ThatBitchThankyou

There was no hesitation this time, no slow build. He hooked your legs over his arms, spreading you wide, and drove into you with a groan that vibrated against your chest. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. He didn't hold back, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that was both punishing and precise.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, your head falling back as you met his thrusts, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the quiet room. The bed frame creaked in time with your movements, a rhythmic protest that matched the escalating tension coiling in your belly. When you came, it was with a sharp cry that he swallowed with his mouth, his own release following moments later, hot and pulsing deep inside you.

The frantic energy seemed to drain out of the both of you at once. Cameron collapsed onto his elbows, careful not to crush you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing slowing down, syncing up. Then, he shifted, rolling both of your bodies onto their sides so you faced each other.

The confidence that usually defined him had softened, his eyes tracing the lines of your face with that expression that made your chest tight. "Bet Jayson couldn't have made you cum that many times," his voice raspy and low from your previous actions. Once again, you rolled your eyes at him, lightly shoving at his slightly damp chest.

"Who?" You teased, trailing a hand across the expanse of his arm. This time, he was the one to roll his eyes, pulling you closer to him and placing a soft kiss against your temple.

He reached out, tucking a stray damp curl behind your ear, his thumb brushing over the shell of your ear. "Now who's being insufferable?" He started, a soft murmur of words as you basked in each other's presence. "You're incredible," his voice a low rumble that you felt more than heard.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. It wasn't a demand, but a question, gentle and searching. You felt your defences waver. You kissed him back, your hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. He pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin, and for a while, the two of you just lay there, tangled in the sheets, the scent of sex and rain coming from the open window heavy in the air.

But the quiet couldn't last.

The next few days were a blur of stolen glances and lingering touches in the hallways. The push and pull remained — you rolled your eyes at his cocky grin, Cameron making snide comments about your study habits — but the resistance was crumbling. Every brush of his arm against yours sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. You quickly realised that you two could not keep your hands off each other, the need for contact overriding your pride.

It happened three days later under the bleachers during a practice session. The air was thick with the smell of cut grass and damp earth, the shadows long and concealing. Cameron found you there, ostensibly hiding from the noise, but really waiting for him. He didn't say a word, just crowded you against the cool metal support beams, his hands sliding up your skirt to find your bare, wet pussy.

"Missed me, baby?" he whispered, his fingers sinking knuckle-deep in your warm heat.

You bit your lip to stifle. amoan, her hands fumbling with his belt buckle. "Shut up and fuck me."

He freed his cock, hard and heavy, and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he slid into you in one smooth stroke.

"Fuck! Cam— please." You moan, hands clutching at his jersey, your blue stiletto nails digging in through the material. It was fast and dirty; the metal of the bleachers felt cold against your back while he pounded into you, his breath hot in your ear.

Above the two of you, the stomping of cleats and the coach's whistle provided a rhythmic soundtrack to your debauchery. You came quickly, clenching around him, and he followed, pulling out just in time to spill onto your inner thigh, marking your dark skin with his cum.

The car was two days later. You were supposed to be driving to a study group, but Cameron pulled into a secluded overlook towering over the city lights. "Cam, this is not where we're supposed to be," you chided, no real protests being heard as you sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the view.

"Come 'ere." His hands reach out to grab your face and pull you into a kiss. His tongue slid into your mouth as you leaned over the dashboard, melting into the mess of the kiss.

He reclined the passenger seat, and you straddled him, the tight confines of the car forcing your bodies close. "You gon ride this dick, ma?" His hand reached down to grip your ass before he laid a firm slap against the plump skin.

The windows fogged up as you rode him, your hands braced on the roof of the car. The angle was deep, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Cameron gripped your ass, guiding your movements, his eyes locked on yours.

Above him, you rocked your hips faster, chasing your high, head lolling as your whines and moans echoed against the metal of the car. "Look at you," he gritted out, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles on the bundle of nerves. "Riding my dick like you own it."

"I- I'm close," you whimper, lowering a hand to rest beside his head as you continue your movements.

The stimulation was too much. You shattered, your walls fluttering around him as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan, throwing his head back against the headrest. You stayed there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, the air in the car heavy and humid.

The risk only seemed to fuel the both of you.

An empty chemistry lab became your playground the following week.

Cameron joined you in the lab, watching as you moved with ease around the benches, grabbing a beaker and a clear liquid he didn't know the name of, and watched as you poured it into the beaker set up on the tripod above an unlit Bunsen burner. His cock stirred in his grey sweatpants as he listened to you explain your method.

Next thing you knew, the smell of sulfur and sterile surfaces contrasted sharply with raw, primal need taking over an empty lab bench. Cameron bent you over the cold resin of the table, pulling down your jeans. He dropped to his knees behind you, spreading your cheeks to lap at your pussy and ass, his tongue delving deep.

"Cameron, someone could walk in," you hissed, though you pushed back against his face.

"Let them," he growled, standing up and lining his dick up with your entrance. He thrust in hard, the stools under the bench scraping loudly against the floor as your legs bucked into them from the strength of his thrusts. He reached around to cover your mouth with his hand, muffling your cries as he took you with relentless abandon. The fear of discovery mixed with the pleasure, sending you hurtling toward the edge. When you came, your knees buckled, and he had to hold you up, his own release pulsing hot inside you.

The final straw broke in your own down room. You were on the phone. to your mother back in London, trying to maintain a normal conversation about the weather and your classes, while Cameron sat on the edge of your bed, a wicked glint in his eyes. He slid off the bed and crawled under your desk, hidden from view by the table.

You tilted your head down slightly at the feeling of a warm hand wrapping around your ankle and tugging.

Keep quiet, he mouthed, moving closer as he watched your attempt at maintaining a conversation with your mum.

"So, yeah, mum, the classes are... quite intense," you finish, your voice hitching as Cameron's hands parted your knees.

You glared down at him, but he just smirked, leaning in to run his tongue along the seam of your leggings. Turning your phone to move away from your mouth as you took in a sharp inhale. You bit your knuckle, trying to focus on your mother's voice droning on about the rain in London as Cameron pulled your leggings down your thick thighs and threw them on the floor of your room, his fingers pulling the fabric of your panties aside, exposing you to the cool air, and then his mouth was on you. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking it into his mouth with ruthless precision.

"Are you alright, sweetie? You sound out of breath," your mother asked.

"I'm... No, I'm fine," you gasped, your hand reaching down and cradling the back of Cameron's head, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. "Just... running up the stairs."

Cameron hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your nervous system. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, while his tongue continued its assault. It was agonisingly difficult to keep your voice steady, to answer your mum's questions about your diet and your sleep schedule while your body was being expertly unravelled. The pressure built to an unbearable peak, and when you finally came, you had to bite your lip hard to keep from screaming into the receiver. You slumped against the pillow on your desk chair, your legs trembling as Cameron emerged from under the desk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Give my love to Dad," you managed to say into the phone before hanging up, tossing the device onto the pile of books adorning your desk and pulling Cameron up for a kiss that tasted of your own arousal and rebellion.

"You are absolute trouble," you breathed, your chest still heaving as you stared down at Cameron, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste of your own release still lingered on his lips, a testament to the chaos he had just wrought while you tried to explain your course schedule to your mother.

Cameron grinned, that cocky, lopsided expression that usually made you want to slap him, but now only made your knees weak. He stood up, leaning over your body to crowd you. His jersey, worn from practise, brushes against your bare arms. "She bought it, didn't she? 'Running up the stairs.' Classic."

"I almost had a heart attack," you scolded, though your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. "If she heard you... or heard me..."

"But she didn't," he murmured, dipping his head to nip at the sensitive spot behind your ear. "And now you're off the hook. Unless you need another distraction?"

You rolled your eyes, but the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed you. "Shut up and kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice. The kiss was hungry, a collision of teeth and tongues that tasted of rebellion and lingering adrenaline. Cameron lifted you effortlessly, seating you on the edge of the desk. He stepped between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made your head spin. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you.

"You're insatiable," you gasped against his mouth as he ground his hardness against your lace-covered mound.

"Only for you," he countered, his voice dropping an octave as your fingers worked to unbutton his jeans with practised ease, your knuckles brushing against his hardened length. You were already wet, aching for him after the oral torture he'd subjected you to.

Once he freed himself from the confines of his boxers, he stroked his thick cock once before lining up with your entrance. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside you, causing you to cry out, your head falling back as he stretched you out. He set a punishing rhythm as you let out a string of moans and curses, filling you completely. His hips driving into you with the same urgency he had shown under the desk.

The desk squeaked beneath your rocking bodies, a rhythmic protest that matched the slap of skin against skin. "Look at me," he commanded, gripping your chin and forcing your eyes to meet his. His green eyes are dark, dilated with lust. "Who's fucking you?"

"Y- fuck, Cam. You," you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders through the jersey. "You are, Cameron."

"Damn right," he growled, capturing your lips again as he pistoned into you. The coil of tension in your stomach tightened rapidly, snapping before you could brace for it. You came with a shudder and broken wail, your pussy clenching around him like a vice. He followed you over the edge a moment later, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulsed deep inside you, filling you with his cum.

For a moment, you both just stayed there, tangled together in the aftermath, the silence of the dorm room heavy around you. But reality, as always, was waiting.

Two weeks later, the dynamic shifted back to its usual push-and-pull that had started defining you two in public.

The campus was buzzing with excitement for the football team's upcoming home game, voices blurring together as you walked to your locker. As usual, Cameron's tall frame could be seen above the heads of the students walking past. "Hey, you coming to the game right?" He asks as he readjusts his gym bag full of gear.

"What? Number 7 can't play without little ol' me being there?" You teased as you pulled open the metal door, a slight grating sound following along with it. You took out the books weighing down your rucksack and placed them in the upper section of the locker, his body shifting nearby to stand closer to you.

"Ahh, you know I need my good luck charm."

A puff of air leaves you as you laugh at his words. "Well damn, now I guess I have to be there."

A wide grin graces his face. "I'll keep an eye out. I'll see you later, love." He quickly presses a kiss against your cheek before he jogs off down the hallway.

As the hours tick down to the game, you prepare to go watch the game in your dorm room. A sultry playlist echoed from your speaker around your room as you took out your hair products to attempt a new hairstyle you saw on Pinterest.

Once you had finished your hair and makeup, the time showed that you had around 45 minutes before the game started. Your phone dinged with a notification from Cameron.

Menace 😈: Come early? Need a good luck kiss from my good luck charm for it to work.

Love 🇬🇧: This what you say to your other girls?

Menace 😈: Only girl I got is you, ma, pull up. I'm in the changing rooms.

You laughed and shook your head, but stood up, checking your outfit once more and spraying your perfume before pulling on your shoes and the grey hoodie Cameron had left behind and left to meet him.

Once you reached the changing rooms, you shot him a text saying you're outside. The campus was practically empty as everyone was either already getting seats on the field's bleachers or back at their dorms getting ready for the quickly approaching game.

As you scrolled through Instagram on your phone, a voice rang out from beside you. "You came."

"Well, I couldn't be the reason our star quarterback had a bad game, now could I?" You ribbed, looking up from your phone at the sight of the man in front of you leaning against the wall beside you, as his body jolted from a low laugh.

"Exactly. I got a reputation to uphold, love." He moved closer, hand coming up to cradle your cheek as he leaned in to place a slow kiss to your glossed lips, pulling you further in as he deepened the kiss.

The two of you were lost in your own world, only broken apart at the sound of Cameron's teammates chanting and psyching themselves up. Once he pulled away, the lights in the corridor illuminated the sparkly lip gloss that transferred to his lips. "My God, you are messy." You laughed, lifting a hand to swipe your thumb across his plump lips to remove any residue.

"I could get messier." He returned, a flash of mischief running through his eyes as you rolled your eyes at his innuendo.

"Down, boy. You have a game to win. They're waiting for you." You pushed at his chest, moving him back.

"I'll see you after?"

"Yeah."

You walked towards the large football field, sitting beside one of your classmates and her girlfriend. The three of you chatted excitedly about the party a nearby frat would be hosting if the university won the game.

The game started, and there was a roar of cheering from your peers as all eyes were on the players who were running onto the field. Your eyes felt magnetised to Cameron's frame as he got everyone into position, shouting commands and hyping the team up further.

As the game progressed, you leaned forward in suspense as the bleachers erupted in noise, the sound pressing against your chest like a second heartbeat. The clock was bleeding out, just seconds left, and everything hung on this final play.

Cameron stood in the pocket, calm in a way that didn't make sense when everything around him seemed to be buzzing with chaotic energy. You'd seen that look before, quiet and focused, like the rest of the world fades out at his command. "Come on, Cam," you whisper, not even realising you've spoken out loud, as you grip the edge of your seat.

The snap. The rush. The defenders closing in.

Then Cameron moved.

He broke right, barely slipping past a tackle, and for a second it looked like he was going to throw, but he didn't. He ran. Straight for the end zone. The crowd rose all at once, a wave of noise so loud that it almost drowned out your thoughts.

He dove.

Touchdown.

Everything explodes. Lights, cheers, people jumping, screaming. You shoot up on your feet too, heart racing, watching him get swallowed by his teammates as they clap his back and hoot in happiness. For a moment, it felt like you were part of it, like you belonged in the glow of that win.

But the feeling doesn't last long.

As you slip away from the stands, heading down towards the hallway near the locker rooms to wait for Cameron, where it's quieter. Cooler. Easier to breathe and release that adrenaline you amassed from the game.

That's when you hear them.

A couple of cheerleaders, just around the corner. You're not trying to listen, but your name — well, not your name, but their description was enough to know they meant you — caught your attention. Your movements halting and breath catching as you unintentionally eavesdropped.

"...I'm just saying, Cameron could have anyone on campus, and that's what he goes for?" A voice rang out before it was followed by a small, disbelieving laugh. Not exactly cruel, but certainly not kind either.

"Right? Like... I don't get it. Sure, she's pretty, I guess, but... she's big. Cameron Cade? Come on."

Your stomach drops at their words.

There was a pause for a second; all that could be heard was the light rustle of pom poms, then another voice, softer but sharper. "He's literally the star quarterback. He could have any cheerleader he wants."

"Exactly. Like, imagine him with someone that actually fits the image, you know? Not..." She trails off, but it seemed she didn't have to finish as her friend pipes up.

"Not her."

They both laugh, softer this time, like they're being polite about it. Like it makes it better.

You feel like throwing up at their words. Call it curiosity, or that you were just a glutton for pain, but you couldn't seem to turn away from the spot your body seemed glued to.

"I mean, it's probably not even that serious anyway," one added. "Guys like him don't settle like that. It's likely temporary."

"Right. It's just... a phase or whatever."

Temporary.

There it was again. That inexplicable feeling rising again.

After that, you didn't stick around any longer to hear more. You stepped back quietly, your prior excitement unraveling piece by piece, replaced with something heavier. Colder.

By the time you got outside and the night air finally hit your skin, you realised just how tight your chest felt. How small you suddenly wanted to make yourself.

Back at your dorm, everything felt still.

No roaring crowd. No bright lights. Just the quiet hum of your room and the echo of those words you couldn’t seem to shake.

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. Your mind kept replaying everything. The way they said it so easily. Like it was obvious. Like everyone must have been thinking it.

You thought about him.

About the way his hand lingered on your waist. The way he looked at you when you were talking, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. The way he didn’t rush out after, even when you expected him to.

But then again… he had never called it anything.

Your phone buzzed.

You flinched a little before picking it up to find that Cameron had texted you the address of the frat house party celebrating the home game win.

You contemplated your options: sit and wallow in peace or get dressed up and show the fuck out!

So here you were, standing outside the house with one of the girls from the lab, the bass thumping through the pavement, vibrating in the soles of your boots. Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your crop top, suddenly feeling exposed.

Before you could overthink, you were pulled up the stairs, the clack of your heels following each step. Stepping inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer, expensive cologne, and weed. The sea of bodies looked almost like a blur as your eyes darted around the room subconsciously to find him.

As always, he stood in the living room, surrounded by his usual swarm of admirers as he held a cup in his left hand, his football jersey replaced with a plain white tee stretched tight over his shoulders, a graphic zip-up and his denim jacket. His gold chain glinted in the light as his head tipped back in a boisterous laugh at something that was said.

You watched for a moment longer with that gnawing feeling in your stomach because, in that moment, he wasn't just the guy who spent months pursuing you, who fucked you senseless in empty classrooms and cars. He was Cameron Cade. The star QB. The king of the campus. And well, you were just... you.

The distance between you two felt insurmountable. You turned away, heading towards the kitchen in search of something to dull the stint. You squeezed past a couple making out against the doorframe and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the counter, needing to cool down.

"You made it."

The voice was low, right against your ear, and you jumped. Before you turn around, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a solid, muscular chest. Cameron's chin rested on your shoulder, his weight grounding you even as it unsettled you. He nuzzled your neck, his hands splaying possessively over your exposed stomach, thumbs brushing right under the hem of your crop top.

"Yeah, well, you invited me," you utter, trying to keep your voice light, but your body stiffens in his arms.

He held on for another breath, then let you go, letting you move to pour yourself a drink. You felt his eyes on you the whole time, a weight you couldn't shake.

For the next hour, you drifted through the party like a ghost. You found your lab partner and laughed at something she said near the keg, but the moment you spotted Cameron moving toward you, you excused yourself to the bathroom. Later, you ended up on the back porch, pretending to be fascinated by your phone, and when he stepped outside, you slipped back inside before he could reach you.

The third time you were in the hallway, leaning against the wall, letting the noise wash over you.

A group of girls walked past, whispering and giggling, and you caught the tail end of their words: "...wonder what he sees in her..."

You felt your stomach drop.

And then a hand clamped around your wrist.

You looked up to find Cameron, his jaw tight, his eyes burning. Without a word, he tugged you down the hall, past the coat closet, past the back stairwell, until he shoved open the door to a small study room tucked away near the basement. The room was quiet, lit only by a desk lamp. A cluttered bookshelf lined one wall, and a worn leather couch sat against the other.

He closed the door behind you and locked it.

"Cameron–"

"What the fuck is going on with you?" His voice was low, controlled, but the edge was razor-sharp. He stood with his hands on his hips, his chest heaving. "You've been dodging me all night. Three times. Three times I tried to get to you, and you vanished."

You crossed your arms, looking away. "I just needed space."

"Space." He let out a humourless laugh. "You've been pulling away since the game. I'm not stupid. I know what people are saying. But I need to hear it from you."

Your throat tightened. "I'm not saying they're right, Cameron. But..." you paused, running a hand over your bare arms. "Look at you. I'm not exactly–"

"Not what?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Not the right fit for a quarterback?" He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, the warmth of his skin. "I don't give a shit about any of that."

"Cameron–"

"Let me finish." His hand came up, cupping your jaw, his hand came up, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I've been chasing you since September. You think I didn't notice you the first time you walked into that lecture hall? I saw you. I saw those curves, that smile, the way you talk with your hands when you're excited. And I wanted you. I still want you."

You blinked back the burn in your eyes. "It's not that simple."

"It is." His forehead pressed against yours, his voice barely a whisper. "It's that simple. You're beautiful. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Every inch of you drives me crazy. And I'm not letting some insecure bullshit take that away."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "I love your body. I love the way your hips feel under my hands. I love the way your thighs press together when I touch you. I love the softness of your belly, the fullness of your tits. I love everything about you. Do you hear me?"

Your breath hitched. "I hear you."

"Good." He kissed you, soft and slow. With a tenderness that made your knees buckle. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you gave it to him. His hands slid down your sides, gripping the generous curve of your hips. pulling you flush against him.

When he broke the kiss, he was breathing hard. "I want to show you. Let me show you how much I want you."

You nodded, your voice lost.

He guided you to the leather couch, but instead of lying you down, he turned you around. His hands ran down your arms, your waist, before he pressed down gently against your lower back, guiding you forward. You braced your hands against the armrest, bending over, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

But his hand stayed. Warm and reassuring as he stroked the curve of your ass. He pushed up your crop top, baring your back, and pressed a kiss to your spine. Then another. Then another, trailing lower until he reached the waistband of your jeans.

"Don't move," he whispered, placing a final kiss before his hands moved to the front of your body.

He unbuttoned your jeans, tugging them down, along with your panties. The cool air hit your skin, but his hands were there a second later, gripping your ass, squeezing, spreading.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you."

He knelt behind you, his lips pressing kisses to each cheek, his hands massaging the plush flesh. His tongue traced back up your spine, making you gasp, and he chuckled against your skin.

He stood, and you heard the clinking of his belt as he unbuckled it, then the rasp of his zipper as it went down. His hands found your hips, steadying you, and then the head of his cock pressed against your slick folds. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, a deep, stretching fullness that made your mouth fall open.

"Oh, god," you moaned.

"Yeah," he groaned, his voice strained. "Feel that? Feel how good you take me?"

He bottomed out, his pelvis flush against your ass, and he stayed there, letting you adjust. His hands slid up your sides, under your top, cupping your tits, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

"I love this body," he whispered against your shoulder. "I love how soft you are, how warm, how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever."

He started moving—slow, deep thrusts that rocked your whole body. His rhythm was languid, almost lazy, his mouth pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder.

"Look," he said softly, nodding toward a dusty mirror propped against the bookshelf. You hadn't noticed it before, but now you saw your reflection: bent over the couch, your face flushed, your tits swinging with each thrust, his body covering yours, his face buried in your neck.

"See how beautiful you are?" His voice was a murmur, honey and heat. "See how well we fit?"

You watched, transfixed, as he fucked you slow and deep, his hips rolling against your ass, his cock glistening as it slid in and out of your pussy. Your reflection showed a woman lost in pleasure, her lips parted, her eyes half-lidded.

But then his pace changed.

He pulled, his grip on your hips tightening. "Get on your knees."

You sank to your knees, and he guided you onto all fours, positioning you so the mirror was directly in front of you. He knelt behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his cock nudged at your entrance.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror, baby," he said, his voice rougher now, losing its tender edge. "Watch how well you take me."

He slammed into you, hard and deep, and a cry tore from your throat. His right arm moved from around your waist to wrap around your throat from behind, placing you in a headlock, pulling your back flush against his chest, forcing your gaze to the mirror as he watched your eyes roll as his hips pushed into you.

"Don't look away," he growled. "I want you to see this. See what you do to me. See how perfect you are when you're being fucked the way you deserve."

His head drops to the crook of your neck as he bites down, pulling a broken cry from you. His hips snapped against yours, faster now, harder, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. The room filled with the sounds of skin to skin, og your moans, of his grunts, drowning out the bass of the music just behind the door. In the mirror, your body bounced with each impact, your face a mask of raw ecstasy.

"Look at that pussy gripping my cock," he hissed. "Look at how deep I am. You were made for this. Made for me."

Your arms gave out, and you dropped to your elbows, your ass still raised, taking every sharp thrust of his hips. He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth at your ear.

"I'm going to fill you up. Gonna mark your body. Make sure everyone knows you're mine."

Your orgasm built like a wave, cresting, ready to break, and you sobbed a broken version of his name.

"Fu- oh! I'm cumming!" You cried out, your eyes rolling back as your head lolled.

"Come for me, ma," he ordered, his pace frantic. "Come on my cock. Let me feel you."

Your orgasm came crashing down on you, your body convulsing, your pussy clenching and fluttering around him. He followed a moment later, a guttural groan ripped from his chest as he spilt hot, thick cum deep inside you, pumping through his release, grinding against your ass as he grunts with each thrust.

He stayed buried in you for a long moment, panting against your neck as he dropped his arm around your neck. Then he pulled out slowly, watching as his cum leaked out from your swollen folds, and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

"Never doubt this again," he affirms, his voice soft once more. "You're mine. And I'm not letting you go."

The study felt smaller now, the air heavy with the scent of sex and sweat.

Cameron pulled his jeans back up, zipped and buckled them, then reached for your hand. His fingers laced through yours, warm and possessive. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at you with that half-lidded, satisfied gaze that made your stomach flip.

"Ready to go back out there?" he asked, his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

You hesitated, thinking about the whispers, the stares. But his grip tightened, grounding you.

"Or we could stay here a little longer," he added, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "I'm not opposed to round two."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Let's go."

He helped you fix your top, smoothing it down, then adjusted your jeans. His fingers brushed the welts on your neck — the marks he'd left — and he smirked.

"Good," he said, low and satisfied.

He unlocked the door and pulled you out into the hallway, his arm sliding around your waist, anchoring you to his side. The bass thumped louder as you climbed the stairs back to the main floor.

The party was still in full swing, but the moment you emerged, a few heads turned. Specifically, a cluster of cheerleaders near the kitchen island. You recognised them from the whispers earlier — the ones who'd wondered what he saw in you.

They went silent when they spotted you.

One of them, a blonde with a sharp ponytail, glanced at your neck, and her eyes went wide. Her friend nudged her, and soon all of them were staring, their mouths slightly open.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but Cameron's arm tightened, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to your temple, loud and deliberate, before steering you past them.

"Hey, babe," he said, loud enough for them to hear, "you want a drink? Beer? Something stronger?"

"Whatever you're having," you managed, your voice steadier than you expected.

He led you to the keg, filled two cups, and handed one to you. The cheerleaders were still watching, their whispers now a murmur you couldn't quite catch. But Cameron didn't even glance their way. He just leaned against the counter, pulled you between his legs, and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"See?" he murmured against your ear, his breath warm. "Nothing to worry about. They're just jealous."

You took a sip, feeling the beer cool your throat. "You think so?"

"I know so." His hand slid down to the curve of your hip, squeezing gently. "Besides, they don't have my marks on them."

You snorted, nearly choking on your drink. "You're insufferable."

"And you love it." He grinned, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

For the rest of the night, he kept his arm around you. When you moved to the living room to talk to your lab partner, he stayed close, his hand resting on the small of your back. When someone challenged him to beer pong, he pulled you onto his lap while he played, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh. When you danced — loosely, laughably — he spun you into his chest and dipped you, stealing a kiss before you could protest.

Every time he caught a cheerleader staring, he made a point of touching you. A kiss. A squeeze. A whisper.

And you found yourself relaxing into it, into him, into the warmth of his attention.

At one point, the blonde from earlier walked past, her eyes flicking to the dark marks on your neck. She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Cameron spoke.

"Hey, Stacey," he said, his tone light, almost friendly. "You see something you like?"

Stacey's face flushed. "Uh, no, I just—"

"Good." He didn't let her finish. "Because I do. And she's mine."

He turned back to you, dismissing her completely, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt a grin spread across your face, helpless and genuine.

By the time the party wound down, you were leaning against him, tired and happy, his arm draped over your shoulders like a permanent fixture.

"Same time next week?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"Maybe," you replied, tilting your head to look at him. "If you're lucky."

He laughed, low and warm, and kissed you again — slow, sweet, in full view of anyone still watching.

"I'm the luckiest guy on this campus," he said against your lips. "And I don't need anyone else to see it. I already know it."

You walked out together, his hand in yours, the night air cool on your skin. Behind you, the party hummed on, but you didn't look back.