Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
synopsis: you arrive from the americas to sign away your late father’s estate and is unexpectedly crowned the queen’s diamond of the season. suddenly, all eyes are on you. including his.
he had made a decision. long before the season began, long before the queen’s naming of a diamond, and long before you stepped onto english soil, anthony bridgerton decided he would not marry for love.
he could not.
to love someone—truly love them—was to risk losing them. he had watched it break his mother when his father died so suddenly, so cruelly. he had watched violet bridgerton fall into a grief so deep, so consuming, that he never fully believed she resurfaced. he had experienced this hurt of his own not very long ago with a particular opera singer.
he was the eldest. the viscount. it was his job to hold everything together. grief had no place in that equation.
so, anthony told himself: i will find a suitable woman. i will provide an heir. i will secure the family name. and i will never, ever love her.
he made a list. well-bred. poised. sensible. educated enough to raise his children, docile enough to not challenge him. someone who understood duty. someone who would not tempt his heart. someone who wouldn’t make him feel.
he was convinced this plan was not only wise—it was noble.
the letter arrived on crisp ivory parchment, sealed with a red wax crest you didn’t recognize.
you were still settling debts in boston, mourning the quiet and complicated passing of your mother, when word reached you: an estate in england—your father’s estate—had been left in your name. a father you never knew. a home you never imagined.
you had every intention of arriving, signing the papers, and leaving the damp greys of london behind for good.
but then there was her. lady danbury.
you were still dazed by it all—the house, the air, the way people looked at you when you stepped out of the carriage. not because they knew who you were, but because they didn’t. a young twenty something black woman from the americas, alone, with no chaperone, no explanation, and an estate tied to a name half the ton had likely whispered about once and then forgotten.
you didn’t know how long you stood staring at the house before a cane tapped against the stone behind you.
you turned, startled. the woman before you was dressed in the best gown, eyes keen.
“you have your mother’s eyes,” she said. “and her posture. heavens, she’d be scandalized to see you slouching.”
she continued. “we were young hellions together. she was one of my dearest friends. and now, you are one of mine.”
you nodded and listened to what more she had to say.
lady danbury didn’t ask if you would attend the season. she told you why you must.
“you are the daughter of a brilliant woman who never once bowed her head to society,” she said. “what better way to honor her memory than to let them see her strength still lives in you?”
“but i am nothing like those women,” you said quietly. “i’m educated, yes. i can speak multiple languages, yes. i can waltz, yes. but i am not and will not succumb to any man’s demands or desires simply for the kind of life he can offer me.”
lady danbury’s mouth twitched. “darling girl, a life of independence is no mere consolation. you are to wed for love. not for fortune.”
and with that, she sent for modite the very next morning.
lady danbury taught you the rhythm of the ton: which men to avoid, which women would smile to your face and sharpen their knives behind your back. she hosted tea with important widows, gave you books of poetry, taught you the subtle art of reading a room and commanding it without uttering a word.
you became something of a curiosity—this woman from the americas, with dark skin and a sharper tongue than most debutantes dared reveal. people expected you to fall behind, to wilt in the face of london’s polished cruelty.
but lady danbury made sure you didn’t.
“you are not here to be chosen,” she reminded you. “you are here to choose.”
the ballroom gleamed like something out of a dream.
every surface glittered. the chandeliers hung low and heavy with crystal. golden sconces flickered along the walls, casting a warm, forgiving glow over powdered faces and anxious eyes. it was lady danbury’s first ball of the season, and it was said—even before the first guest arrived—that it would be the most influential of the year.
you stood near the grand staircase, your gown carefully selected—a deep emerald satin that shimmered like bottled envy beneath the candlelight. lady danbury insisted on the color with it being one of the queen’s favorites.
“everyone will wear pastels to look innocent,” she told you with a smirk. “you will wear power.”
her cane tapped beside you, her presence grounding. “the queen is in attendance tonight,” she said softly.
your throat went dry.
“she also knew your mother,” lady danbury continued. “and she’s taken a personal interest in this season more than the others. if she likes you…” her lips curled. “she’ll make it known.”
you met the queen moments later.
you were introduced with care, your curtsy practiced, your name spoken with pride. “your majesty.”
queen charlotte looked you over from head to hem, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. you held her gaze, chin tilted just enough to show you weren’t afraid. her eyes flicked to lady danbury and then back to you.
“and you say she’s not of noble birth?” the queen asked, amused.
“her mother had nobility of spirit,” lady danbury replied coolly. “and as for her character—well. i have taken her under my wing.”
“hm.” the queen sipped her tea, lips twitching. “we shall see.”
a string quartet played a graceful waltz. the crowd had thickened, laughter mingling with gossip and the clink of champagne flutes. ladies clustered in corners, watching, whispering. your presence had already stirred curiosity.
but you were thirsty. and slightly overwhelmed.
you slipped toward the punch table, careful not to trip on anyone’s train or ego, and ladled yourself a glass of the bright red drink—tart, sweet… and unmistakably spiked with rum.
you smiled to yourself. so lady danbury throws parties worth attending.
and that’s when you heard it.
you paused behind a pillar near the refreshment table, not eavesdropping—not intentionally—but close enough to catch voices.
male voices.
“you are impossible, anthony,” came one exasperated voice—benedict, you thought.
“you mean logical,” anthony bridgerton replied coolly. “i do not wish to marry for love. it is inefficient. love… it ruins you. i wish only to a woman to bear my children. carry the bridgerton name.”
you stilled.
“our father loved our mother,” colin added gently.
“and look what it did to her when he died,” anthony bit back. “she broke. i will not. i need a wife who understands that this is about duty. legacy. nothing more.”
you stepped away quickly, smoothing your skirts, ignoring the curious glances as you made your way across the floor.
“may i have this dance?”
his voice, low and steady, stopped you in your tracks.
you turned to face him—anthony, standing just close enough to smell the expensive cologne on his cravat.
but you smiled politely. “no, my lord. i am otherwise engaged.”
before he could speak, another voice came from behind.
“my lady,” said a tall, handsome man with hair like sunlight and shoulders broad enough to part crowds, “i’ve been waiting for a moment with you all evening. would you do me the honor?”
your smile deepened. perfect timing.
“certainly,” you replied, accepting lord oaklee’s arm.
anthony stood frozen as you and the blonde lord glided past.
the dance was easy. graceful.
lord oaklee was charming—clever, too, with a wicked sense of humor and a flattering lack of entitlement. he spoke of travel and books, of how you wore green better than the duchess of kent’s prized peacocks. he asked about your time in the americas, and when you gave a knowing look, he said, “i listen better than i speak. it’s why I’m not married yet.”
you laughed softly, and in that moment—just as you twirled back into his arms—the room seemed to hush.
the queen rose.
her voice cut through the ballroom like a blade of silk.
“i should like to make an announcement,” she said, with that imperial calm that silenced even the drunkest lords.
the musicians stopped. the room turned toward her throne-like seat near the orchestra.
she smiled.
“this year’s diamond has revealed herself—not through family name, nor titles of the past, but in poise, spirit, and character.” her gaze swept the floor, until it landed on you.
a collective inhale swept the room.
“you, my dear,” the queen said, lifting her fan and pointing directly at you, “are the diamond of the season.”
the room erupted.
your heart did too.
lady danbury beamed across the room. anthony’s fists clenched. lord oaklee gave you a wink.
and you?
you curtsied deeply, head held high, pulse thundering in your ears.
you did not plan for any of this.
but somehow, you’d just become the most watched woman in england.
and anthony bridgerton would be the first in line.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
(I lowk think imma put everything in two chapters in ngl, but, enjoy!)
Warnings: drugs, Toxic, Obsession. And more
When you said it was over,it didn’t come out the way he expected.
No screaming.
No all-caps breakdown.
No fuck you, I miss you sent and unsent five times in a row.
Just silence.
Cameron Cade stared at his phone like it had betrayed him. Like it was wrong for not buzzing the way it always did when you were upset—when you used to fight for him harder than he ever fought for you.
Can we talk now?
Delivered.
He paced the apartment, jaw tight, replaying everything in his head. The party. The girl who laughed too loud and leaned too close. The way he convinced himself it wasn’t cheating if it didn’t mean anything.
He should’ve known better.
You always knew.
Are you done being mean?
Delivered.
Mean.
Funny word to use when he was the one who let other women tear something sacred right down the middle.
You finally texted back hours later—not in anger, not in desperation. Just clarity.
I’m not mad at you. If you don’t want to take accountability, that’s your choice. I’m not going to teach you how to respect me. What I’m going to do is remove your access to me and continue my life without you.
Cameron felt it then—sharp and immediate. Like something punched straight through his chest.
Remove my access to you???
That’s when panic crept in.
That’s when pride cracked.
He sent message after message, each one louder than the last.
Stop fucking ignoring me deadass.
That’s fucking annoying.
Still nothing.
His hurt twisted into anger—because for Cameron Cade, anger was easier than guilt. Easier than admitting he’d ruined something real for attention that didn’t even last the night.
So he did what men like him always do when they’re cornered.
He blamed you.
Called you manipulative. Said you played innocent. Accused you of being dramatic, of leading him on, of being the problem. As if rewriting the story could make him the victim.
But you never sent the text he expected.
The one in all caps.
The one begging him to choose you.
You didn’t say fuck you.
You didn’t say I miss you.
You didn’t even say I hate you—because girls only say that to the men they still love.
Instead, you blocked him.
And that was the moment Cameron Cade realized the warning wasn’t about him losing you.
It was about what happens to men who break a woman’s heart and assume she’ll bleed forever.
You didn’t.
You became quiet.
Unreachable.
Final.
And a woman with a broken heart doesn’t explode—
she becomes the thing men like him wish they’d feared sooner.
Weeks passed.
Not that Cameron Cade really felt them.
Time only moved for people who accepted endings—and Cameron refused to believe this was one. Breakups, to him, were pauses. Detours. Something dramatic that cooled off eventually, once emotions settled and people remembered where they belonged.
And you belonged with him.
He kept tabs quietly at first.
Nothing obvious. Nothing that could be traced.
Your socials—private now, but not airtight. A mutual friend’s story here. A tagged photo there. You looked different. Not happier exactly—calmer. Like you’d finally exhaled after holding your breath too long.
That bothered him more than if you’d looked devastated.
You weren’t spiraling.
You weren’t begging.
You weren’t sending drunk texts at midnight asking why he did it.
You weren’t doing any of the things women were supposed to do after a man like Cameron Cade broke their heart.
He told himself he deserved forgiveness.
It had been stupid. One night. Too much alcohol. Too much ego. He’d already punished himself enough—missed practices, bad games, sleepless nights staring at the ceiling replaying your last message over and over.
I’m removing your access to me.
He hated that sentence.
Access.
Like he was locked out of something that had always been his.
He typed your name into his phone more times than he’d admit. Hovered over unblock. Closed the app. Opened it again.
You’d cool off eventually.
You always did.
That’s what he told himself as he drove past places he knew you went now. The coffee shop you used to drag him to on Sundays. The bookstore near campus. The park where you used to sit on the grass and talk about nothing until it felt like everything.
You were still you.
Which meant you’d come back.
He rehearsed the apology in his head like a post-game interview. Took accountability—just enough. Admitted fault—just enough. Promised change—just enough.
He wasn’t the villain.
He just made a mistake.
And mistakes were forgivable.
Cameron didn’t notice the warning signs—the way you stopped looking over your shoulder in photos, the way your smile no longer reached for someone off-camera, the way peace settled on you like armor.
He didn’t realize that while he was watching you from a distance, you were learning how to live without him in it.
So when he finally decided it was time—
time to show up, time to talk, time to get you back—
He was already too late.
Because a woman with a broken heart doesn’t wait for the man who broke it to come to his senses.
She becomes unreachable.
And Cameron Cade was about to learn the difference between losing someone…
and being replaced by their absence.
The party was loud in the way that made thinking optional.
Bass rattled the walls, lights cutting through smoke and bodies, everything sticky with heat and movement. You were surrounded by your girls—laughing, arms linked, drinks sweating in your hands like proof that life kept going after heartbreak.
And you looked good.
Not trying-to-prove-a-point good.
Not revenge good.
Just… you.
Hair done effortlessly. Outfit sharp enough to turn heads without asking permission. The kind of glow that came from sleeping through the night and no longer waiting on apologies that never came.
You were dancing when you felt it.
That shift in the air.
That pull low in your chest.
Cameron Cade.
You didn’t have to look to know he was there.
He was leaning against the far wall with his boys, hood pulled low, shoulders tense. A blunt burned slow between his fingers, smoke curling around him like something he didn’t deserve but kept anyway. His eyes were dark—heavy with too many thoughts, too many regrets.
And they never left you.
Not when you laughed.
Not when you threw your head back and let the music take you.
Not when someone spun you around and you smiled without thinking about who might see.
He watched like he was memorizing you.
Like if he stared hard enough, he could pull you back into the version of yourself that belonged to him.
You felt it—but you didn’t turn around.
You weren’t going to look at him.
You weren’t going to acknowledge the weight of his stare or the way it burned into your back.
You kept dancing.
Kept laughing.
Kept sipping your drink, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling, letting the night carry you instead of him.
Because that’s what he wanted—to be seen. To be noticed. To still matter.
And you had already given him more than he deserved.
Across the room, Cameron clenched his jaw. He’d imagined this moment differently—thought you’d falter, glance his way, hesitate just enough for him to step in.
You didn’t.
You moved like he was a ghost.
Like he was already a past tense.
That hurt worse than the breakup ever did.
Because it finally hit him—standing there, watching you choose joy without him—that he wasn’t losing you anymore.
He already had.
And you?
You smiled into your girls’ shoulders, heart steady, body light, knowing one thing for sure—
The man watching you from the shadows no longer had access.
And he never would again.
You needed air.
The kitchen was cooler, dimmer—music muffled behind the walls, laughter fading into background noise. You leaned against the counter, taking a sip, grounding yourself.
That’s when you felt it again.
Footsteps.
Familiar weight.
That presence you used to mistake for comfort.
You didn’t turn around.
“What do you want, Cameron?”
There it was. Flat. Uninviting. Final.
He stopped a few feet behind you. You could feel his eyes on the back of your neck, feel the way the room seemed to tighten around the two of you.
“Damn,” he scoffed quietly. “It’s like that?”
You finally looked at him then—slow, deliberate. Not soft. Not nostalgic.
“I meant it when I said I’m removing your access to me.”
His jaw flexed. That line again. He hated that line.
“Right,” he muttered. “Whatever the fuck that means.”
You didn’t respond.
He stepped closer, voice lowering, like he was trying to pull you back into something familiar. “We ain’t done, y/n. You know that. One little mistake I made shouldn’t mess up years of love.”
There it was.
Minimized. Rewritten. Justified.
You laughed once—short, disbelieving. Not amused.
“You shouldn’t have even had to make that ‘little’ mistake if you loved me,” you said, voice steady but sharp. “God, you always do this.”
“Do what?” he snapped.
“Make it small,” you said. “Make me dramatic. Make yourself the victim.”
Silence stretched between you.
Cameron searched your face for something—anger, hurt, longing. Anything he could grab onto and twist into hope.
He found none of it.
“You don’t get to tell me when it’s over,” he said finally, quieter now. “Not like this.”
You stepped past him, close enough that he caught your scent, close enough that the old version of you might’ve faltered.
But you didn’t.
“I already did,” you said over your shoulder. “You just didn’t listen.”
You walked back toward the noise, toward your girls, toward a life that no longer revolved around fixing him.
Behind you, Cameron Cade stayed in that kitchen, staring at nothing, realizing something he should’ve understood weeks ago—
Losing you wasn’t the punishment.
Watching you walk away without looking back was.
You walked back into the noise like nothing happened.
Music swallowed you whole again, lights flashing, bodies moving. Your girls closed in around you instantly—protective, familiar. Jasmine leaned in, brows knitting the second she saw your face.
“I’m leaving,” you told her quietly.
No explanation. She nodded like she already knew.
You grabbed your jacket, phone, keys—muscle memory taking over—then slipped through the crowd. You could feel him before you heard him. Heavy steps. Too close.
Outside, the night hit cool and sharp. You took a breath.
Then his hand closed around your wrist.
“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you, y/n.”
The words were low. Possessive. Like he still had the right.
You froze—not because you were scared, but because something in you went still and razor-sharp. You looked down at his hand first. Then back up at him.
“Let go.”
He tightened his grip, just a fraction. “We’re not done—”
“Let. Go.”
People were passing. Laughter spilled out the door behind you. Jasmine’s voice floated somewhere inside. The world kept moving.
Cameron searched your face like he used to—looking for softness, for doubt, for the girl who would calm him down. He didn’t find her.
You pulled your wrist free.
“Don’t touch me,” you said, clear and loud enough to land. “You lost that privilege.”
Something flickered across his face—anger, panic, regret, all tangled up. “You think you can just erase me?”
“I didn’t erase you,” you said. “You did that yourself.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Years, y/n. Years. And you’re gonna throw it away because I fucked up once?”
You stepped back, putting space between you on purpose. “It wasn’t once,” you said. “And it wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. Repeated.”
Silence hung heavy.
“Please,” he said then—quiet, raw, almost unfamiliar. “Just don’t do this.”
You held his gaze. No hate. No longing. Just truth.
“I already did.”
You turned away, walking toward the streetlight where Jasmine was waiting, where your car sat like an exit sign. This time, he didn’t follow.
And that was the moment it finally clicked for him—
Not that you were angry.
Not that you were hurt.
But that you were done giving him access to you at all.
Guillermo Del Toro's Frankenstein is about forgiving the person who brought you into this world without your permission when you do not want to be alive, and about forgiving yourself for being alive and accepting your life free of guilt and that is genuinely the most beautiful, validating thing I have ever seen in a film.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i remember the day after HIM came out i was SCRAPING tumblr for fanfics of my man tyriq withers & there were none. BUT TODAY? IN THIS DAY IN AGE? ON GODS GREEN EARTH? i have a PLETHORA of delicious scrumptious mouth watering toe curling literature to choose from. i truly used to pray for times like this. thank you to you beautiful writers out here you guys are just doing the damn thingggg
okay guys HEAR ME OUT! tumblr writers should collab w episode coders and im NOT saying this bc im obsessed with episode (i am). but imagine having an interactive game to go with the story or series you just read i feel like that would eat
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: sometimes all you need to really let go of everything around you is a bed, good music, and a really hot girlfriend.
pairing: cameron cade x blackfem!reader
warnings: smut (18+), oral (fem receiving), slight overstimulation, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), weed consumption, not proofread.
notes: i actually kinda hateeeeeee this but needed to post it 😭 if more men had tyriq withers' personality then i'd be able to stand men much better
Cameron exhaled deeply, smoke clouding around him as he did so. Everything was tuned out to him in his relaxed state, the music, whatever conversation his boys were laughing about, the arms nudging into him as he tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa.
It was a typical Friday night on campus after the football team's win. Parties had become something that Cameron went to just to show his face rather than enjoy, given all the stress he'd been amping up from football.
There were very few things that could take his mind off of football, even just for a minute. But these days that list had dwindled to two things: weed and you.
His eyes slowly searched the room for you, thinking back to your text telling him you'd be coming with your friends maybe an hour after the party started, so you'd see him there. But he couldn't see you anywhere.
He was growing agitated by the constant thumping of the music in his head, bodies bumping into him even though he was literally say down away from most crowds.
Cameron was one more sharp sigh away from snapping at the next form of unwanted physical contact with someone he didn't know, choosing instead to lean his head back briefly, recollecting his thoughts.
He was brought out of his daze by a soft hand caressing the side of his face, his eyes slowly blinking open to the sight of your own concerned eyes.
"Hey," you murmured, hand still on his face as he pulled himself up to sit properly on the couch. "You okay?"
You couldn't lie and say you hadn't noticed how worn out your boyfriend had looked these past few weeks. Just straight up tired and drained. He'd always shrug it off and say it was nothing, or that practice has just got him a bit tired and that it'd wear off, yet you never bought it.
He nodded, reaching out for your other hand to pull you into his lap, but you stayed put, instead taking the lead and pulling him out of his seat.
"Let's get some air, hm?"
Outside on the porch of the frat house where there was much less people than inside, Cameron leant against the wall, head tilted back as he drank from the cold water bottle you got him.
He had his hood up, so you could only slightly see his face under the shadows but could still make out the tinge of pink on his cheeks from the blunt he smoked.
He put the bottle down, using his arms to pull you closer to him, in between his legs. Your hands rested against his chest, fingers running over the buttons on his jacket. "Better?" you asked.
"Yeah," his voice was coarse, those being the first words he's said in about an hour. "Fuck," he mumbled, dropping a hand from your side and using it rub at his brow, another sign of the stress eating away at him.
Cameron forgot that you knew him almost as well as he knew himself, and it was eating you alive that he wouldn't let you help.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and you shook your head, pulling his head down to rest on your shoulder.
"Don't be sorry, none of this is your fault," you tried to reassure him.
He scoffed. "I literally can't get out of my own head for five fucking minutes."
"Because you haven't tried to, Cam." Your voice was soft, contrasting everything he was currently feeling yet giving him everything he needed. "All you've been doing is going over the same situations again and again and it's not healthy, baby."
"Well, how else am I meant to know what I've been doing wrong?"
This is where everything started to click for you. Where the wheels were turning in your head. The team had been on a great winning streak for the past couple of months, and you'd expect him to be ecstatic about it. But Cameron being Cameron, he could never go a day without criticising himself.
"Cam, you are literally the number one ranked prospect in the country. Do you think they put you there to mess with you? To give you a lil' ego boost? No, they put you there because you deserve it."
His head hung low as he listened to your words, his fingers rubbing along the material of your dress. Soothing for you but also for him.
"You just need to take a break sometimes, you know. Like leave the football stuff on the field and do something that eases your mind. And I don't mean getting high," you finished off before he could add to what you said, a smile gracing his face.
"Thank you. I love you," he kissed your lips.
"I love you too. And I would absolutely love it if my super hot, smiley boyfriend stopped thinking about football for the rest of the night," your hand rubbed at the back of his neck, running over his smooth buzzcut.
He hesitated, but nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I can do that. But I gotta be honest with you, I can't stay here another minute."
You laughed, letting him throw his arm over your shoulder and walk you guys away from the house, hands linked together.
The walk to Cameron's apartment wasn't too far from the frat house, and you were glad he didn't drive otherwise you'd be forced to drive the two of you back in his huge truck.
His hands were all over you, even as he reached in his pocket for his keys. "Cam, let go of me," you laughed, trying to pull away from him so he could open the door faster but he wouldn't budge, managing to slip the key in the hole a couple tries later.
When Cameron was high, there was a lot going on. But one thing you could almost always count on? He'd demand to be touching you at all times in some form.
Whether it was your legs resting on his lap with his hands running up and down them, or him laying his full body weight on you in bed, he had to be touching you.
"Cam," you mumbled against his lips as he kissed you thrice, moving his head to kiss down from your cheeks to your neck, all while he held you close to him.
He hummed into your skin, eyes closed as he finally enjoyed the quiet of his mind in your presence. You pulled away a little, your thumb brushing over brow soothingly.
"I love you," he spoke, his words heavy with meaning as he look at you.
"I love you too. Always."
"Good. And I ain't gon' lie, I really need you right now, so you gon' have to come up outta these," he pulled at your dress as if it would undress you faster yet made no move to step away from you.
"You not gonna take me out to dinner first?" you teased, walking away from him and up the stairs.
"Girl, I'll take you to a thousand dinners right after. What you want, Italian?"
He heard your laugh from the bedroom as he followed you, shrugging his jacket off of his body. He eyes landed on you when he walked into the room, dress on the floor, lacy material decorating your body.
Very few things could bring Cameron Cade to his knees. The one that did it the most? You.
He was walking towards you before he knew it, his hands on your waist, thighs, wherever he could reach.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered when your hand brushed over his pants covered dick, ever the tease. His hands found the clasp of your bra as you kissed him, your mouth basically inviting him in.
He tossed it somewhere in the room, laying you down gently on the bed as he climbed over you.
"Relax, baby. I just wanna taste you first," he mumbled, lips kissing your collar when you attempted to push him to lay down, eager to feel him in you already.
You let him nudge you further into the mattress, his fingertips grazing the top of your panties before tapping your waist twice, gesturing for you to lift your hips. You did, and Cameron took them off you.
"See? Told you I'd stop ripping 'em."
You scoffed. "Yeah, now stick to it."
He smiled, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as he kissed towards the inside of them, spreading your legs apart.
You could feel his breath on you, the neediness and heat inside of you increasing with every touch he gave you. Your back immediately arched away from the bed when you felt his tongue lick up your pussy, flicking slowly when he reached your clit.
"Shit, Cam..." you breathed, desperate for more.
He hummed into you, tongue working just right, like it always did. Cameron knew how to please you, and he made sure that every time he did it better than the last, if that was even possible.
As his mouth latched onto your clit, you held the back of his head, pushing him further into you. Without pulling away, he adjusted himself so he could slip two fingers into your wet folds, your moans increasing in volume.
"Man, I could die in here," he mumbled into you, pumping his fingers in and out.
"Oh my─── Fuck!" you could feel your body jerking, already overstimulated by his attention on your clit and his fingers quickening inside you.
"Shit, baby," he lifted up to kiss your clit, focusing on his fingers for a second. "So pretty."
His mumbles died down as you felt his tongue circle your clit, your eyes rolling as your neared your climax.
"Cam, don't stop," your thighs squeezed together, giving him that rush he needed to make sure his girl came just like she wanted to.
"I won't baby, it's okay" he cooed, lifting his head to glance at you. He groaned lightly at the sight before him, you writhing in pleasure whilst he lapped you up for all you were worth.
He kept pumping his fingers in and out of you, obsessing over the sounds you were making and the sight of your clit growing all swollen and puffy. He could've came just by looking at you like that.
"Shitttttt," you breathed out as you came, giving in to the pleasure at your boyfriend's hands. Cameron kept eating you out through it, trying to coax a second orgasm out of you, ignoring your hand trying nudging his head away.
"Cam..." you pouted, not ready to tap out before he was even inside you.
"I know mama, just one more. You got it, I know you do," he reassured you, words so gentle and hypnotic you would've done anything.
And so you did. You came hard, all over his chin dripping down to his toned abs.
"Yeahhhhh," he smiled, kissing your pussy gently. "That's my girl."
You could see the glistening on his chin as he hovered above you, your hands pulling his head to yours. As you kissed him, you could taste yourself, feeling your body heating up all over again with that raging lust he gave you.
Your hands dropped to his waist, pouting against his lips when you realised he was still half clothed. Cameron smiled, leaving a kiss on your neck before stepping away to pull the rest of his clothing off of his body.
He let out a small chuckle when he noticed you smiling at his dick, propped up on your elbows waiting for him.
"Come here," he whispered, and when you lifted your body up to his, his hand wrapped gently yet firmly around your throat, lips embracing yours. Your moans couldn't even be contained in the kiss, with the way he was doing you.
He laid you back on the bed whilst still kissing you, hooking one of your legs over his waist. You hissed a little at the feeling of his dick pressing into your pussy, grinding against him.
"So needy," he tutted, though he was about to give you exactly what you wanted.
"Stop teasing, Cam," you huffed, ready to do the work yourself.
"You gotta be patient baby," he grabbed his dick, tapping the head on your still puffy clit, making you jerk away just a little. "I know what you want and I'm gonna give to you, okay?"
You nodded, putting your arms over his broad shoulders just as he started to push into you. "Ah, shit," he groaned. "I missed this pussy."
He did it slow, agonisingly slow, at first just to stretch you out a bit. "So tight," he was sneaking more to himself, glancing down to watch how your bodies connected.
"Cam, please," you stroked the nap of his neck. "I need you to move."
"I got you, baby."
He picked up the speed in his thrusts, your hands clawing at his back to pull you against him. He shivered when he felt your nipples on his chest, spurring him on more.
Eyes rolling back, you couldn't even find it in you to try and keep quiet, and that's what motivated Cameron to give it all to you.
"You like that, huh?" you could hear the cockiness in his words as he fucked you just right, the sound of skin slapping overlapping with your moans.
You nodded, your nails surely leaving scratch marks on his back. Cameron didn't stop though, he kept going.
"Look at me, baby. I wanna see you," his voice was so sultry you couldn't deny him what he asked for. Slowly but surely, your eyes fluttered open, face to face with your boyfriend's beautifully structured face.
His lips slightly apart as he thrusted into you, dick hitting that spot over and over again. "There's my pretty girl. You gonna cum for me?"
You nodded, but he tutted again, slowing down just a little but you felt the difference, pressing his back into you.
"'M gonna need to hear you, baby."
"Fuck─── yes, Cam, I will just... don't stop, please." Your desperation was almost pathetic, but Cameron only saw it as a reminder of how good a job he was doing.
He picked up the pace again, slotting a hand between your bodies, resting on your lower stomach. He pressed down slightly, feeling the movement of his dick inside you. He moaned lowly at that, throwing his head back for a second. "Yeah, you got it. Get your nut, baby."
You moaned his name over and over when his hand dipped lower to rub over your clit. "Shit, baby, I'm gonna───"
"'S okay, I can feel you. Make a mess on your dick, baby."
His words were so dirty, you couldn't not orgasm after that. It ripped through you like always, your body jerking into his as he fucked you through it, the sounds being made so nasty you could only moan more.
"Oh my God," you whined when he wouldn't let up even as you finished, determined to get another.
You lifted your hands to cup either side of his face, the intimacy between you two radiating everywhere. "Cam..." you whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I want you to cum in me."
He was sure he didn't hear you right, his hips faltering slightly in their movement. He looked at you briefly, an unspoken 'are you sure?' lingering in the air. He wasn't sure if it was the sex talking or you being genuine.
You nodded. "I'm on the pill."
He copied your nod, his head resting in the crook of your neck leaving small bites as he chased his own orgasm.
It didn't take him long, not with you underneath him like that, whispering all sorts of words into his ear.
"Aw, fuck," he mumbled, filling you up with all he had. You shivered at the feeling of his cum in you, looking at him with hazy eyes.
He didn't say anything, just kissed you long and hard, his tongue dancing with yours as his dick started to soften inside you.
"God, I love you. This pussy's a drug, the fuck?"
You laughed against his lips, letting him pull out of you only to lean back and admire how you looked so full of him. He used the tip of his dick to nudge his cum back into you, smiling at your soft moans.
"Yeah, you shouldn't have let me do that. We're not stopping now."
don't have a cameron cade taglist yet but lmk if you want to be added to it !!! 🤭
turnnoffyourmind
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
