Page 212 of Corrupting Camille
To be worthy of keeping her.
For the first time, I understand what Diego meant when he told me years ago, You’ll know when she’s the one worth making peace for.
And now she’s here.
And I have no peace to give.
Only war.
Only me.
Only this broken thing I’ve built and called protection.
She turns slightly then, as if she feels me watching, her gaze drifting toward the shadows.
Our eyes lock.
And it hits me like a fucking bullet to the chest.
She’s letting me be seen, too.
Not as Kane Rivera.
Not as a name spoken in fear.
But as a man.
And fuck, it ruins me.
***
We leave the party quietly.
No big goodbyes. No fuss.
Diego nods from across the courtyard, understanding passing wordlessly between us. Rosa gives Camille’s arm one final gentle squeeze as we walk past, her gaze meeting mine briefly with an intensity that tells me everything I need to know:
She’s ours now. Protect her.
The drive home is quiet.
Comfortably so, but charged. Camille’s head rests against the seat, her eyes soft, her mouth slightly swollen still, and something deep in my chest tightens every time I glance at her in the passenger seat.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
When we finally arrive at my compound, she lets me help her from the car. Her fingers stay locked around mine, small, trusting. I lead her inside through shadowed halls until we’re back in the bedroom, back in the quiet darkness where the world outside doesn’t exist.
I take my time undressing her tonight.
Slowly, gently, almost reverently. Her dress falls away first, silk pooling at her feet. I skim my palms over her bare skin, watching the goosebumps rise beneath my touch.
Her breath catches softly. She reaches for me, undoing my shirt buttons with careful fingers, taking her time too. It’s not rushed. It’s not hungry.
It’s different.
Deeper.
