Page 156 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Lift up,” he growled, tapping my injured leg. A second later he’d slid a soft blanket under it. “You will tell me if this is too much.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, and then my thong was ripped, the cold air brushing against my pussy as he lined up his dick and lunged forward until his entire length was sheathed inside me.

I gasped at the fullness, falling to my forearms, my back arched, as he fucked me fast and hard in a brutal pace.

Thwack!

His hand spanked my ass, and I came around his cock, a cry ripping from my lips.

“That’s one,” he growled, and my eyes widened because I wasn’t sure if he was talking about spanks or orgasms.

He kept going, his dick having some kind of superpower because his thrusts never let up, his fingers slipping over my clit at intervals, forcing orgasms when I wasn’t coming fast enough for his liking.

Camden spanked me at random, no rhyme or rhythm, catching me off guard every time.

And I came relentlessly. So often that I lost track, that time lost all meaning.

I was nothing but sensation and pleasure, sparks of pain only adding to the experience. The world around me grew blurry and discolored, my cries changing into hoarse gasps as I lost my voice.

And still he fucked me, in every position imagineable. Until my vision darkened, and eventually I lost consciousness.

I woke to him gathering me up in his arms, cradling me against his body as he walked down the hall. I could feel his cum inside of me, sliding down my thighs as we moved. His voice was gentle and soothing as he laid me down on the bed. I briefly passed out again, only coming back when he soothed my aching pussy with a warm washcloth.

“I love you, baby girl,” he murmured...and then I was out again, slipping into a blissful, deep, dreamless sleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling like I had a hangover. The room felt too bright, my head felt dizzy and out of sorts, and my body was sore...especially between my legs.

It was the good kind of pain, though, like after a workout, and something was settled in my chest, something that had felt broken before and I hadn’t even realized it.

Rolling over, I wasn’t surprised at all that Camden was dressed, laying next to me, his head propped up on his arm as he watched me.

“I kind of feel like you’re my stalker at this point,” I croaked, and he grinned unrepentantly.

“I’m pretty sure I am.”

I took him in, still as amazed as I was the first day I saw him that I was in this beautiful man’s presence. I wasn’t sure that even time would be able to make that fade. He was just too perfect, all my favorite features in one sensational package.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his gaze roaming over me like he could see under my skin.

“Sore,” I admitted, "And I feel like I’ve been crying for hours or something...but I feel good.”

“If I was too rough—” he began.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, shutting him up. “I loved it,” I told him honestly. “I’ll never forget it…I want…I want more.”

His eyes glimmered. “I have no doubt that your inner brat will rear her head and that will happen again.” I wrinkled my nose in response, and he huffed. “I bet you’re already thinking of the next thing you can do to drive me crazy.”

I sobered at the reminder. “I wasn’t going there to apply to be a dancer,” I told him, finally getting the words out that he wouldn't let me last night. “I was just going to waitress. They have hours that fit into my schedule, and the pay’s really good.” Even as the words came out, I felt like I was convincing myself just as much as him. I really didn’t want to work there. Every inch of the place had been smoke-filled and dark, and the man I had interviewed with had leered at me and said inappropriate things the entire time. I doubted I could last even a week there.

“I can’t handle you working there, in any capacity,” Camden told me fiercely, last night’s madness flickering in his gaze. “I’ll go insane. I’ll have to camp out there, gouge out the eyes of anyone inside. Do you know how crazy I would get if someone tried to grab you like they do all the time in those sorts of places?” He shook his head. “I would have to kill them.”

I scoffed at his ridiculousness—but he didn’t laugh.

He stared at me for a moment before his chin stiffened, and a hard glint came to his eyes. “I need you to explain why it’s so important that you get a job, why you won’t let me take care of you. It’s not like you aren’t working hard every single fucking day. Too hard in fact. Nothing about you is lazy, or a user. Nothing!”

He reached out and pushed a piece of hair out of my face. “So tell me why you won’t let me help you. Why you won’t let me take care of you…something I’m desperate to do.”

My gaze dropped, and I stared at the soft sheets, tracing them lightly with the tips of my fingers. It was hard for me to talk about this. I never had—with anyone.

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