Cameron #2
“It’s alright, baby. You’ll come back. I’m here,” I tell him softly, watching his eyes dart back and forth beneath closed eyelids.
“C-Cam,” he whispers. “Atty…”
“Shh,” I coo.
And because it never fails to wake him—and I’m a greedy little thing—I lean over and lay a gentle kiss to his lips.
A long, sweet press of our mouths together. And as my eyes open, hovering just above his mouth, hazel eyes slowly reveal themselves to me.
“There you are.” I grin, pressing another kiss to his jaw. “Welcome back.”
Atticus releases a shaky, uncertain breath, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me on top of his body.
“It was bad,” he mumbles. “I was doing it again. I was slaughtering you all with my own two hands.”
A single tear slips from his eyes, dripping into his hairline. I wipe my palm over the wet streak.
“You said you’d forgive me,” he continues. “That day, as I wrapped my hands around your throat, you said you forgave me for what I’d done. That you loved me.”
“I’m amazing even in your subconscious,” I joke, but Atticus doesn’t laugh.
He stares at me with an expression full of admiration. “I love you, Cameron. I want you to marry me someday; I want you to pull me from my nightmares until we die.”
“M-marriage?” I stutter, my eyes growing wide.
Well, good morning, Cameron!
“Yes,” Atticus whispers. “I want to keep bossing you around forever.”
“God,” I moan, rubbing myself against him. “I love it when you say forever.”
“Yeah?” he breathes out, hands sliding down to grip my bare ass. “You want forever, sweetheart?”
The atmosphere between us is shifting fast.
“Even more than that,” I tell him, loving the friction of him grinding me against his hardening length. “I want anything and everything you’ll give me.”
“Mmm. I’ll give you all I have. I’m never letting you go.”
It’s a promise, a threat, a comfort.
And it makes me horny.
“Touch me, Atticus,” I beg, burying my face in his neck.
“You need some relief, baby?” he coos, bucking his hips up and into mine.
“Yes.”
“I hear you. I’ve got you.”
As if my body weighs nothing, despite the muscles I have, Atticus rolls me off of him and back onto my stomach. His big hands grip my hips, pulling me onto my knees while my chest stays flush to the bed.
“Already panting for me,” he observes. “So beautiful.”
“Please,” I plead. “Atticus, please.”
He does not reply. Instead, he grips my cheeks and spreads them, ghosting hot breath over my hole.
A soft mewling sound leaves me, my hips shoving back toward him. One thing that’s new for us, that he can’t seem to get enough of, is devouring me with his tongue.
I fucking love it.
Atticus groans, low and filthy as his tongue flicks over me. It’s such a dirty, forbidden thing to do that it makes my head spin, makes my legs shake.
“So good,” he murmurs into my skin, his lips suctioning to me as he sucks and licks like a madman.
“O-oh, fuck,” I cry out, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
I can feel myself softening, warming to his touch. My body falls apart for him just as easily as my heart—as my soul has done from the moment I saw him as such a small, lonely child.
Atticus’s tongue breaches me, diving deep and taking what he wants from me. Which is everything, of course.
A calloused hand wraps around my hip, gripping my dripping dick and pumping it loosely, slowly.
“So wet,” he grunts out. “So hot.”
“Hngh,” I whine, wrapping my own palm over his hand, feeling how his flesh drags over mine.
Intoxicating.
“That’s right, open up for me. You’ve been so good, baby. Such a smart, obedient boy,” Atticus praises.
“Shit, Atticus, please just fuck me,” I beg. “Fill me up. Please.”
And my wish is his command—at least in this moment—because he leans over us and grabs the lube from his bedside drawer, pouring some onto his fingers before pressing one inside of me.
I choke on my spit, moaning around the intrusion as he works me open, adding another finger, and then another.
He makes sure to rub that hot spot inside of me every few thrusts, dragging me closer to the edge at a torturous pace. But I don’t complain—when I come, I want it to be on his dick, squirming and crying.
And as I loosen around him, panting and grunting against the pleasure, Atticus pulls his fingers from inside of me.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
“Uh-huh,” I sound.
“Good. Good job. I can’t wait to watch you swallow my cock.”
He has such a filthy mouth. For a refined gentleman, the sole inheritor of his father’s company and known upstanding citizen, he’s a demon in the sheets.
No pun intended.
His cockhead presses against my hole, pulsing and hot as I instinctively clench and twitch.
Then, he presses in, breaching me with a burning stretch. And everything around us disappears.
All I can think is I love him, I love him, I love him.
And what a beautiful thing it is that I can tell him so.
That I can say it and hear the words in return. That I have him—the real him.
Atticus slams home, balls deep as he buries himself inside of me. He pauses, panting into my neck.
“You feel this, Cam?” he asks. “Do you feel how I own you, how every inch of you belongs to me, meant to crumble in my hands?”