Page 131 of Corrupting Camille
His gaze dips, following mine, his eyes turning darker, more intense, devouring the visible proof of what we’ve done. A slow, devastating smirk curls his mouth.
“You look fucking beautiful wearing me, Camille,” he murmurs huskily, his thumb dragging over my swollen lower lip, lingering, pressing just hard enough to remind me who’s in charge. “So much better than diamonds.”
I hate how my core clenches greedily at those words, how the ache inside deepens, craving more, craving everything he gives me, every twisted promise, every wicked mark.
He stares shamelessly between my thighs, drinking in the slick trail of him on my skin, jaw tightening with fierce, dark hunger. As if marking me isn’t enough unless I see it, unless I feel it, unless I understand exactly how thoroughly I belong to him now.
“You’ll still be leaking me tomorrow,” he rasps, voice low, dangerous enough to make my thighs clench again. “Every time you sit, every time you press your thighs together, every time you fucking breathe, you’ll remember exactly who claimed you tonight. Exactly whose name you begged for.”
I whimper, humiliated and throbbing, and he smiles…proud. Fucking pleased.
And then he steps back, just enough to give me space, just enough to make me chase.
“Bedroom,” he says simply. Command, not invitation.
And I follow.
Of course I follow.
My legs still shake, my skin flushed, my panties gone, ripped and discarded like the last bit of dignity I walked in with. But I follow anyway, silent and aching, knowing exactly what I’m walking into.
Again.
Kane leads the way, broad shoulders flexing, muscles rippling under his skin as he moves, still gloriously naked, still damp, still hard. I stare shamelessly, mouth dry and cunt fluttering as I watch the tension in his back, the way the muscles of his ass shift with each slow, confident stride.
The bedroom is dim, warm, the air heavy with sex and something darker, something possessive, electric, waiting to strike.
He stops at the foot of the bed, turns, eyes dragging over me like he’s cataloging every breath I take, every tremble I try to hide.
“Off,” he says, nodding to my bra.
I hesitate.
Barely a second.
Then I reach behind me, fingers fumbling with the clasp, chest rising and falling as I free myself.
The bra drops to the floor.
His gaze drops to my breasts, slow, appreciative, a low hum vibrating from his throat. He reaches out, palms my tits roughly, thumbing over my nipples, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp.
“Perfection,” he says. “Even better when they’re marked up.”
He pushes me gently onto the bed, and I land on the mattress with a soft gasp, hair spilling across the sheets, legs parted instinctively. I’m already, already his, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s nowhere close to done.
He kneels between my legs, hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide. His eyes lock onto my pussy, swollen and soaked and still pink from being fucked against the window.
He groans low in his throat.
“Look at this cunt,” he mutters, dragging two fingers slowly through my slick heat, spreading me wide with no shame. “So fucking wet. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed to be split open and filled up.”
I bite my lip, nodding helplessly, because yes…yes to all of it.
He leans in, dragging his tongue up my slit, slow and filthy, tasting himself on me. My hips jerk at the contact, pleasure ricocheting through my spine as his tongue circles my clit, then flattens against it, lapping at me like he’s starving.
I cry out, fingers clutching at the sheets, thighs shaking as he eats me with slow, devastating control. He teases me, flicking, sucking, licking…pushing me right to the edge and then backing off just enough to make me sob with frustration.
“Beg,” he rasps against my soaked cunt.
