Page 134 of Corrupting Camille
I dry myself quickly with one of his towels, pausing when my eyes snag on his robe. I reach for it, slipping it on, the fabric soft and warm, carrying his scent and wrapping me completely in him as I step back into the bedroom.
He glances up, and—his gaze hits me like a physical blow, dark and heavy with intent. He looks seconds from lunging, from shoving me right back onto the mattress, from spreading me wide and starting all over again.
“Kane…” I warn, voice shaky, weak. “No.”
His mouth curves into a slow, arrogant smirk. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You have that look.”
His eyes flicker with something dangerous, something raw, as they trace the outline of my body beneath the robe. He leans back, resting his weight on his hands as he watches me. His gaze lingers where the fabric clings to my skin, the only thing separating me from him.
“Look?”
My cheeks flush hotter, my pulse leaping violently at the lazy, dangerous drawl in his voice. He knows exactly what look I’m talking about, but he’s making me spell it out anyway, forcing me to admit how clearly I can read every filthy thought behind those dark eyes.
“The look,“ I whisper, gripping the robe’s sash tighter, as if that flimsy fabric could possibly protect me from the wicked intent radiating from his stare. “The one that says you’re about three seconds from throwing me back onto that bed and making a meal out of me.”
He chuckles softly, deep and low, the sound sliding down my spine like the slow drag of his tongue. It shouldn’t feel so good to hear him laugh like that. Shouldn’t feel like I’ve just won a prize for amusing him, desperate to do it again, desperate to hear that sound over and over.
“What can I say?” he murmurs, eyes darkening. “I’m a very picky eater.”
I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance, but the traitorous flush still blooms beneath my skin, betraying exactly how much I like his brand of teasing. “Well, too fucking bad. Find something else to eat,” I say sharply, lifting my chin, stubborn even as heat coils tight and traitorous between my thighs. “I’m sore.”
“Come here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, eyes glinting playfully. “I’ll kiss it better.”
“Kane…” I warn, halfheartedly.
“I’ll be good.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “That word isn’t even in your vocabulary.”
He smirks, utterly unapologetic. “Scout’s honor.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You were never a Boy Scout.”
He presses a hand dramatically over his heart, the tattoos shifting beneath his palm. “I’m wounded you think so little of me. Fine, I’ll behave.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Cross my heart,” he drawls, making a slow, lazy cross over his inked chest, the devil gleaming brightly in his smile. “And hope to die.”
I fight the smile tugging at my lips. Stepping toward him defiantly, I nearly stumble as the heavy fabric of his robe tangles around my feet. Heat blooms across my cheeks, but I quickly regain my balance and closing the space between us, stopping mere inches away, daring him to prove exactly how much he means that promise.
His eyes darken instantly dropping shamelessly to the space between my thighs, like he’s already imagining his mouth there, devouring me whole, savoring the one meal he’ll never get enough of.
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he simply reaches out, wrapping the tie around his fist, and gives it one sharp tug. The robe falls open instantly, sliding off my shoulders, baring me completely to his hungry stare.
I’m naked in front of him, bare and trembling slightly. With my height, his face is perfectly aligned with my breasts, nipples already tight and begging for his mouth. He stares at them like he might devour me whole, but he holds back, visibly straining against his own nature.
Instead, his hands slide around my hips, pulling me closer until I’m standing between his thighs, his face pressed gently against my skin, breath warm and uneven as he whispers softly “See? Perfect gentleman.”
He tilts his head back slightly, looking up at me through thick lashes, a heated smirk curving his lips as his voice drops to a rough whisper. “Now, tell me where it hurts, Muñequita.” he demands softly, fingers tightening possessively at my hips. “Show me exactly where I broke you.”
I lift my hand slowly, deliberately, tracing my fingertips across my lips. He watches closely.
“Kiss it better,” I whisper softly, a teasing command that dares him to break first.
His jaw clenches tight, but he leans forward obediently, he licks my lips before pressing a slow, lingering kiss exactly where my fingertips rest, his eyes locked onto mine the entire time.
