Page 42 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

"Please," she gasps finally, voice breaking. "Please, Marcus, I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me,please—”

The desperation in her voice snaps the last threads of my control. With a feral growl, I thrust inside hard.

I surge forward, burying myself to the hilt in one mighty thrust. Camila cries out, a sound of mingled pain and pleasure that sets my blood on fire. She's impossibly tight, her inner walls clenching around me like a vice. I hold still for a moment, savoring the exquisite sensation of being sheathed inside her once more.

Then, I begin to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has the desk creaking beneath us. My hips snap forward with brutal force, driving into her again and again. One hand grips her hip hard enough to bruise, holding her in place as I take her. The other slides up her back, tangling in her hair and yanking her head back.

Camila arches into me, a breathless moan escaping her lips. I growl in approval, using my grip on her hair to pull her halfway upright.

Thrusting hard and fast, I release her hair, and my hand slides around the front of her body, cruelly tweaking her nipple between my fingers, squeezing her breasts hard. My hand slides around to the front of her throat, fingers splaying possessively across her delicate skin. I pull her head back roughly, arching her spine as I drive into her with relentless force. The new angle allows me to penetrate even deeper, hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars with every thrust.

Camila's cries grow louder, more desperate, echoing off the bare walls of the small room. Her body trembles against mine, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as I pound into her mercilessly. My grip on her throat tightens, not enough to choke but enough to remind her who she belongs to.

"Mine," I growl into her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell. "Say it, Camila. Tell me who you belong to."

She whimpers, struggling to form words as pleasure overwhelms her senses. I can feel her squeeze infinitely tighter as she orgasms hard for the first time, mouth lolling open, fucked out of coherence.

But I'm not done with her yet. Not even close.

I maintain my punishing pace, fucking her through her orgasm and beyond. Her cries turn incoherent, a stream of breathless gasps and broken moans. I can feel her legs trembling, threatening to give out, but I hold her upright with an arm around her waist.

"That's it," I growl, nipping at her earlobe. "Let go. Let me hear you."

My free hand slides back up her body, fingers tracing the column of her throat before pressing against her lips. Camila parts them instinctively, taking two of my fingers into the wet heat of her mouth as the desk creaks loud and rhythmic beneath us.

If I have my way, she’ll feel this tomorrow.

From this angle, I can see the side of her face, the lolling of her mouth, her eyes rolling back hard. My fingers slip from her open mouth, trailing wetly down her throat and over her heaving chest. I grasp her breast roughly, kneading the soft flesh as my other hand snakes between her legs. My fingers find her clit, swollen and sensitive from her first orgasm. I rub cruel circles against the bundle of nerves, pushing her pelvis back against me hard, drawing a keening cry from Camila's lips.

"That's it," I growl, nipping at her shoulder. "Let me hear you. Show me how good I make you feel."

Her body jerks against mine, caught between the relentless thrust of my cock and the merciless pressure of my fingers. I can feel her trembling, teetering on the edge of another release. My fingers move faster, harder, matching the brutal pace of my hips.

Camila's cries grow louder, more desperate. She comes again, a furious, shaking thing, with a short and desperate scream.

Moments later, I feel myself climax, too, my vision going white for a moment. I hold her down hard against the desk and release inside her.

As the last waves of pleasure subside, I slowly withdraw from Camila's trembling body. The sudden emptiness draws a soft whimper from her lips, a sound that tugs at something deep within me. I step back, my hands reluctantly releasing their grip on her hips.

Without my support, Camila's legs give out. She starts to slide off the desk, boneless and uncoordinated. I catch her just before she hits the floor, scooping her into my arms. Her head lolls against my chest, eyes half-lidded and unfocused with pleasure. Her skin is flushed and dewy with sweat, and her hair a wild tangle around her face.

I cradle her close, marveling at how small and fragile she feels at this moment. Her breath comes in short, shaky gasps, her entire body quivering with aftershocks.

With Camila cradled in my arms, I navigate the small room carefully. I lay her gently on the bed, the ancient springs protesting under our combined weight. In the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains, I can see the marks I've left on her skin—bruises blooming on her throat, red crescents where my nails dug in, the faint imprint of my teeth on her shoulder. A possessive pride surges through me at the sight, quickly followed by a wave of tenderness.

Camila's eyes flutter open as I settle her against the pillows. Her gaze is hazy, unfocused, but a small smile curls the corner of her lips.

And through all the pleasure and culminated desire, nothing in the world is better than the fact that I've made her smile for the first time since we met again.

I move silently through the dimly lit room, gathering what I need. The floorboards creak softly under my feet, a quiet counterpoint to Camila's slow, steady breathing. Moonlight spills through the threadbare curtains, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow.

With gentle hands, I tend to her, wiping away the slick of our passion between her legs with a damp cloth. The cool water makes her shiver, goosebumps rising on her flushed skin. I'm careful, reverent almost, as I clean between her thighs, marveling at how delicate she seems at this moment.

No words pass between us. The silence is heavy, fragile, like spun glass. I'm afraid to break it, fearful of what might come spilling out if I open my mouth. So, I let my actions speak instead, pouring all my tenderness into each touch.

By the time I return from disposing of the cloth, she’s dead asleep, head tipped back against the pillow.

Hours later, I lie awake in the motel's narrow bed, staring at water stains on the ceiling while she sleeps curled against my chest. Her breath fans warm across my skin, her heartbeat steady against my ribs. She looks younger in sleep, more like the girl I knew in California, before I ruined everything.

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