Page 130 of Corrupting Camille
“Look at me,” he growls again, rougher this time, hand gripping my jaw and forcing my gaze back to his. “I said…eyes on me, Muñequita.”
I obey, because I need to, because that voice, that stare, that brutal need tethered to his every move owns me, owns everything.
His tip catches at my entrance, dragging through slick heat, then back up to my clit, again and again, slow and cruel. My breath hitches, thighs trembling as I try to roll my hips, needing more, needing him, but his grip tightens, holding me still.
“You feel that?” he rasps, voice thick with restraint. “That’s what you do to me. This is what happens when you wear another man’s ring and still drip for me.”
“Kane…please,” I whimper, desperate, raw, completely undone.
And then he thrusts, deep, one hard, brutal stroke that knocks the air from my lungs and punches a broken moan from my chest.
He holds my gaze, eyes fierce and unforgiving, commanding every ounce of my attention, forcing my body to open more, to take every thick, throbbing inch of him until he’s fully seated, buried to the hilt. My mouth falls open on a helpless, choked gasp, feeling every deep, throbbing pulse of his cock inside me.
“Camille,” he groans, voice rough, raw. “You were made to take me like this.”
He begins to move, slowly at first, long, deep strokes that grind the head of his cock against the most sensitive parts of me, until I’m whimpering and writhing helplessly between him and the window. My breasts bounce, nipples tight and aching ashis hands slide up my body, pinching and twisting them roughly through my bra, every touch possessive, branding, claiming.
“Open your eyes,” he commands roughly, grinding harder, deeper, claiming every desperate moan that escapes my lips. “Look at me when you come.”
I force my eyes open, locked helplessly on his dark, hungry gaze. Pleasure coils low in my belly, dangerously close to breaking, every thrust of his cock pushing me higher, tighter, until I’m screaming his name without restraint.
“That’s it,” he growls, hips slamming mercilessly into mine now, driving me brutally against the glass, making sure the whole damn city can see if they bothered to look up. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”
“You do,” I sob, shaking uncontrollably, cunt spasming violently around him, dragging him deeper. “It’s yours, Kane…fuck, I’m yours…all of me…”
My orgasm rips through me, brutal and blinding, flooding my body with pleasure so intense it borders on pain as I pour around him, on him. Kane curses sharply, hips stuttering as my pussy grips him tightly, milking every last thrust.
He groans loudly into my neck, teeth sinking into my skin as he drives impossibly deeper, exploding inside me with a growl of possessive satisfaction.
For a long moment, we stay pressed against the window, sweat-slicked, panting, trembling, my body still clinging tightly to him.
Finally, he lifts his head, eyes dark and satisfied, voice husky and commanding against my swollen lips.
“I could fuck you a thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough. You want deep?” His eyes flare, throat working as he grits out, “I want under your skin, Camille. I want to live there. In every breath, every ache, every goddamn decision you make. You don’t walk away from this. Not from me.”
His forehead presses to mine, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll let you go when there’s nothing left of you that hasn’t belonged to me first...and even then…I’ll still demand more…”
What do you say to that?
My breath stutters, catching somewhere between a sob and a moan, because there’s no part of me untouched anymore. No corner of my mind, no inch of my body, no thread of sanity he hasn’t already torn apart and branded with his name.
He doesn’t kiss me. He just watches me. Eyes wild and unwavering, waiting for the denial he knows won’t come.
Because there’s nothing to deny.
He already lives there, under my skin, in my chest, curled around every single thought I try to silence. And I hate how much I want him to stay there. How much I want to give him the rest of what he hasn’t taken yet.
I tilt my head, my raw lips brushing his. “You haveallof me.”
“No,” he murmurs roughly, his voice scraping along my skin, eyes blazing as he cups my face, thumb tracing my lips like he’s memorizing every fractured breath. “I have your skin, your taste, every perfect, pretty piece you’ve handed me. But that’s not enough for me…” He leans in, mouth brushing mine in a way that’s soft, devastating, almost reverent. “I want your ugly. I want the broken parts. Your scars, the secrets you keep, I want your nightmares.” His eyes burn into mine, intense, possessive, unrelenting. “I want to stand centered in your ugly and watch you realize I’m never leaving.”
I suck in a shaky breath, his words slicing through me more intimately than anything he’s ever done to my body. My chest tightens, not with fear, but with the terrifying ache of being seen too clearly, too deeply.
We don’t say another word as he lowers me slowly, purposefully down the glass, forcing me to feel every inch of him one last time before my bare feet finally meet the icymarble floor. My legs nearly buckle, muscles trembling, weak and useless after everything he took, every line he crossed, every plea he wrenched from my lips.
Kane’s eyes linger, dark and possessive, tracing over me with smug satisfaction, arrogantly savoring the way my cheeks flush pink all over again.
Then I feel it, a hot, slick trail sliding slowly down the insides of my thighs, evidence of how completely he owned me moments ago. My breath catches, my stomach tightening with shameful need as I glance down to see the creamy mess he’s left behind, staining my skin, branding me from the inside out.
