She smiles—just a faint curve of her lips—but it’s enough to tell me she’s pleased with the reaction she’s drawing from me, with the power she holds in this moment.
“You like that,” she observes, her voice husky, her gaze locked on the place where her hand moves over me.
“Yes,” I admit, the word raw, honest.
She strokes faster, her fingers tightening just enough to make my vision blur at the edges. I reach out, my hand covering hers, not to guide or control, but to connect, to let her feel the way my pulse races beneath her touch.
Then she shifts, her body lowering, and I realize with a jolt what she’s about to do. My stomach twists, a knot of guilt and desire tangling together.
“Camilla, you don’t have to—”
“I know.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “But I remember the training session. I remember how to do this.” Her fingers trace the length of me, her touch feather-light, sending shivers through my body. “And I want to do it because I choose to do it to you.”
The mention of those training sessions is a sharp punch to the gut. I remember every lesson, every command, every moment I stood over her, teaching her how to please a man she didn’t know, a man who wasn’t me.
Shame and guilt burns through me, hot and bitter, but before I can spiral, she wets her lips, her tongue darting out to moisten them, and then she takes me into her mouth.
All rational thought disappears.
The heat of her mouth is overwhelming, the wet slide of her tongue, the way her lips seal around me, creating a pressure that’s almost too much to bear.
“Fuck, Camilla.”
She starts tentatively, but it doesn’t take long for her to find her rhythm. Her head bobs, her hair spilling over her shoulders, the strands catching on my fingers as I reach for her, not to push or guide, but to anchor myself in the moment. To let her know I’m here with her, that this is about her as much as it is about me.
“Camilla…” Her name is a prayer on my lips. My free hand finds her hair, tangling in the silken strands, but I don’t pull, don’t direct. I just touch, my fingers trembling with the effort of holding back, of letting her lead. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.”
She takes me deeper, her confidence growing with every passing second. The techniques I taught her are there, but she’s making them her own—adding her own pressure, her own rhythm, her own hunger. I can feel the way she hollows her cheeks, the way her tongue flattens against the underside of my cock, the way her fingers curl around the base, squeezing just enough to make my hips lift off the bed.
I have to fight to maintain control, to keep from losing myself in the sensation, in the way her breath hitches when she takes me to the back of her throat.
This isn’t about me taking pleasure. It’s about her taking power, about her discovering what she wants, what she likes, whatmakes her feel alive. I need to let her lead, let her own this moment completely.
My hand suddenly tightens in her hair, and I tug her away. “Camilla, stop now or I’ll come in your mouth.”
When she pulls back, her lips are wet and swollen. “Was that okay?” she asks, her voice breathless, her hand still wrapped around me, stroking slowly.
I struggle for words, for anything that can capture the way she’s unraveled me. “You’re incredible.”
She settles beside me, her body warm against mine, her fingers still moving over me in lazy, teasing strokes. “I want more tonight,” she murmurs, her breath ghosting over my skin. “Not just this. I want… everything.”
I turn to face her, my hand cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing over the fullness of her lower lip. “Are you sure? Last night was your first time. You might still be sore.”
“I’m sure.” Her eyes lock on mine. “I’m less afraid now. You showed me it could be good.” Her fingers tighten around me. “I want to know what else there is. I want to feel it all.”
The directness of her desire undoes me completely. She's not asking for healing or replacement anymore. She's asking because she wants to. Because being with me like this brings her pleasure, brings her power, brings her something she's choosing to have.
"Come here," I say. “Get on top.” My fingers find the curve of her waist, pulling her closer until she’s poised above me, the heat of her skin radiating against mine. “Slide down on me. You control it this time, not me.”
She straddles me, positioning herself above me, taking her time.
"Take what you want,"I whisper, my thumbs tracing slow circles on the inside of her thighs, feeling the tremor in her muscles. "Go at your speed."
Her fingers curl into the sheets beside my shoulders, her nails grazing the fabric as she lowers herself slowly inch by inch while I hold my cock steady. She goes slow, taking me bit by bit.
When she finally sinks down, taking me all the way inside her, we both gasp—her lips parting, my head tipping back into the pillow. The sound she makes is raw, almost surprised.
"Okay?" I ask, my hands sliding up to rest on her hips. The skin there is soft and warm under my palms.
