“Only when we’re at home?” I tease.
He wraps a hand around my neck, rubbing a thumb against the center of my throat. “You’re right, I shouldn’t restrict us like that. I want my cock buried right here at all times.” He presses against my windpipe.
My pussy flutters with delicious excitement. “Promises, promises,” I taunt.
Camden slams his mouth to mine, licking at my lips and then sucking on my tongue, holding me hostage as he grinds up into me. He tugs my top off one of my breasts and squeezes my nipple tight.
I yelp, yet the sound doesn’t leave my throat because he still has my tongue.
With the restricted breath, my vision blurs and I sway. Camden catches me immediately, releasing my neck and my tongue and pulling me to his chest, cradling me.
“My pretty brat,” he murmurs as he strokes my back.
With desperate movements, I reach for the waistline of his trunks. Fuck. I want his cock buried deep inside me right this very minute.
Rather than lift his hips and help me, he tuts, like he’s disappointed.
At the sound, I clench around absolutely nothing. I love when he treats me like a naughty girl who needs to be set straight.
“You know what I’ve always wanted?” he asks as he arches back and picks up an open bottle of champagne from an ice bucket just outside the tub.
Unsurprisingly, it’s Dom. The bottle he bought on the way home to celebrate.
“What?” I ask, distracted by my need for him.
“To drink champagne from your pussy.”
I snort. “Really?”
With a nod, he flicks a finger toward the edge of the tub. “Up.”
“What?”
“Up.” The word is firmer this time, and like the slut I am, I heat at the commanding tone, my body warming all over.
I scramble to the ledge of the tub, and as I settle, the cool air causes pinpricks against every droplet clinging to my skin. One breast is still exposed, though I don’t know whether covering it with the suit will make it better or worse.
“You are the hottest woman in existence,” he murmurs, his gaze roving over my body.
I settle my hands on the ledge on either side of me, pushing my tits out, preening at the compliment.
From here, the house next door is visible, and when I note the light flickering on in the bedroom upstairs, a thrill rushes through me. Yup. The neighbors could definitely see us if they wanted to.
Why does that only make me hotter?
Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Camden’s attention drifts to the side and he smirks. “You going to put on a show for Daddy?”
“What kind of show?” As I ask the question, I spread my thighs, already knowing exactly what he wants.
He slicks his tongue over his bottom lip and lets out a cockychuckle. “You’re made for this, aren’t you, baby girl? You crave it just as much as I do.”
“Crave what?” I ask, my voice raspy.
“Being my whore. Being my salvation. Being my fucking everything.”
Heart thumping, I nod. I really do. It’s what I love the most about us. There’s no pretense between us. We’re at our most basic with one another. Our wants and needs are nothing to be ashamed of. I thrive when he calls me his slut, when he treats me like I’m his undoing, because he’s mine. “Please,” I say, unable to stop from rolling my hips.
“Please what, baby girl? What’s the magic word?” His voice is a soft caress, coaxing me to give him exactly what he wants.
