Camilla's POV...
He was still inside me. Still moving. Still slapping his skin against mine, a wet, rhythmic percussion in the steamy silence.
It was painful. A deep, throbbing ache that radiated from my core to the very tips of my fingers. A kind of pain I had no name for, born from overuse and raw emotion.
But he was sweet.
The way his sweat-slicked skin ground into my flesh, a friction that burned and soothed at once.
The way he was buried so deep inside me I could feel the shape of him in my throat. The way his eyes, those impossible green eyes, looked at me—like I was something precious, something sacred, even as he fucked me with a desperation that bordered on violence.
Then—
Something snapped.
Not him. Me.
