Claimed by My Mate’s Father

CHAPTER 7

Cameilla’s POV

I stomped down the corridor with my fists clenched and my cheeks hot. I hated how breathless I still was. I hated how my legs trembled. And worst of all, I hated that Vaughan had gotten that close to me — close enough that my skin still tingled where his mouth had been.

“i***t,” I muttered to myself. “Arrogant, controlling… ugh.”

But the echo of his voice still chased me. “I warned you… not even touching another man.”

I shook my head, trying to get the memory out. I needed to think. I needed distance. I needed—

My phone buzzed in my hand. I’d forgotten I was even holding it. Perfect. I would call Lita. She always snapped me out of my head.

I pressed her name and lifted the phone to my ear.

No answer.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

I let out a groan. “Of course. She’s drunk off her mind somewhere.”

I switched to text.

Cam: Where’s my room? That insane man dragged me across the yacht, and now I’m lost.

I waited. Nothing.

One minute… two…

Then finally her response popped up.

Lita: Hiiiiii baby, I’m dancingggggg with two hottt mennnnn omg my head is spinningggggg.

I dragged my hand down my face. “Useless girl.”

Cam: Focus. I need my room number.

Lita: Roommm 407. Vaughan put you close to him. Something something securityyy.

Security. Or control. Definitely control.

Cam: Code? The door uses a pin.

Lita: Oh, right. Ummm, wait, let me think. It’s 0-9-9-1. I think. I thinkkkkkk.

I sighed. “That better be right.”

I pocketed my phone and continued down the hallway, checking the numbers on the doors until I finally saw it.

I typed the pin. The panel blinked green. The door slid open with a soft hiss.

The room was… surprisingly nice. Of course it would be. Vaughan did nothing halfway. Warm lighting. Fresh linen. A faint scent of cedar in the air. Probably he's doing too.

My gaze drifted to the wall on the right — the sliding partition. The divider. The one connecting his room to mine.

A thin barrier. A very thin one.

“Perfect,” I whispered sarcastically. “Just what I need. Him breathing down my neck.”

I placed my bag on the bedside table and sat on the bed. My heartbeat refused to slow down. My skin felt too warm. My thighs squeezed instinctively together before I could stop myself.

“Get a grip,” I muttered. But the flash of his body slamming that man to the floor hit me again — the rage in his eyes, the way his chest rose and fell, the way he grabbed me like he planned to throw me over his shoulder and lock me away.

I pressed a hand over my mouth.

“Get a grip,” I repeated weakly.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The ocean outside was faint, a dull hum. My body… restless.

My eyes drifted to the door connecting our rooms.

I swallowed.

“No,” I whispered to myself. “Absolutely not.”

But my body didn’t listen.

Not to common sense.

Not to dignity.

And definitely not to self-respect.

I lay back on the bed, staring at the soft ceiling lights, trying to steady my breathing. But the more I tried to calm down, the worse it got. Heat coiled low in my stomach. My pulse fluttered. My thoughts circled him like a trap I couldn’t escape.

His voice.

His scent.

The way he growled my name as he owned it.

“Damn it,” I breathed out.

I turned my face into the pillow, frustrated… tempted… desperate.

And eventually, I stopped fighting the need.

I slid my hand down my stomach, fingers trembling as they dipped under the waistband of my pants. This was wrong. So wrong. He was my mate’s father. The man who had raised the one I was supposed to love, to build a life with. But that didn’t stop the ache between my legs, the way my p***y throbbed just from remembering his grip on my arm, firm and unyielding.

I unbuttoned my pants with my free hand, shoving them down my hips along with my panties. The cool air hit my bare skin, making me shiver. My fingers brushed over my mound, and I bit my lip hard, trying to push the guilt away.

Stop, my mind screamed. Think of anything else.

But all I could see was Vaughan—his broad shoulders straining against his shirt, the veins in his forearms as he pinned that guy down, the dark hunger in his eyes when he looked at me.

One finger traced my slit, finding it already slick with wetness. I gasped softly, hating how ready I was for this fantasy.

“No,” I whispered, but my hips lifted anyway, seeking more touch. I circled my c**t slowly, the pressure sending sparks up my spine. In my head, it was his hand there, rough and calloused, rubbing me just like that.

“Vaughan,” I murmured without meaning to, then clamped my mouth shut. God, what am I doing?

The conflict twisted in my chest like a knife. It made me sick. It made me hotter. I pressed harder on my c**t, rubbing faster now, my breath coming in short pants. I imagined him bursting through that partition door, his eyes narrowing as he saw me spread out on the bed, fingers buried in my p***y.

“What the hell are you doing, Cam?” he’d growl, but he wouldn’t stop me. No, he'd stalk over, grab my wrist, and pull my hand away.

“Mine,” he’d say, voice low and commanding, before replacing my fingers with his own. Two thick digits sliding into me, stretching my walls, pumping in and out while his thumb worked my c**t.

I’d arch off the bed, moaning his name, the wrongness of it fueling the fire. He’s your mate’s dad, the voice in my head nagged, but it only made me clench around nothing, desperate for more.

I pushed two fingers inside myself, the intrusion not enough, but I thrust them deep anyway, curling them against my inner walls. Wet sounds filled the quiet room, obscene and loud. My other hand yanked up my shirt, cupping my breast, pinching the n****e until it stung. In the fantasy, it was his mouth there, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.

“Please,” I’d beg him, even as shame burned my cheeks. Please what? Stop? No, never. Please f**k me, claim me, make me forget everything else.

My pace quickened, fingers plunging faster, my palm grinding against my c**t with each thrust. Sweat beaded on my forehead. The bed creaked under me as my hips bucked. Vaughan’s face filled my mind—those sharp features, the stubble on his jaw, the way his lips would feel dragging over my throat. I’d wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, his hard c**k pressing against my thigh. God, I wanted to feel it, thick and heavy, pushing into me inch by inch.

But this was as far as I could go. Alone. Fighting. Losing.

“Vaughan,” I whimpered again, louder this time, my body betraying every rational thought. The taboo of it all—the power he held, the forbidden line I was crossing—pushed me closer to the edge. The guilt twisted into pleasure, making my p***y flutter around my fingers. I added a third finger, stretching myself wider, imagining it was him filling me up, his hips snapping forward in rough thrusts.

“Take it,” he'd grunt in my ear, his free hand pinning my wrists above my head. I’d struggle just a little, testing him, but he’d hold me down, f*****g me harder until I broke. The pressure built, coiling tight in my core, my thighs quivering as I chased it.

“No, stop—oh f**k,” I gasped, torn between pulling away and diving deeper. But I couldn’t stop. Not now. My c**t throbbed under my palm, swollen and needy. One more circle, one more deep thrust, and it hit me like a wave crashing over the yacht’s deck.

My o****m ripped through me, p***y clenching hard around my fingers, juices soaking my hand as I cried out—his name on my lips again, muffled into the pillow. Waves of pleasure pulsed from my core, making my toes curl, my back arch. I rode it out, hips jerking, until the tremors faded, leaving me limp and panting.

The sound of the door sliding open hit me like a shock. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I scrambled upright, pulling the sheet over myself so fast I almost tripped on it.

Vaughan walked in.

He didn’t look surprised. Not even a little.

His eyes dragged over me — slow, deliberate, knowing — and heat surged up my neck.

“Oh,” he said, voice deep and maddeningly calm. “What a pleasant surprise.”