I found myself perched on the edge of my makeshift desk, thighs spread, with Campbell Bishop and his gigantic cock standing between them.
“Better not have any romantic ideas for this first time, baby. It’s gonna to be fast and mean,” he warned as he cupped my face in his hand.
“Fast and mean is good,” I said a split second before his mouth slanted over mine.
Everything about him was hot and hard, and apparently my body loved that.
His free hand delved between my legs and cupped my sex through my shorts. “Goddammit. I knew you’d be wet.”
Wet was an understatement. Puddles were wet. Aquariums. A few caresses on a stepladder, and I was a South American rainy season flash flood. Was I too wet? Did I need to worry about what he thought? If he was just my rebound guy and we were just using each other for sex, I didn’t actually have to worry about impressing him, did I?
“Been thinking about these shorts since I woke you up this week,” he confessed on a growl. “Wondering what you had on under them.”
I spread my thighs wider in a taunt. “A whole lot of nothing.”
Swearing deliciously, Cam’s fingers found their way under the material to my slick folds.
My heart was thumping in my chest, my throat, my head. We were moving so fast, and I wanted it that way. The last few years of my sex life had been sedate, planned meetings in bed after separate showers. This was something different.
Those talented fingers stroked through the wet, pausing to circle that tight bud of nerves. I let out a whimper that turned into a cry when he drove two fingers inside me. He kissed me again, harder this time. His tongue took what I had to offer while I bucked against his hand shamelessly as it pleasured me.
I grabbed at his shirt, pulling and pushing.
Cam read my mind and pulled it over his head one-handed. His hat went flying.
Muscle, tattoo, that smattering of chest hair that tapered down his perfect torso. He was built like a romance hero. Book Cam and Real-Life Cam were one and the same.
“You keep looking at me like that and it’s gonna be over too fast, baby,” he warned.
I didn’t know how I was looking at him, but thankfully he took matters into his own hands by shoving me down on the desk. I stared at the ceiling as he pushed my shirt over my breasts.
“Fuck me,” he muttered reverently before he began to knead one with a rough, callused palm. And then that hot, hard mouth was surrounding my needy nipple, and I forgot my own name with every deep pull.
“Mmm,” he murmured against my breast. “You like that. I can feel you clamping down on my fingers.”
“About that,” I said, sounding like I was breathlessly trying to squeeze myself through a mail slot. “You mentioned fast and rough, and well, if you don’t put a different appendage in me, I’m going to finish on your hand, and I really, really want to finish on your cock.”
I felt him smile over my nipple. He gave one last hard suck before pulling me back into a seated position at the edge of the desk.
“You got a condom in this place? Preferably three?” he asked as he stripped my shorts off and threw them over his shoulder.
I leaned over and yanked open the desk drawer to rummage in it. “I’m not saying I wrote a scene just like this Monday night, but I do like to be prepared.” I pulled out a sleeve of condoms.
“Good girl,” Cam said with what was practically a purr.
I felt my insides go squishy at the praise. New kink unlocked. I was just reaching for my notebook when he positioned my heels on the lip of the desk, opening me completely to him.
With quick, jerky movements, I watched in fascination as he released his belt, undid his pants, and freed his gloriously hard cock.
I’d written plenty of dicks in my day. I’d enjoyed a satisfactory number in real life. With that in mind, I could confidently crown Campbell Bishop’s penis King Cock of both Fiction and Nonfiction.
Long, thick, and veined, it bobbed like it was happy to finally be free.
I reached for it with both hands.
Cam’s intake of breath sounded almost pained as I gripped his shaft. Moisture pooled at the tip before I’d even completed half a stroke. His hands stilled mine. “Foreplay next time. Good with that?”
“So good. Great,” I said, watching as he rolled the condom down his intimidating length.
It seemed cliché to worry about size. But real-life me had never encountered a penis quite as magnificent in the wild. My math skills were rustier than my lady parts, yet I was 80 percent sure there was no way he was going to fit. But I sure as hell was going to give it my best try.
“Look at me,” he commanded, dragging the crown of his cock back and forth through my folds as if I wasn’t already wet enough to close down a theme park. It felt so damn good that my head fell back and a whimpery kind of moan ripped free from my throat.
“Look at me, Hazel,” he repeated, notching the blunt tip against my opening.
When I did, when I locked eyes with him, Cam gripped my hips and yanked me forward onto his shaft. The sudden invasion had my eyeballs rolling back in my head as I gripped his shoulders.
“Holy shit, you’re big!” I shouted.
It was probably not the classiest thing to say during sex. But I was out of practice with sexy talk.
Big was a lazy understatement. Gigantic. Tumescent. Swollen. Girthy. My editor would have been proud.
He let out a noise that was half laugh and half groan then wrapped my legs around his waist. This alone drew him another inch deeper. I felt like my life was one taut guitar string and Cam was about to pluck it.
His hands were on my hips again, fingers flexing restlessly. And I realized he was giving me time. Time to get used to him, to make room for him. That was thoughtful and hot, both of which I appreciated.
Somewhere in the roiling lust swamp of my mind, a thought surfaced. I, Hazel Hart, romance novelist extraordinaire, was having real-life, meaningless sex with a man who could give any hero a run for his money. Just like a heroine.
“Open your eyes.” The words were like gravel. “That’s my girl.”
He was staring into my eyes, possessing my soul the way he possessed my body. Our mouths were so close that we breathed the same air.
He hadn’t moved an inch, yet I was primed to explode. My awareness had distilled itself down to the sensation of taking Campbell Bishop’s cock inside me.
“Look at us,” he ordered.
I looked down to where our bodies were joined. My eyelids fluttered when I realized how much more of him I had to take.
“Keep ’em open. I want you with me.”
Dozens of my inner muscles shivered around his shaft at the order and Cam bit back a growl.
He moved, and I came.
I didn’t mean to. I didn’t set out to orgasm after seven whole seconds of intercourse. But it was like someone with a torch tripped on their way through a fireworks factory. Ignition.
Cam growled low and long as the surprise climax tore through me. His jaw was set in stone, cheeks hollowed, as he delivered a series of controlled thrusts that drew out my release. I wanted more as soon as it was over.
“Fuck. I need to move, baby,” he confessed, his breath hot against my mouth. “This table won’t hold, and I need to get you someplace where I can take you hard and fast. You good with that?”
“So good. Very good. Extremely good.” I was nothing if not an encouraging lover.
His hands tightened on my ass. He picked me up off the desk and held me aloft, still impaled on his cock. I wondered what he could bench press.
“Wall or floor?” he demanded.
“I just hung the pictures,” I said, gesturing at the framed art without taking my eyes off him.
“Floor it is,” he said.
I honestly don’t know how he got us to the floor without (a) dropping me or (b) pulling out. But Campbell Bishop was a man of many talents that I fully planned to detail on the page…after I was done using him for sex.
The second my back hit the rug, he yanked my shirt up and over my head, baring my breasts again, before thrusting all the way home. I hadn’t been mentally prepared for all of him, that much became immediately clear. The overwhelming fullness, the intense play of muscles that had never before been stretched so far, it all demanded every iota of my attention.
Cam’s guttural growl of approval rang in my ear. My own shout echoed off the walls.
I slammed my eyes shut as sensations battered me. He pulled out, slowly, before driving back in. The weight of him pressed me down, anchoring me to the floor. The heat of his skin, the flexing of muscles against me, drove me straight over the edge of sanity and into a mindless void of need.
I was about to earn my very first sexual rug burn. It felt like a rite of passage, a trophy.
“Cam,” I gasped.
One callused hand found my breast. He plumped it once, twice. With no warning, he drew his hips back, dragging his erection almost all the way out. I tensed under him, around him, needing him to stay. He didn’t make me beg. I didn’t have to tell him what I needed. He just gave me a series of short, hard thrusts.
“Yes,” I cried.
His thumb brushed over my swollen nipple as his hips continued to piston into me. It was primal, this need that was building in me with every deep, hard thrust. I felt him swell inside me as I clamped down around him. It was building already, I realized as he pushed into me again.
“Let go, baby. Just let go for me,” he panted. His heart thundered against my chest. His face was buried in my neck.
I was about to explain to him that multiple orgasms had never been my thing. That I had been blessed with strong, single orgasms and there was no need for me to get greedy. But I certainly didn’t mind him going for it. Honestly, if anyone could deliver multiple orgasms, it would be Cam. Maybe after we’d enjoyed a few rolls in the hay together I could—
He gave one more thrust and stayed buried to the hilt. I writhed against him as my first official second orgasm broke free inside me. Everything from my fingers to my toes to my hair ignited, coiling in tighter and tighter before snapping like a trip wire.
Sound and light temporarily disappeared from my existence. The only thing I was left with was sensation as the wall of pleasure crumbled on top of me.
“Fuck yes,” Cam groaned, holding deep as he ejaculated.
I could feel each throbbing pulse of his orgasm through the clamp and release of my own. Some ancient biological dance we were performing to perfection. It was better than good, better than right. It felt like a divine calling finally answered. I was alive and ravished.
The waves slowed, then weakened before finally ending. We lay there tangled together, sweaty and sated, still joined. Our breath coming in pants. I felt good. Like Jell-O made with champagne. Wobbly and sparkly.
I had never been so happy to have meaningless sex in my entire life.
“You okay?” Cam asked, his face still pressing into my neck. That ever-present stubble abrading my skin in the most delicious way.
I cleared my throat and went for casual. “Well, I mean, if that’s the best you can do. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He pinched my hip. Hard.
“Ow! Okay, okay! It was amazing. If I had any control over my body parts, I’d be reaching for my notebook,” I conceded.
He rolled us so I was sprawled on top of him. I propped myself on one elbow to study the ridiculous level of handsome beneath me. Maybe divorce and bald eagles were good luck because there was absolutely no downside to what had just happened with his cock in me.
“That was just the appetizer. Get ready for the main course,” he threatened.
Text copyright © 2025 by Lucy Score. Reprinted by permission of Bloom Books, an imprint of Sourcebooks.
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