Camille, Claimed

by Ginger Talbot

  “Oh,” she cries out. She closes her eyes.

  “No, baby. Open your eyes and look at them, mon petit chaton.”

  She stares at the crowd, dazed with lust. “Please…don’t…” Her legs are spreading, and she’s panting with arousal.

  “Do you want me to go beat the shit out of Simon instead, then fire him?” I stroke and stroke, and slip a finger inside her.

  “No! Please…don’t do that…to him…” she gasps.

  “Then you have to take the punishment. And I can do anything I want to you. You have no choice.” I kneel in front of her.

  “Yes, I have no choice…” she cries out and the crowd murmurs, entranced by the erotic tableaux unfolding before them. I spread her lips open and suckle her between her legs, and she moans and squirms. When I fix my mouth on her clit, she squeals. I suck and nibble on her sweetness, my hands pressed against her quivering thighs.

  All mine. Mine to please, to love, to torment, to worship.

  I bring her very close to orgasm before I pull away and uncuff her. Her arms drop to her sides and she stares at me, lips parted and eyes glazed with desire, waiting for my orders. My raging erection is a torment to me now, an ache that must be satisfied.

  “Hands and knees,” I order her. “Facing the crowd, so they can watch you come.”

  “Yes, Bastien.” She obeys me as if in a trance.

  I kneel behind her, release my cock, and enter her slick tunnel in one savage thrust. Her cries of pleasure grow louder and louder, and the crowd responds. Men and women are entwined, stripping their clothes off, their excitement rising to a fever pitch.

  I force myself to take it slow, and Camille curses me and begs me to make her come. She has such a filthy mouth these days, just like I trained her.

  My own excitement swells inside me until it’s nearly unbearable. I want to come, but I also want to make this moment last as long as I can. Camille’s pleading sobs as I torture her with pleasure are so sweet that it gives me the willpower to move just fast enough to keep her dangling on the edge.

  “Please let me come!” she screams. “Please, please, I want to come! Please fuck me harder!” Right there, in front of the crowd, with everyone watching and listening.

  What a good girl. She’s earned her orgasm at last. I pick up the pace and slam into her brutally, rocking her forward, and her breath comes faster and faster until her body tenses.

  “Yes!” she cries out as her body shakes with release, and the convulsing of her inner muscles detonates my own climax. I hold her still as my orgasm shudders through my body, and she’s panting and sobbing with relief as she comes again and again.

  Afterward, I make her get up and turn her back to the audience and bow very deeply, exposing the lips of her reddened, swollen pussy. She only trembles a little, and her nipples are still hard with excitement.

  Then I lead her by the hand off the stage and back to my office. Her legs are weak and shaking. I lie her down on the bed there, facing me, holding her in my arms and stroking her. “Are you happy?” I ask her.

  “Very.” She nestles into my shoulder.

  I am happy too. Finally, after so very long. Camille filled the empty parts of me. She is my beating heart, the breath in my lungs, the reason I wake up in the morning. She healed me by loving me just as I am, every dirty, evil part of me. She didn’t try to fix me or change me—she let me drag her down into the gutter with me, and she loves it here.

  I gently stroke the small of her back. “My family will be here on Friday, remember. Emilie too. Are you all right with that?”

  “It’s fine.” She releases a sigh, snuggling against me, and I hug her to me. “I understand why she did what she did, even if I don’t like it. She’s important enough to you that I can let it go. We’ve reached something of a truce.”

  They have, but I still won’t leave the two of them alone in the same room together.

  My father will be participating in a hunt at the estate. So will I. Camille doesn’t know a lot of the details of what happens at Eternal Glory. She understands that there are things I can’t tell her about my family, things she would be happier not knowing. She doesn’t like it, but she accepts it.

  She keeps busy with the art gallery I bought for her, and I hired a marketing company which has been very successful at promoting it. She’s friends with Pandora again; she signed her to an exclusive contract to represent her artworks, and both of them have buyers around the world. Pandora isn’t waitressing any more, and she and her baby have moved from her apartment into a little house in the suburbs.

  Landon is engaged again – to a recovering alcoholic. Camille understands him better now – he’s got a martyr complex, and his attraction to Camille had a lot more to do with rescuing a wounded bird than it did with loving her. I’d still, honestly, like to have him killed, and if I thought I could get away with it, I would, but Camille would find out and I think she’d actually leave me. That’s the only reason the whiney little bastard is still breathing. As it is, he’s gotten a couple of promotions at his company because of my investments. He doesn’t know who I am, or that Camille is the reason for his success.

  Camille and I are talking about having children, but we’ve both agreed to wait for a few more years. We have so much lost time to make up for, I’m greedy to have her all to myself – except when I proudly show her off on the stage of Dark Desires.

  Camille squirms a little, then sighs in contentment and presses her slender body into me and whispers in my ear, “I loved what you made me do out there.”

  “I know.” I slap her butt cheek just hard enough to sting, and she squeals and jerks, but then she settles back into my arms. “That’s for being a dirty little whore.”

  “Yes, I am.” She nibbles my shoulder. “But I’m your dirty little whore, Bastien. Only yours.”

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