by Celia Crown
“Don’t move,” I snarl, her hot pussy rubbing and squirming on my lap when she tries to scoot back.
My arm circles around her waist while efficiently pulling myself into a better sitting position, I use my strength to weight the beautifully flustered girl firmly into my lap. My dark eyes never move from her shy gaze that threatened the borderline of my coherency.
She drops her eyes on my lips, licking hers as temptation breaks the damn in me. Flooding my body with heightened desire, Camille shakily breathes my name like a prayer.
A small pitched whimper flows from her rosy lips when I ground my hips to hers, dragging the rough material covering my cock over her heated cunt.
“You're mine.”
Then, I kiss her.
Mewling like a kitten, her hips buck in surprise when I bite her bottom lip to demand her to open for me. She gasps, moaning prettily as I twist my tongue with hers to taste her sweetness. I take away my support on the bed to use that hand to fist my fingers into her hair, yanking her head back to devour her submission.
She slides her arms around my neck, pushing her perky tits to my naked chest. The thin material allows me to feel the pebbled nipples scraping on my skin, I didn’t notice her braless tits as I was too caught up with those patches of creamy skin on her legs.
I break the kiss, nudging her jaw with my nose as I skim my tongue over the tantalizing skin on her pulse. I purr into her neck, nipping and scraping my teeth to mark her delicate skin. Opening my mouth to clamp down while holding her in place, she squeals and shakes at the pain before I decide not to soothe the aching away with my wet tongue.
I want her to feel the intensity of the primitive lust in me.
“I want to throw you on the bed, tear away your panties and shove them in your mouth as I fuck your tight little cunt open. You would feel me, Cammie, feel me breaching your wet pussy with my big cock. I will fuck you, take what’s mine even if you don’t want to.”
Breathing in her scent, I nose her jaw and goes up to her ears as I speak in a lower and hoarse tone that wrecks her body with trembles.
“You may struggle, but I know you want this, want me to take you like a dirty little whore that you are. Want me to fill your snug cunt with my cum, with so much that you will be leaking for days.”
I bring my face to her flushed one, lashes fanning uncontrollably as she hiccups.
“I won’t.” I kiss her swollen lips, “Not yet, not until I’m all you think about.”
Her wet lashes bats meekly at me, I feel the fracturing resolve disintegrate hastier with one little thing holding me together and that is my rigorous training of self-control.
“Not until you beg for me.”
Chapter Seven
Camille
When I open my eyes the next morning after Mark insists I go to sleep, there is a light pressure below my belly and through the hazy fog of my mind, I make a noise of confusion.
Our sleeping arrangements have been as professional as it can be after he had basically dry-humped me onto his lap with a promise hanging over his lips. He kept to himself on his side of the bed with an impeccable expression as his eyes closed, sleeping on his back and I could have sworn he wasn’t breathing by how still he is.
I can't say the same thing about myself, I wake up with my back to a very warm chest and a hefty arm sling over my waist heavily. That isn’t alarming in my sleep-hazed mind, my body is too accustomed to having Mark breathe down my neck when he watches me do work.
His scent surrounds my sluggish body, luring me to another dreamless sleep when I feel something that sparks my body into liveliness. I adjust my body into another position so one of my limbs don’t fall asleep, I couldn’t move too much with the arm caging around me like a protective shield.
A dull throb on my pussy causes a moment of panic washing over me as my brain struggles to figure out why I’m feeling this shiver wrecking down my body.
A nudge to my clit tells me two things; the finger is too thick and calloused to be mine, and there is too much slick running down my thighs.
Dimly, I remember just a fragment of memories of me snuggling into his bulky arms, but that could have been a dream. The murkiness in me recedes slowly, bringing a clear path for my brain to register the throbbing pleasure is climbing too high for me to put the hand between my legs as an accidental touch.
One scrape on my wet clit sends tingles down my toes, a whimper escaping from my tightly pursed lips as I shut my eyes. Burying my face onto the pillow, my hips buck involuntarily at the prodding fingers that spread my folds and dipping one thick finger to my pulsing opening. It doesn’t breach the tight puckering hole, only tapping and circling with feathery touches.
My tummy tightens as my body heats up more, shaking in his arms as I try to bite back the moan in my throat. Some come out brokenly, shuddering and tears of frustration beads on my eyes when I struggle to understand what my body wants.
This should be wrong, he is my guardian as Matt had put it and he is supposed to look after me. That blurs the line of how is he taking care of me, he has absolute control over me.
My thighs tremble, squeezing his rough hand as he stiffly grazes my clit. Sparks litter in my eyes as I try to subtly rock my pussy to his palm to get that push over the edge.
I’m so close, too close with only a couple of strokes. Those that I am aware of, he could have been touching me for over an hour and I wouldn’t know because he’s taking away his hand. I whimper in protest, desperately trying to hang onto the last thrill of desire coursing through my body before it calms down.
Turning around with the brightest blush on my face, I get to witness a morning side of him that no one has seen. Messy hair and darkened gaze, rolling muscles as he supports himself on the elbow to look down on me. Sticky fingers tangling with his tongue as he curls his fingers around the slick, his canines glisten generously.
“What.” his chest rumbles.
I stammer, no coherent words form and I shut my mouth with my hands pulling on the blanket to cover my face. What am I supposed to say? Nothing I can think of would make me less embarrassed even though he is the one who strings me like an instrument, he’s the one who should be embarrassed that I caught him, but he has the confidence of a man in power that he turned the table to make me the one who should be mortified about the mess I made on his fingers.
The blanket gets thrown off my face, forcing me to blink at the vanilla ceiling as Mark’s face takes over to slant his lips over mine. I taste myself on his tongue when he pries my teeth open and controls my tongue in a dance of domination.
It’s dirty, and I must be so stiff and wounded up from my denied orgasm.
I want his hand back between my legs, but he chooses to ignore the pleading glance I give him. Yesterday’s words echo back to me in his huskily baritone voice about how he wants me to beg for him, beg for me to let him do those things he said as if it’s a privilege when he agrees.
I don’t care if it sounds arrogant, but my pussy throbs at the thoughts of him rutting me into the sheets with those strong muscles and sculpted hips. As long as I get to have his tattooed arm in my eyes then I would be happy to give in to his requests.
The defiant side of me refuses to submit that easily, it’s too competitive as it always comes out to play when someone tries to hack me. My submission to him is inevitable, the obedient girl in me wants to win over his affection while he manhandles me like those times where I refuse to take a break from work.
He would pluck me off the chair and onto his lap to cage my wiggling body from going back to my workstation. It’s an effective way for me to get distracted by something and let my eyes rest from the screens.
Mark looks at me for a second before a smirk comes onto his face, cutting my brain function in half at how striking he looks.
Mark Hansen, more like Mark Handsome.
“You’re mean,” I comment quietly, pushing my head back onto the pillow as it swallows the back of my skull.
> “This is simply the beginning, Cammie, you will beg for me.” he rasps, deep from sleep and velvety.
“Am not,” I said, I can’t back down from his challenge because my pride as a hacker would be injured if I let him win without trying.
I can do it, just as long as he doesn’t touch me then I can hold off this insane need to launch myself at his hard abs and smooch my face on those nice pecs. Ogling is nothing new and he knows it, so I can just satisfy this burning in my tummy just by looking at his unfair attractiveness.
Really, who has a jaw that sharp.
“You sound confident,” he hums, sliding one hand under my nightshirt and creep up to my breast.
Groping his fingers around my breast, my nipple press tightly against his palm and that small sensation triggers another throb between my legs. He flicks my nipple with a finger and I cry his name, whimpering in shock as a sweet roll of my tight bud being trapped in his digits creates the longest tremors in my body.
He hovers over me, watching my sniveling face with great interest as I feel safe beneath him. I don’t feel trapped and suffocated with his big body, the way he looks at me would have been romantic if he isn’t tweaking my nipple harshly, but nothing feels better than knowing that the promise in his eyes is to protect me from the world when I’m in his arms.
Life is unpredictable, and I like to believe that I would be fine as long as I get to be with him.
He pinches my nipple again, bringing me out of my thoughts. It aches from his rough ministration while the other bud is tight with no attention.
“I’m confident,” I weakly reply, even I don’t believe what I'm saying so there's no way he does.
He sees right through my faux certainty, “Then, get up. You have work to do.”
Mark is a bully when he leaves me craving for his attention, sitting up from the bed with his gorgeous body all for my greedy eyes as I take in the lines on his back; power radiates from his muscles and I remember last night’s massage allowed me to grope him under the pretense of helping him.
I was, but things got out of hands and it wasn’t my fault that his muscles are so deliciously packed. I doubt I made a difference to the knots on his back, but he’s not rubbing his neck anymore, so I guess this bed does make a difference.
Anything is better than the couch, it’s way too small for him. It barely fits me, and I’m much smaller than him. I don’t have the body mass or bigger bones like Mark, curling into myself can only be comfortable for a certain amount of time before I start cramping.
When I go to get up after watching him pull on a shirt that stretches over his massive body, I realize that I’m too bare and too exposed when I lift the covers off my legs. I immediately squeal in humiliation when my panties are not covering me, they are nowhere to be found on the bed when I frantically search for them with one hand holding down my shirt to give me some decency.
Mark stands there with his big arms crossed over his chest, not moving an inch to help me. I might have thought he was a gentleman at first but now he is a mean man and a bully with that devious smirk on his lips.
I lift the cover and slide my hand into the pillows to feel for the lace panties that I wore to sleep last night.
Mark is too calm and too smug to be innocent in this. I just know he’s the one that tugged my panties down and hid them somewhere, this man knows how to make me feel small.
“You stole them,” I accuse with a hot blush.
He cocks an eyebrow, “Don’t make assumptions you can't back up.”
“I just know it!” I squeak, yanking down the front of my shirt.
“Prove it,” he grunts.
I look at his pockets and they are flat, so my panties can't be in them. I search the room, but I come up empty-handed when I plop down onto the bed with a defeated whine. I wonder to myself as to when did he take off my panties during the night, and how long have I been at his mercy before I even grasp the exit of the dreamless sleep I had.
“No?” that mockery in his tone makes me flush, “I am open for a search.”
That innuendo gives me shivers and I refuse to look up at him while I toy with the hem of my shirt, I move to my knees while preserving my decency to get off the bed without my butt flashing at him. I really prefer if the cotton shirt cooperates, this morning is enough of mortification for the entire year.
“I’m going to search you, but I need panties first.” I awkwardly walk as fast as I could to my suitcase where all my clothes are.
I didn’t bother to take them all out since I have nowhere to put them. I think of many ways to unlock the suitcase but all the scenarios in my head have me giving a full view of my butt.
Glancing over my shoulder, I demand him with a soft voice. “Look away.”
He unapologetically continues to stare, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen.”
What?
The sun must be an inch from my face because the scorching heat makes me lightheaded as I choke back a squeak. Just how far has this man gone when I was sleeping? I can’t even begin to fathom the invasion of privacy that brings a slight thrumming to my clit as I’m not offended, I’m turned on by that thought of him taking advantage of me.
“You touched my cock first,” he mentions like I have any recollection of my actions during the night.
“Did not!” I squeal in denial.
I’m not perverted, I keep my hands to myself when I sleep. Most of the times, my extra pillows end up in my arms, but they are cushiony pillows and that’s call cuddling. I did not touch this man’s steel body or his cock as he so vulgarly said it.
A pillow and he are two different things.
“Are you calling me a liar?” he pushes for my answer.
I like to think he isn’t, but I would never do what he said I did.
Right?
Oh, god. I need the earth to absorb me right now before I die of humiliation.
Chapter Eight
Mark
A slow month passes, and Camille is holding onto her pride better than I expected. Finding every loophole to not touch me because I know her brittle resolve will come down like broken glass, but I am a man on a mission.
She will break, it’s just a matter of time.
If she can resist touching me, then I will do the honors. It will take longer for her to beg for me to throw her on the bed and fulfill every promise I made to her, and patience is my strong suit, but not when it comes to her.
Her small frame freezes when my hand skims over the back of her shoulder, trailing up her neck and easing my hold around her fragile neck with my fingers. Kneading her muscles, she melts in my ministration with a contented mewl.
Her guard is low, and in a setting as intense as the CIA headquarters, I raise my defense higher to cover her. She doesn’t bother to hide anything when I ask her a question, Camille is unaware of that habit she developed. Her face is an open book and I reap the benefits of her trust on me to occasionally ask questions that aren’t too conscious to show my interest in her personal life.
I learned her likes and dislikes, parts of her childhood, and about Camille as a general person. Not Grey, not the layers of lies hidden among anonymity as a hacker, and not the phony life story she fed me through her shelf-baby life when I researched about her at the beginning of the month.
That is if her name is Camille Carmichael.
I don’t ask, but I do keep an eye on her reaction every time I call her name. She would look at me with those big eyes and smile so brightly like a goddess has graced me her presence, and I would fall in love a little more.
This is a first for me, I have never fallen in love or even felt anything vaguely similar to romantic emotions. Camille forces me to think of the future that would contain a sliver of happiness, before I met her, all I thought was what would happen if this decision I made cause some butterfly effect into the future.
Everything I did was for the sake of this country, but Camille took that place with her panda mascot head and pink slipp
ers. I wouldn’t trade the world for those funky socks that she likes to wear, it’s a style that I’m accustomed to and it’s her signature look. Any changes to her would cause an imbalance in me that compels me to make it right.
Whether if I need to ask her or do it myself, she stands as the equilibrium in me.
I’m willing to do anything to keep the new stability in my life.
Anyone who thinks that Camille would be better off with them is a fool and they have me to show them otherwise. Both Camille and Grey is mine, same body but two completely different profiles wrapped in one neat package of assets that would be detrimental in the wrong hands.
“Are you sure that there’s going to be a second attack? It’s been a month already?” Camille furrows her brows, clacking her nails on the keyboard.
I keep my hand on her neck, feeling the baby hairs on her hairline as my eyes read over the row of data flashing on the screens. Terrorist attacks are notoriously unpredictable even with the right intelligent people working on decoding and finding the members, but it’s even worse when we have nothing to go on other than the words of the captured terrorist in our black site.
“It will come,” I said, “What have you found as of now?”
She pulls up a file with documents filtered by color, “Green is for people I have cleared with in-depth checks, yellow is for people that I can positively say they have no involvement, and the red is the people with access, money, and the intelligence to pull off something like this within the government.”
I look down at the corner of the screen to see the amount of space occupied in the folder and it’s more than I had hoped by the time we narrow down the list of government employees and this is only within the agencies, we still have outside factors to connect with.
“Pull up the red file.” I pull up another chair and sits next to her while she clicks on the keyboard.
The first name I see is someone from the New York Police Department, he’s the bureau chief for ten years and he has a spotless record from what I can tell from the files. No one misconduct or complaint, that raises a red flag to me. No one can work in the government without one speck of dust on their record, no matter how insignificant.
