Page 129 of Corrupting Camille
So I lift my hand.
Like undressing for him with nothing but fingers.
My skin burns as I slide the ring off. The diamond catches the light one last time before I drop it to the floor.
Clink.
It bounces once. Then settles.
And everything inside me breaks.
Something in Kane shifts.
His eyes darken, truly darken, like he was waiting for this exact moment to become something worse. Something better. Something unholy.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
My core clenches around nothing, so tight I almost moan from the praise alone.
But then… his hands are on me.
Fast. Brutal. Everywhere.
He lifts me off my feet like I weigh nothing, my back sliding roughly up the cold glass, stealing the air from my lungs, pinning me exactly where he wants me. His hips shove between my thighs, forcing my legs wide open, the damp towel barely clinging to his waist, thin, useless fabric doing nothing to hide the thick, rigid length of him that presses hot and heavy against my stomach, branding his shape into my skin, into my soul.
And fuck, I want it.
Want him.
Every nerve in my body ignites, hot, throbbing, aching, soaked and desperate, clenching helplessly around empty space. I arch into him shamelessly, grinding myself against his cock, silently pleading, composure shattering, pride splintering beneath the unbearable weight of need.
His chest heaves against mine, skin slick, muscles tight and rippling beneath ink and sweat, every brutal inch of him coiled tight, dangerously restrained, like he’s seconds from snapping, from taking, from claiming.
His breath skims my cheek, controlled and searingly hot, every ragged exhale a silent promise to ruin me. His fingers dig bruisingly into my hips, yanking me against him so hard I gasp, grinding the rigid length of his cock exactly where I’m desperate for friction, igniting sparks through my veins, white-hot, unbearable.
“Kane…” I gasp, breathless, voice breaking on his name.
“You have any idea what you just fucking did?” Kane rasps, voice scraped raw with barely-there restraint. His lips drag torturously slow along my jaw, teeth grazing my earlobe. “Dropping that ring at my feet? You just made your choice, Muñequita,” he growls darkly, biting at my throat, marking me. “You just handed yourself right back to me.”
“Yes,” I breathe, the word ripped from me before I can stop it, pride abandoned, shattered completely at his feet. Because he’s right, that ring was my last desperate lie, and I threw it away willingly, begging silently for him to reclaim me.
His mouth descends, hot and savage against my neck, sucking, biting, leaving bruises that scream his ownership. My head falls back against the glass, exposing more of my throat, surrendering everything. The heavy wool coat slides from my shoulders,pooling forgotten at my feet, cold air licking sharply at my bare skin, making my nipples tighten painfully beneath thin lace.
Kane’s mouth moves lower, hot breath washing over my collarbone, tongue tracing wet trails, teeth scraping deliciously. His gaze darkens to something obscene and hungry, devouring the sight of my breasts straining against barely-there red lace, desperate and shameless.
“Fuck, Camille,” he groans, voice thick with raw desire, eyes locked onto my chest, hands dragging roughly up my waist to cup my breasts, thumbs sliding over hard peaks through delicate lace. “You walked in here tonight desperate for exactly this.”
He pinches sharply, making me cry out, hips bucking against him, aching for more friction, more punishment, more him.
His lips close around my nipple, teeth scraping roughly through delicate lace, drawing a raw, filthy moan from deep in my chest, so needy, so desperate it should embarrass me, but I’m long past caring. My fingers twist in his wet hair, gripping tightly as he sucks harder, his tongue rasping wickedly, demanding I give him everything.
“No more pretending you’re his,” he growls roughly against my skin, possessive, savage. His free hand slides down my stomach, fingertips dragging a slow, torturous path, teasing just beneath the lace waistband of my shorts. He pauses there, lingering maddeningly close, making me ache and tremble. “You’re fucking done with that lie,” he breathes darkly. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp out, hips rolling shamelessly against his touch, begging for relief. “God, yes…”
He groans low, feral, and tears the lace down my thighs like it offends him, like the only thing he wants between us is nothing at all. And then he’s there, bare and thick and pulsing, dragging the slick head of his cock through my folds with slow, devastating precision.
I choke on a cry, body arching off the glass as he presses forward, not entering, just claiming, grinding hard against my soaked, aching center until I’m shaking.
