They weren’t her hot spot. Her throat, neck, they were what got her hot. Her ear, too. She liked the sting of pain—which made sense—biting. Sucking.
My jaw clenched once more because the thought had shit ricocheting around inside my mind, shit that I wasn’t even sure if I had the mental capacity to handle anymore.
I was no longer twenty-three. I had responsibilities and duties to my family and to the Points, and it wasn’t like I had time to dance attendance on anyone.
The reason Ma was seeing a fucking shrink, I’d reasoned while I tried to get to sleep, was because I hadn’t been doing my duty as a son to her.
Long ago, I’d promised her I’d never let her down again, and so, I visited, but I definitely wasn’t around as much for her as I used to be... that was on me.
So how the fuck could I tame this little bitch in my bed?
Was she worthy of my time?
She was Bratva scum, but I’d seen Inessa flourish in the Irish camp. She’d gone through the same shit as Camille, but it was clear to me that Camille had seen a lot more than her younger sister had of their parents’ relationship.
Something had fucked Camille up. Something had made her slice into her palms like she was peeling a fucking orange.
My fist tightened down on my cock as she circled the tips of her nipples with her fingers, and I slapped my free hand to the window, which made her jump. My jaw ached as badly as my cock with the need to tell her to get her ass in here and do something about my erection, but...
Fuck.
I was honorable now.
I had to be. I’d done too much shit in my life I was ashamed of. She was just proof of that. Even though I’d come to terms with being ready to marry, she’d be the last person on my list, what with her ties, but she’d said it herself—I’d made a promise to Mariska that might as well have been forged on her deathbed.
And the notion of Camille slicing her wrists or throwing herself down the stairs to avoid being Abramovicz’s wife was enough to make me want to spank her for even allowing those thoughts to formulate.
When my little brain was in charge, there was no way I should be able to think as much as I was doing right now, but that she’d jerked me out of a lust-filled haze was testament to the volatile nature of my response to her.
I could jack off.
I could watch my cum swirl down the drain.
Or I could have her jack me off.
I could watch her fucking gargle my cum...
I could touch her pussy.
Punish her for trying to turn me into a cunt-slave...
My cock hardened, my brain switched off, and anything that was honorable disappeared.
I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t my fucking fist.
Rearing away from the window, I twisted around to turn off the shower once my soapy dick was clean, then I stalked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.
She was sitting up, a frown on her brow, confusion and concern in her eyes as she watched me, but all I saw were those tits concealed by the two flaps of my shirt, playing peekaboo with the fabric now she’d covered herself up.
And there she went again...
Ms. Modesty.
Time she learned there was no such place for that in here.
She shouldn’t have pushed me.
Shouldn’t have tried to tie me to her that way.
Now, she was going to get something she hadn’t expected.
Something I hadn’t expected.
And she’d have no one to blame but herself.
“Take off the shirt and the underwear.”
Her eyes widened, but she was quick to obey.
Good.
From my tone, she discerned I didn’t want a striptease either.
That clever little mind of hers picking up nuances that made me hope for the future and how smart our kids would be.
A hiss escaped me as she flung the fabric aside then rocked back so that her weight was on her spine and the balls of her feet so she could make a bridge with her hips dancing in the air. She shoved down the elastic waistband, letting the white cotton ripple and ruffle against her thighs as she wiggled out of them. They pooled around her ankles and that was where I took over.
“Leave them, and put your hands behind your head,” I commanded, moving closer to the bed as she obeyed.
I grabbed one leg and then the other, making sure the briefs stayed banded around her ankles, before I grabbed the fabric, tightened them in my fist and looped the underwear around her feet once more to make a binding.
Bondage wasn’t my thing, but tying this little minx down was becoming imperative.
With her legs spread, her pussy revealed to me in the gloomy light of morning, I stared down at her and watched as the blush surged from her tits and up to her cheeks.
I’d never seen someone blush so hard before, almost as though she were a wallflower, for God’s sake, when I knew she’d been a club-fucking-whore.
“How many faces do you have, Camille?” I rasped, half-expecting her to frown up at me, to not understand what I was asking.
I wasn’t sure if either of us realized the power her answer would have.
If she’d given me a different one, I might have backed away.
Might have stopped, reverted to the original plan of banging her until she was knocked up, and then keeping my distance.
Instead, she drew me in closer, tying me to her with the siren’s call that was exacerbated by the sight of the crumpled Band-Aids on her palms and the boniness of her ribs and collarbone.
“Two,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears that made her green eyes morph into precious gemstones. “Camille and Cammie.” Her mouth wobbled. “I don’t even know which one is the real me.”
“Cammie’s the slut and Camille is the little ingenue who can blush like she’s a Regency heroine?”
She blinked at me. “A Regency heroine?”
I wafted a hand. “Your sister and soon-to-be sister-in-law talk about romance novels a lot at Sunday lunch.”
Her eyes widened, before she whispered, “Oh.” Then she licked her lips, with none of the show of earlier, making me growl under my breath at the sight. “I-I don’t know if they’re both just facades.” Her smile turned sad. “Or maybe they’re as much depth as I have.”
“And maybe we need to work on that,” I told her gruffly.
With her legs forming the shape of a diamond, and her arms doing the same, just inverted, I stared at her tits, and seeing the lack of jiggle, and the way they remained very firmly at the front, not even by an inch sagging into her armpits, had my hands craving to squeeze them.
I was a tit man, through and through.
“You’d better learn,” I told her gruffly, “that you can’t control me through sex, Camille.”
She swallowed. “I never intended to—”
I moved my hand to between her legs, and upon stroking my fingers over her pussy and finding her dry, I told her, “Another lesson, don’t lie to me. Because that was bullshit. If it was the truth, you’d be wet, but you’re not.”
“I-I—”
“Y-You,” I mocked, and I tapped her there, a flat clap to the pussy. “Only honesty in here, or I’ll be pissed, Camille. You don’t want to see me angry.”
Her cheeks flushed again—with temper this time. “You can’t be any worse than my father.”
“And that’s one way to kill a boner,” I said dryly, even though my cock refused to listen and stayed as hard as ever.
Deciding that I was done talking, before I talked myself out of this, I acted. Doing exactly what I’d wanted but denied myself last night.
Grabbing the briefs that cuffed her ankles, I moved her legs high, so high that her thighs pressed against her chest, leaving her pussy exposed to me in a whole different way.
She groaned and rasped, “Please, Brennan,” which detonated something in my mind.
I climbed onto the bed, pressing her ankles above her head so she was pin
ned in place, her ass rocking up to the perfect angle that meant I could drop my dick onto her cunt like it was a ledge.
The sweetest, pale pink ledge there ever fucking was.
My mouth watered with the need to taste her, but that wasn’t what this was about.
I’d admit to acting on instinct here, but the second I started to rock my hips, I decided that words were important after all.
“See that pretty pink pussy?” I rasped at her, encouraging her to look down, to look at us.
I wasn’t going to deny that it was awkward for her, because it was. She was pink again but from lack of air and from my turning her into a human pretzel, but she didn’t argue. In fact, she did as I asked, and though we meant nothing to each other than a means to an end, even she responded to the visceral sight of that beautiful cunt of hers and my cock soaring over the quivering, frilly flesh that I was determined would be sopping wet with my cum in a few minutes.
“I-I see it.”
“I’m going to come all over it,” I told her gruffly. “And because you teased me, you’re going to walk around all morning covered in my cum.”
Beneath my dick, I felt her sex contract in response to my order.
A cocky smile twisted my lips as I murmured, “Someone likes the sound of that.”
She gulped, shook her head. “N-No, I mean, that’s gross. I have to shower.”
“You smell as good as you did last night,” I argued. “And if you keep on lying to me, I’ll make you marry me not only with your pussy covered in my cum but your tits too after I fuck them before the ceremony.”
Eyes flaring wide, that goddamn cunt of hers clenching down again—so goddamn hard that my dick could feel it—she whispered, “I won’t lie to you again.”
“Good girl,” I purred, before I leaned one hand on her thigh and then placed the other above my cock so that as I rocked against her, the friction was even better, especially now some of her pussy juices eased the way. “Although,” I told her softly, “I think you like the idea of being covered in my cum. Why is that, Camille?”
Someone will love me. He’s out there. Waiting for me to love him exactly how he needs to be loved too.
Sixteen
Camille
He wasn’t wrong.
God, he wasn’t wrong which had to mean I was some kind of freak.
Even in a sham marriage, who the hell wanted to attend their wedding covered in a man’s release?
The idea should revolt me, but it didn’t. If anything, it had my hips tilting back, the muscles in my thighs tightening. With the way he positioned me, it was a little hard to breathe, but I got into it as he started to thrust against me, and my heart began to pound, sending tidal waves of adrenaline through my blood.
A moan escaped me when he put pressure on his dick as it nudged my clit, and I pressed my head back into the pillow, my body tensing and releasing as I felt the heat surge through me, much as it had done last night.
He followed through, moving down the length of my cunt, not stopping until the tip surged into my pussy, just the barest half-inch, enough to coat him with more cream that magically appeared from out of nowhere.
Well, not nowhere, but in comparison to the Sahara of before, I felt like the Hoover Dam, for Christ’s sake.
My hands clenched into fists behind my head, and the sweet whisper of pain from that move had my moan morphing into a groan.
At the sound, he paused, and I blinked up at him, feeling dazed and hazy but also so bewilderingly close to climaxing that I wanted to tell him to hurry up, but Brennan wasn’t the kind of man you ordered around.
A fact I liked.
A fact that reminded me of Nyx.
I knew I shouldn’t think of him at a moment such as this, but he was my only comparison, what else was I supposed to do?
Right now, Nyx fell short.
A gasp escaped me when Brennan tilted forward, pushing more weight on my chest. I shouldn’t like that, I really shouldn’t, but I loved how he got in my face. Loved how he didn’t let me hide.
It had been a day, a single day, and already I felt as if he’d seen more of me than most people ever had.
The thought had anxiety whispering through me, anguish too. Thank God his plan was still to get married today. If I had to wait, I knew I’d turn into a nervous wreck. Trying to please him only to piss him off—I’d thought showing him my tits would get him hot. Instead, it had triggered this.
And now, with him looming over me, I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong, but as oxygen sluggishly filtered into my system because he was damn heavy and compressed my lungs like I was a set of bellows for the fireplace, I just knew I wanted to please him because that orgasm?
I wanted it again.
“I told you not to do that,” he rumbled, and with all his weight on me as he pressed me into the bed, he reached up and dragged my hands down. “Hold them flat to the bed. If you want pain, I’ll give you pain, but you’re going to let those heal. If they bleed again, you’ll regret it,” he warned, and the flash of anger didn’t scare me. I was too used to feeling a man’s wrath aimed my way, but it was the reason for his anger that had my heart skipping a beat.
Which was pretty unfortunate with my current position.
Dark spots began dancing around the edges of my vision, and instead of asking him to get off me, I did as he asked, pressed my hands to the sheets, and let them lay flat.
With all that pressure, he had to work harder to thrust against my pussy, but he did it, and it felt like heaven and hell especially when he tilted his head to the side, pressed his teeth to the meat of my calf and bit down.
Not a love bite.
Not a nip.
A full on bite.
So hard that I wasn’t sure if he was going to break the skin. So full on that the agony of it had me howling and bucking against him in response.
But he ignored me, just carried on doing what he was doing, and I felt it.
It.
The shameful gush of cream.
The fucking geyser he triggered that coated him like he’d just dropped a bottle of lube onto us both.
He pulled back, a smirk on his face as he looked at me, the promise of sin in his eyes that might have been an hallucination thanks to how hard it was to breathe, and he did it again.
He moved, took another meaty part of my calf and bit down once more.
It was then the doorbell rang, and though we both heard it, he didn’t stop clenching down or moving. He didn’t push off me and hurry over to the door, he just sent that sweet pain whistling through my system before he released my skin and against my leg, murmured, “That might be your sister. I arranged with my men to have her brought here this morning.”
My eyes flared wide when I heard a pinging sound that told me the elevator had been activated, one I’d heard yesterday evening as the doors opened into the main hall. Before I could protest, he pressed a hand to my mouth, covering both it and my nose, then he bit me for the third and final time.
And that was it.
Lights out.
Explosion not just imminent but detonated.
As the lack of oxygen turned my vision dark, a thread of golden light illuminated the world as my orgasm shot through me, ricocheting inside my body like it was a bullet shot wide.
There was no air to scream with, no way I could even wail.
I stared up at him blindly as the delirium of what he forced me to experience made me see things with a clarity that had always escaped me.
Brennan, at that moment, was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
Had ever wanted.
His nostrils were flared, his eyes wide, and his mouth a snarl as he chased his own end, and when I felt the tension in him reach fever pitch, he bit me one last time to stop himself from crying out.
I accepted the pain, savoring it as his hips rocked with wild abandon, as his movements became jagged and jittery, no longer dancing to that same rhythm of before as the heat of his seed dr
enched us both.
With his last thrusts, he rubbed it into me, and then he let go, and rasped, “You’re going to sign your life away today, Camille. You’re going to be mine.” Tension hit me, as exquisitely as my climax of before, then he broke it by rasping, “You’ll have my protection, your sister too, but this is your last chance to walk away.”
I shook my head as he moved, freeing my chest from the pressure of before, enough for me to cry out, “No—”
He raised a hand to stop me, but his focus wasn’t on me but my sticky pussy. His jaw worked, the muscles visibly clenching before he ground out, “You’ve done it now. This’ll be it. Every fucking time. If you don’t want what we just had, if it scares you, if I scare you, then, when I’ve finished, you’ll get into that shower, you’ll clean up, and we’ll pretend like this never happened.” His gaze trapped mine before I could even squeak out a response. “If you’re ready for more, if you’re prepared for worse, then you’ll get dressed, covered in me, knowing fully what you’re walking into—a lifetime of this—and you’ll fucking love it.” He growled under his breath. “One last chance, Camille, that’s all I’ll give you.”
“I don’t want it,” I whispered, meaning it, choking out the words as he pulled back.
Pulled away.
And suddenly, I didn’t want that.
I never wanted him to pull away again.
There were shadows in his eyes as he growled, “You got me here on a promise. Well, I’m warning you that you might wish you were married to Abramovicz.”
My head whipped from side to side on the pillows. “Never.”
“I’ll be on you so much you won’t goddamn know where I begin and you end—”
“That’s…fine,” I whispered. Fine? More like bliss.
His mouth firmed. “Then you know what to do.”
And with one final lingering look to my cunt, like he was taking a mental snapshot, like he seriously thought this might be the last time he saw it, he climbed off the bed.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 17
