SOLD TO AUGUST CHILDE

014

CAMILLA

I sat up on shaky elbows, palm sliding over him first, stroking slowly from base to tip. Felt him throb against my hand. Then I leaned forward, mouth opening, tongue and lips working in sync with my hand.

He groaned. Deep. Primal. The sound rattled my chest.

His hand fisted gently in my hair—not pushing, just making me aware that I was his, right here, right now.

I sucked him deep. Tongue swirling around the swollen head. Hollowed my cheeks. Bobbed my head, trying to match his pulse. Took him to the back of my throat until my eyes watered. Saliva slicked him, made every glide easier, wetter.

His hips jerked forward. “f**k… Camilla…”

Right before he could finish, he pulled out with a low curse.

He climbed over me, spreading my legs wider with his knees. Lined himself up. I felt the weight of him, solid and hard, pressing into me.

Pushed in slow. Inch by inch. Stretching me. Filling me so completely, I gasped. Clung to his shoulders. Nails biting into muscle for leverage, grounding myself as he settled fully inside.

He paused when he was buried to the hilt. Forehead pressed to mine. Breathing hard. Hot. Rough. Shaking slightly with the force of holding back everything.

Then he started moving. Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside me. Making me whimper. My breath came in short gasps.

Then harder. Faster. The bed creaked under us. Skin slapped against skin, wet, rhythmic. Every motion pushed me closer to the edge again.

I was a moaning mess. Legs wrapped tight around his waist. Nails raking down his back. My muscles tensed, flexed, and released, over and over.

“August… yes… harder…” I begged, voice breaking, body arching under him.

He gave it to me. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust punched the air from my lungs, pushed me higher, deeper, further than I thought I could go.

I felt him swell inside me. Felt his rhythm falter, then recover. His breaths turned ragged against my neck, warm against my ear.

He buried his face there and groaned my name.

Then he came. Hard. Pulsing. Filling me up with hot spurts that made me clench around him instinctively, body trembling.

He shuddered through it. Held me tight. Like letting go would break something delicate, fragile, sacred.

He moved away from me when he was done.

I stayed exactly where I was, face turned toward the ceiling, staring at nothing in particular. My chest rose and fell too fast, breath still uneven, lungs struggling to catch up with what my body had just been through. I was oversensitive and raw in the sweetest, most dangerous way.

My body felt like it was buzzing from the inside out, like a live wire that hadn’t yet cooled. Even the slightest shift of my hips sent a sharp reminder through me, a dull ache settling low and warm.

I swallowed hard, blinking slowly, trying to ground myself in the room again.

I never knew I would be so down for a man owning me like this—f*****g me this good, every single day, if he wanted.

The thought should have terrified me.

Instead, it settled low in my belly, heavy and warm and dangerous. A thought I didn’t want to examine too closely. One that curled around something vulnerable inside me and squeezed.

I couldn’t even move. My limbs felt heavy, boneless, like they’d melted into the mattress. My thighs still trembled faintly, the aftershocks refusing to fully fade. My core throbbed, sore in the best and worst ways, a reminder of how completely he’d undone me.

I let out a slow breath. Tried to roll away, just enough to catch my breath. Just enough space to think.

His arm hooked around my waist immediately.

He pulled me back flush against his chest, my back fitting against his front like it belonged there. His nose buried in my hair, inhaling deep like he needed the scent of me to breathe. “Just stay, okay?” he murmured.

His voice was low. Tired. Almost soft.

The roughness from earlier had melted away, leaving something quieter in its place. Something stripped bare. Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected from him.

I relaxed against him before I could stop myself.

His warmth seeped into me, steady and grounding. One heavy arm draped over my waist, hand splayed across my stomach like an anchor. His heartbeat thumped against my spine—slow now, even. The rhythm was calming, lulling, the kind that made it dangerously easy to forget everything else.

We stayed like that for a long time.

Long enough for my breathing to even out. Long enough for the tension in my shoulders to ease. Long enough for his breathing to slow and deepen until it fell into a steady, peaceful rhythm.

He was asleep.

I turned carefully in his arms, slow and deliberate so I wouldn’t wake him. Shifted just enough to look at his face.

He looked… peaceful.

The hard lines around his eyes had softened. His jaw was relaxed, no tension clenched there. Dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. No storm. No fury. No control. Just stillness.

Whatever had put that haunted, bloodshot look in his gaze earlier had finally quieted. In sleep, he looked younger. Less like the untouchable billionaire who bought me for twenty million and more like a man who was simply… tired.

For some reason, staring at him like this, vulnerable and unguarded, I wanted to stay.

I lifted my hand slowly, fingers hovering near his forehead. I wanted to brush the hair away from his face, smooth the crease between his brows. My hand trembled just a little.

Then reality slammed back in.

Fiancée.

My hand froze mid-air. Dropped back to the sheets like I’d been burned.

Carefully, quietly, I slipped out of bed. His arm fell away without protest, his body shifting but not waking. Bare feet hit the cool hardwood, the chill grounding me further. I padded to his closet and grabbed another one of his shirts—black this time, soft cotton that swallowed me whole.

The sleeves dangled past my fingertips. I rolled them up twice. Tugged the hem down as far as it would go.

Then I slipped out of his room, down the quiet hallway, and into the guest room I’d slept in that first night.

I freshened up slowly. Brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush Ama had left. Splashed cold water on my face until the heat faded from my cheeks and my reflection stared back at me a little clearer.

Then I crawled under the covers.

Sleep came fast.

No dreams. No nightmares. Just deep, dreamless rest.

When I woke, sunlight was pouring in through the window, warm and bright and entirely too cheerful for how tangled my head felt. I groaned softly and stayed flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling.

Is this how I’m going to keep living?

Locked in a golden cage?

The thought made my chest tighten.

I dragged myself out of bed, sluggish and sore in equal measure. Pulled the black shirt back on. The fabric still smelled faintly like him, which didn’t help.

I headed downstairs to find Ama.

Instead, August was sitting at the dining table alone.

Coffee steamed in a white mug beside him. A plate of eggs and toast sat half-eaten. He looked up the second I appeared in the doorway.

I turned to bolt.

“You can’t keep avoiding me forever,” he said calmly.

I scoffed, but my feet carried me down anyway. I sat opposite him, folding my arms loosely like it might protect me.

He gave me a smug little smile. “Hope you had sweet dreams.”

My face heated instantly. Images from the night before crashed into my head, uninvited and vivid.

“Your wife-to-be won’t like that,” I muttered.

He rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of coffee.

“Why did you bring me here knowing fully well you’re in a relationship?” I asked, sharper than I meant.

“I’m not in a relationship.”

I glared. “Can you be serious right now?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, and signaled to Ama that he was done eating. She appeared sharply, cleared his plate and vanished again.

Then he stood.

Walked around the table.

Bent and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. Warm. Lingering.

“Have a nice day.”

He turned to leave.

“Will you… please,” I sighed, stopping him. “Can I go out? Your place is stuffy. I just want to see the sun again.”

He paused. Looked back. Thought for a second.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” I shrugged. “As long as I’m not locked inside.”

He came closer. Pulled a sleek black card from his wallet and set it on the table in front of me.

“Let Ama take you shopping or something.”

My face brightened immediately. “Thank youuu.”

His expression hardened just a little. “As long as you don’t run away.”

I nodded. “I promise.”

He leaned down, kissed me—soft, sweet, then deeper for just a second—and walked out.

I watched him go.

“I promise my foot,” I muttered.