Summer Camp Captive

“Carver,” I wail against his lips, writhing to escape the soreness. “Carver.”

“You’re going to feel like a virgin every damn time, aren’t you?” He punctuates his next words with tight thrusts. “Like a bratty…little…unfucked…girl. Just waiting like a good princess in her bedroom for that king cock.”

There’s a sweep of pleasure through my middle, centering where our bodies join. Some of the discomfort subsides, leading to a sensation of being full. Pinned. I don’t realize my eyes have been closed until I open them, finding Carver’s expression slack with bliss, hunger. Seeing how good I’m making him feel eases a little more of the pain, more and more until it’s gone.

“Y-yes.” I arch my back, sending him a coy glance from the veil of my eyelashes. “Tickle me, daddy.”

I didn’t plan on addressing him by that title, but the use of it makes me wet enough to handle the full power of him. Makes him fall on me like a slavering beast, his hips attacking me in a blur. That huge part of him parts my flesh, stretching me again and again, the smacks of his balls and grunts filling the room. “You’re going to get daddy’s come good and deep, princess. This is what you get for taunting me. You get a seed planted in your flat, young belly.”

I’m beginning to tighten up low—so low—in my stomach, my legs trembling with the climax he’s giving me. I can’t stay still. Excitement collides with anxious need inside me, blood pounding in my ears, my fingernails buried in Carver’s wide, rippling back. There’s a spark of danger and mischief left inside me, though, because I’m still hungry to exercise a little control over my giant. The control I only recently discovered with him, because he understood my need for it. “Don’t finish. Not yet.”

He drops his head, releasing a wounded roar into the crook of my neck. After one more shuddering pump, though, he does stop, poised above me with a face contorted in pain. “You test my limits,” he slurs, sweat dripping down his forehead. “You test my sanity.”

“One thrust only,” I murmur, drawing my knees up to my shoulders. “One and stop again. Like you know you shouldn’t be inside me, daddy, but you couldn’t help a little taste.”

Eyes wild, he claps a hand over my mouth and delivers a bone-rattling pump, going deeper than ever before. I let loose a strangled whimper into his palm, watching him over the top of his hand with pouty eyes. Veins bulge from his neck and temples, his breath rasping in and out. “Please. Please, princess. If I don’t finish off in this sweet cunt, the madness is going to set in.”

“Three more. Only three.”

“Jesus. Oh God. Yes. No.” He drops his full, glorious weight on me, driving me up the bed, his breath wheezing in my ear as he ruts me. There’s no other word for the crude, desperate thrusts of his enormous shaft deep inside me. One, two, three. When he stops again, he turns his head and grits out a curse. “You want a madman, do you? Do you?” His mouth finds my ear, his teeth pressing tightly against it. “The king is done playing games. This is daddy’s cunt and you’ll surrender it now. If you need more convincing that it’s mine, I’ll breed you right in front of the queen.”

Shock and arousal explode inside me. “Oh God. T-take me.” I can’t breathe around the need, the heat. My flesh begins to constrict around his swollen erection before he even begins pumping into me again, but as soon as he does, I go off the cliff, screaming and thrashing through the most intense orgasm of my life. I’m only able to hold on as Carver pounds me in a snarling frenzy, his shoulders pressing my knees up to my ears, so he can take, take, take, his giant body bearing down on me with unrestrained force. “Yes. Daddy, daddy. Please.”

“Here it comes. Take it like a good little princess.” Carver goes still, his eyes rolling back in his head, a growl of possession erupting from deep inside him. Sticky warmth floods me, his flesh pulsing and jerking, his chest and belly wracked with intense shudders. “Mine. Mine. No one touches.”

“No one. Just you.”

A final tremor passes through Carver and he falls sideways, careful even in his replete state not to crush me. His breathing is shallow, sweat coating his skin, but his eyes are back to normal, looking me over with affection and awe. “Lainey.”

“Carver,” I whisper, snuggling into his side. “Stay with me?”

“Yes. Always.”

Am I crazy or did I hear a hint of uncertainty in his voice?

When he pulls me close like I might disappear, I decide I imagined it.

Chapter Nine

Carver

I haven’t brushed my hair in a while. Pulling a comb through it feels unnatural, but I keep going, forcing myself to look straight into the mirror. The strands are wet from my shower and they cling to my cheeks, my neck. Normally, I would leave them there and let them dry in a way that would hide my scars as much as possible. Even where there was no chance of running into another human being in the woods, I used my hair as a shield. From myself. From the mirror I’m using for the first time in years.