, can he? No. He’s too shy for that.