25. Breathe Through It #2
That was what tipped me over. The feeling of her coming right against me, how she kept rubbing through her own orgasm, dragged mine out of me hard.
Our clits dragged across each other again and again, wetter, faster, harder, pushing me higher until I broke.
Her words and the shock of my body hit at once, and the sound I made was so loud I didn't know it was mine until I heard myself screaming.
Our bodies slowed, and when I stopped trembling, she kissed my forehead, damp with sweat.
"You're so fucking pretty when you come," she whispered.
I nodded, clutching the sheet. Some soft, stupid thing tried to crawl up my throat. I swallowed it. My voice rasped like I'd smoked a pack of menthols in ten minutes. "Shit. You tryna kill me?" I asked, and she pressed her smile into my skin.
I'd never come like that—ever. Not with any man I'd ever let come within sniffing distance of me.
With dudes, my pleasure was always a side quest: optional, easy to skip, and they still expected a damn trophy for adding me to their body count.
The thought hit me, sharp and raw. Was it the way she watched me, the way she moved, the way I didn't have to guard myself?
Men had always made me feel like I was performing.
This was straight up lust. Felt like my body had been waiting for hers all along.
Fuck.
When Cam eased off me, I felt the sudden lack of her body like hunger pains.
Wanted her back on top of me. I expected her to collapse beside me, call for water and a victory laugh, but her hands didn't stray.
Instead, she braced her weight on one elbow and slid the other palm down my belly, slow, coaxing a reluctant animal.
I flinched, not away, but up into her touch.
My body felt rewired, and Cam seemed to know it; she moved her hand in lazy circles, dragging her fingers through the wet mess we'd made of me.
My thighs twitched every time she thumbed my clit, leaving me utterly useless.
I grabbed her wrist, tried to slow her down, but she kissed my cheek and said, "Do you need me to stop? "
I shook my head no, because too sensitive and done weren't even on the same planet. Hips rose before my brain could sign off.
It was humiliating how quickly my legs opened for her again, how my thighs shook and my chest jumped at every gentle pass of her fingers.
How I never wanted her to stop touching me.
She didn't bother with preamble or warning, just circled my clit, slow as a clock, not pretending to hide how much she liked watching my face.
"Breathe," she whispered, voice low and scratchy, "just like that.
" She pressed her fingers in harder, and my back arched off the mattress, nerves fried and alive.
"Cam—" I started, but she cut me off, her mouth at my ear now, teeth grazing the line of my jaw.
"That's it," she said. "I know, it's a lot. Can you come again for me?" Her hand stilled, and I understood she wouldn't do it without a solid yes. No one had ever asked before, just took what they wanted. I nodded so hard I thought my neck might snap.
Figures, Cam would be the type to talk you through it. No wonder why Skye practically threw it back on her like a cat in heat at rehearsal. Cam had created a whole stalker, one deep stroke at a time. With all the eye contact.
She slid her fingers in slow, and I gasped, clutching at her shoulder. She started shallow, then deeper, and it was like a fuse blew in my chest—heat, pressure, all muscle and nerve. I wasn't ready for how good it felt, how fast my body opened for her.
She hooked two fingers and curled them into me. Knuckles deep, palm grinding, not even pretending it was for my benefit. My hips came up until her hand was slick with me. My thighs shook.
Cam kept talking. "You're perfect, Romi," she said.
"So fucking tight, so hot for me, I want you to let go, just let it happen, baby, you're safe.
" It was almost too much: her voice, her hand, the weight of her body pressing me down and the thread of something like worship in her words.
I felt myself splintering—breaking and melting at the same time—and I knew I'd let her do anything she wanted to me if she kept saying my name like that.
"Don't s-stop," I heard myself say.
"Not gonna." She said it into my mouth, between kisses. "We waited so long for this."
She fucked me steady, not rough, but with this building confidence.
At first, Cam's eyes locked on mine, her thumb rubbing circles over my clit until I heard the wet slip of her inside me.
I gripped her fingers, tight and desperate, and she shivered, rocking against the spot that made me gasp.
Then her mouth found my nipple—hot breath, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, making my back arch and my vision swim.
I lost track of everything except the way her hand worked me and her mouth pulled at my skin.
Full sensory overload, all of her on me at once.
"Deeper," I heard myself say. Cam stroked harder, deeper inside until I cussed. I looked down, saw the line of saliva from her lips to my breast. Had to look away again or I was going to come, right then and there.
My body shook and I could've died of how much I wanted it, how much I needed her to keep going.
My hands scrabbled at her back, her tattoo sleeve, the sheets—whatever I could anchor to.
She sped up, slowed down, disappeared inside of me, seeking, pressing until I lost my words, hoarse.
Cam kept watching me, patient, trying to figure out what I responded to, what made me grip her fingers tighter, what made me shake.
Never made me feel like I was taking too much from her.
"Don't fight it," she said, when I tensed up again. Dark eyes locked on me. "Let me feel you come, Romi."
So I did. I let her. And when I came it tore through me like something I couldn't have stopped if I tried, and the scariest part was how much I didn't even want to take none of it back. Distantly recalled hearing her moan until she climbed back up to kiss me on the way back down to Earth.
Her hand was still inside me, and she pulled away carefully.
I barely remembered how to breathe after.
Couldn't stop shaking. Even when I pressed my palms to my face and tried to drag myself back into the room, I was floating somewhere three floors above, looking down at how Cam's hand stayed warm and steady on my leg.
The only sound was my pulse, and Cam's breathing, quick and ragged.
She wrapped her arms around me, not tight, just enough to lock me back into this bed with her. Then she kissed me again, this time slow and gentle.
Eventually, she lay back, pulling me with her, until I was half sprawled over her chest, limp as a dish towel.
I thought the next move was to fall asleep, or at least a warm towel, but Cam nudged at me with her nose, her lips painting a trail from my temple to my jaw.
"You okay over there?" she said, and I heard the smile trying to sneak in.
I tried to answer, but it came out as a cracked laugh, my voice shredded. My face burned. "You're a whole menace and you know it, because what was that?"
She smirked and kissed my forehead. "Didn't hear you complaining."
I rolled my face into her neck tattoo, hiding my pathetic flush. "That's because you made me forget English."
Cam didn't look away. If anything, her eyes got darker, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth. "Good. Maybe now you'll finally listen, 'cause I swear to God—I want you in every language. Every way there is."
The air between us pulsed, and for once I couldn't form a comeback. Just heat, everywhere. I slung my leg over her hip and pulled her in as close as we could get.
Cam's hand stroked gentle patterns down my back, then she rested her chin on my shoulder and just breathed, long and slow. It felt more intimate than anything else we'd done in this hotel room.
She pulled back to kiss my forehead and the tip of my nose, so gentle it was almost embarrassing, her arms wrapped around me in a way that said she knew I needed it, even if I'd never admit it out loud. My pulse thudded everywhere, thrumming in my ears, my wrists, the backs of my knees.
It was so dangerous to get used to this, to want it.
When I opened my eyes, Cam was watching me, dark eyes sharp and soft at once. Her hair was wild, dark curls stuck to her cheek with sweat. She was waiting for me to come back to earth, her hand petting slow and careful along my side like she'd just adopted a pet that might bolt.
"Cam," I managed, and tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. "Did I—was that—"
She cut me off with a crook of her mouth, all tenderness.
"You were perfect. I wanted to see you like that for so long.
" For a split second, I thought she might tease me, say something to undercut the rawness.
But all she did was stroke her thumb across my cheekbone, watching my face as if it was the best concert she'd ever seen.
I drifted for a while, floating in the afterglow, feeling every little twitch of her body against mine.
I wanted to touch her, to see what she looked like coming undone, but my body refused to cooperate.
I managed to twist enough to bury my face in her neck.
She let me hide there, holding me until my lungs figured out breathing was supposed to be regular, not this chaotic, high-frequency stutter.
Eventually, I gathered enough motor function to slide my hand down her side. She shivered under my touch, her own hips flexing like she couldn't help it.
I wanted to know what it felt like to make her lose her cool like she did to crowds with nothing but her voice.
My fingers traced her mound, finding her slick. She sucked in a breath, and her eyes shut tight. The reaction sent a jolt of pride straight through me, so I did it again. She squirmed.