Page 94 of My Sweetest Agony
Cam shakes his head and braces one hand to the side of my neck as he drags the head of his cock through my slick folds, making me shudder. “Not even fucking close, Ivy.” His lips feather over mine. “Not.” Another light brush. “Even.” Another. “Fucking.” A final one where he lets them linger before slowly pulling away. “Close.”
He pushes into me in one hard, determined thrust.
Fuuuuck!
Air rushes from my lungs.
My head spins.
Heat licks across my body, centered between my legs where Cam has filled me so completely.
A low, guttural groan vibrates in Cam’s chest pressed to mine, and my hips arch up to meet him, taking him even deeper, until he’s buried all the way to the hilt.
“Fuck…”
His strangled curse rolls through me, echoing across the studio as he buries his face in my neck and digs his teeth into my collarbone. That sharp bite of pain coupled with the way his thick cock stretches me so completely makes my pussy flutter along it, and I clench down, digging my nails into the canvas under me. Another animalistic sound falls from his lips, and he nips at my still-stinging skin again, moving up my neck to my ear with hot presses of his lips and tiny licks of pain.
“If you keep doing that, this won’t last very long, Ivy.”
I loop my arms around him, desperate to cling to him, to keep him right here where I can feel all of him pressed against me. But he seems to have other ideas.
He pulls his head away, my arms falling to the canvas as he pushes my thighs open, throws my left leg over his shoulder, and shoves my right knee up, spreading me wide and allowing him to draw his hips back and plunge impossibly deep.
A startled gasp tumbles from my lips, my neck arching, my hips clutched in his tight grip as he sets an unyielding rhythm I know I won’t survive.
There is nothing tentative about it.
No feeling me out.
No easing into our first time together.
Camden fucks like he paints, in long, sure strokes filled with an intensity, focus, and passion that explodes from somewhere deep in his soul. An all-consuming devotion and dedication to every movement. As if every drive of his cock into me has a purpose. Every retreat, another one. Like he meticulously planned out each detail of how he wanted to claim me and is now enacting his plan.
Just like he does with his paintings on these canvases…
He holds nothing back.
The man lives and breathes his art, and he’s making it with his body tonight.
Creating his own masterpiece on this canvas by moving me exactly where he wants me, by taking me exactly as he wants, without reservation or any barriers.
All the lies are out in the open now.
The painful truths have all led to this moment.
Each stroke builds me higher, the head of his cock catching on the exact spot inside me like he knows exactly what angle to hit and how to bring me there quickly.
His hips pump wildly, his hands tightening around my thighs as he holds me spread wide, and then he angles his hips down and thrusts up, and I see stars flashing against my closed lids.
My already labored breaths seize in my chest, each attempt to draw in air only getting harder and harder the harder he fucks me.
And this is pure, unadulterated fucking.
This is consuming.
This is claiming.
These are the things I never thought I needed so badly but now can’t imagine living without…
