Page 133 of Corrupting Camille
My breath shudders out in a ragged gasp, every nerve ending raw and on fire, shame scorching its way through my veins. Butthere’s no hiding, no escape, not from the camera’s relentless eye, not from Kane’s ruthless touch. He presses harder on my clit, forcing another broken cry from my lips, his voice sharp and unforgiving.
“Tell. Me. Why.”
My voice cracks, shame and desire ripping the truth from my throat. “Because of you. Because no one else can make me this wet…no one else can make me come...orgams…”
His gaze darkens dangerously, eyes glittering with savage approval as my confession hangs raw and obscene in the air. He drags his fingers slowly, deliberately, through my dripping heat, coating himself in the evidence of my surrender.
“Again,” he growls. He presses the camera closer, capturing every twitch, every tremble, every shameful moment. “Louder.”
I arch helplessly into his hand, thighs quivering violently, the restraints biting into my wrists. Pride shatters, dissolving into pure desperation as the words pour from my lips, raw, filthy, undeniable.
“Because only you can make me wet,” I gasp out, tears stinging my eyes, voice cracking beneath the humiliation and need. “Only you make me come. You…you own all my orgasms….”
He groans softly, pressing his thumb harder against my swollen clit, sending electric sparks racing through my core. “Good fucking girl. And now I have the proof,” he rasps, dark satisfaction thick in his voice as he captures it all, every desperate gasp, every filthy confession. The phone stays steady, capturing the wreckage he’s made of me, the power he holds.
He finally tosses the phone aside, leaning over me, gaze fierce, lips brushing mine softly, cruelly gentle as his fingers finally press deeper inside my aching cunt, thrusting slow and possessive.
“No more lies, Camille,” he whispers against my mouth. “Every time you forget, every time you lie, every time youpretend, he matters. I’m going to hunt you, hold you down and play this for you. Make you watch the truth.”
He kisses me deep then, swallowing my broken moan, fingers driving into me relentlessly, forcing pleasure and submission from me until I’m coming again, trembling and sobbing his name against his lips.
My humiliation, my surrender, my truth, all recorded, all his.
Forever.
***
Eventually, he releases me.
Not immediately. Not gently. Just long enough after my body stops shaking and my voice stops working. He unties me one restraint at a time, watching every wince, every tremble, every goosebump like he’s memorizing it.
“Don’t run,” he murmurs against my shoulder as he undoes the last knot at my ankle.
“As if I could,” I rasp.
He smirks. Presses a soft kiss to the inside of my knee, so tender it almost breaks me more than the rest of it.
Then he lets me go.
And I don’t say anything as I slip off the bed, sore in ways I didn’t know I could be sore, my body marked with his fingerprints and his mouth and the very specific ache of being thoroughly claimed.
I walk toward the bathroom, legs shaky but stubborn.
“I’m taking a shower,” I call back, not asking.
“You’ll need it,” he says darkly from behind me. “But if you lock that door, Camille... I’m kicking it in.”
The water’s already running by the time I step inside, steam fogging the mirror. I brace my hands on the sink and stare atmyself, flushed bronze skin, swollen lips, smudged mascara, and eyes that look wrecked in a way no shower can fix.
Still… I step under the hot spray, letting the scalding water sting every bruise, every bite mark, every tender inch he claimed. I close my eyes, standing motionless beneath the heat, feeling him still on my skin, still inside me, branding me deeper than any tattoo.
I reach for his soap, pressing it to my nose, inhaling the familiar scent, dark cedar, smoke, and something primal. Something savage. Something painfully him. I drag the bar slowly over my breasts, lingering over sensitive nipples still swollen from his mouth, sliding lower, lower, tracing my thighs, pressing firmly between my legs where he tasted me, claimed me, filled me.
Heat spirals, reigniting the ache that throbs deep inside, raw and unrelenting.
His shampoo next, clean, masculine, intoxicating. I breathe it in, filling my lungs until my head swims and the world fades away, replaced entirely by him. By memories of his mouth. His hands. His cock buried deep, making me scream his name.
By the time I finally shut off the water, I’m scrubbed raw, my skin flushed, stripped down to nothing but nerves and aching need.
