Page 101 of Slots & Sticks
“I’m gonna fuck you so full you’ll forget your own name.” His fingers grip my hips. “Not stopping until I’m so deep you feel me tomorrow.”
I arch beneath him, nails raking down his back. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Give it to me.”
His mouth crashes into mine, tongue deep, filthy, and full of promise. There’s nothing gentle about this now. His hips piston into me with an urgency that borders on feral. I feel him everywhere—inside me, on me, all around me—like he’s staking his claim in my bones.
“This—” he pants, grabbing my left hand and slamming it to the cushion beside my head, “—this doesn’t come off.”
He lifts my hand to his mouth, kisses the ring hard, possessive. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.”
He thrusts again. Deeper. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Camden. I’ve always been yours.”
He groans like that undoes him, and his rhythm stutters. Then he hooks my leg over his shoulder and fucks me deeper. The new angle makes me cry out, my body tightening, shaking. He doesn’t slow.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I do—eyes wide, tears pricking the corners, my whole body laid bare beneath him.
“I’ve dreamed of this.” A vein in his neck pulses. “You. With my ring on. My cock in you. Your body begging for mine.”
I whimper, clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
“Never. I’m gonna fuck you so good, Dot, you’ll be shaking when I carry you to our bed.”
God, the way he saysour bed—like it’s sacred.
He reaches between us, finds my clit, and rubs tight, filthy circles in rhythm with each relentless thrust. My back bows off the couch. My moans rise into something desperate.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Come on, baby. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
He pins my hips, keeping me locked down while he fucks me through it. My orgasm rips through me, blinding and white-hot. I scream his name, muscles clenching tight around him.
“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s your fiancé about to come so deep in you you’ll feel it in your throat. I don’t care if you get pregnant—I’d give you all my babies if you let me.”
“God, Cam. I love it when you say things like that.”
“Fuck,fuck,” he chokes out, and then he’s spilling inside me, groaning into my mouth, his whole body shuddering against mine.
We’re both wrecked. Drenched in sweat. Breathing like we’ve run for miles.
My thighs are trembling. My lungs won’t settle. I feel wrung out and lit from within.
And yet, he doesn’t stop touching me.
He gathers me into his lap, still buried deep, my legs wrapped around his waist, both of us trembling and breathless. His hands roam gently now—soothing, worshipful—like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me in this exact moment.
I rest my forehead against his, and my eyes flutter closed. Everything feels raw. Good-raw. Loved-raw. Like I’ve been cracked open and filled with sunlight.
“I can’t believe this is real,” I whisper.
I can feel him inside me, warm and slick and perfect. Every shift of my hips makes me whimper. He’s still hard, still holding me like he can’t let go.
He brushes a damp curl from my cheek. “It’s real. It’s us.”
I look at him, and something in his face softens even further—like every piece of him has released. “I love you,” he says simply, voice rough with the weight of it.
