Not just her body.
Her.
Her chaos. Her wildness. The way she doesn’t apologize for anything she feels. The way she cries and laughs and begs and curses all in the same breath. The way she looks at me like I’m the first man who’s ever seen her.
And I don’t want it to stop.
I don’t want her to wake up one day and decide she regrets me. I don’t want her to take back the way she moaned “f**k, Daddy, it’s too big, it’s too much, I’m gonna break” while I told her to shut up and take every inch. I don’t want her to stop throwing that filthy little smirk at me when she’s still leaking down her thighs and asking if I’m going to fill her again.
So I lied.
I f*****g lied.
I told her Camilla was dead.
And now I can’t breathe.
My lungs feel like they’re made of glass, every inhale dragging acr
