Page 22 of Corrupting Camille
A dark, dangerous smile curves his lips. "Then tonight is going to hurt."
But standing here, lost in his darkness, wrapped in his promises, I already crave that pain.
Kane
She thinks she’s ready.
She’s not even close.
But I live for this lie, the defiance burning behind her eyes, the delicate lift of that stubborn chin, the erratic flutter of her pulse betraying every secret she’s desperate to keep hidden.
My thumb traces the sharp line of her jaw, forcing her gaze to mine. Her breath quickens, catching slightly, fragile, raw. Beautifully breakable.
Tonight isn’t about giving her what she wants. It’s about showing her exactly what she needs. The harder she fights, the sweeter she’ll break. And I plan on savoring every single second of her unraveling, watching her splinter, watching her beg for mercy she’ll hate herself for craving.
“Then let’s begin,” I murmur darkly, mouth slanting over hers, swallowing her pride with a kiss she wasn’t prepared for. Her lips part instinctively, a soft, helpless sound spilling free, slipping past her armor and slicing straight through every restraint I thought I had.
I pull back just enough to watch her eyes, wide, unfocused, flooded with lust and confusion, as my fingertips skim slowly down her curves, teasing soft, warm supple skin and lace, savoring each shiver, every involuntary twitch of her hips, every breathless whisper she tries and fails to suppress.
My mouth trails lower, lips grazing her throat, her collarbone, leaving tiny, temporary marks, shadows of the bruises I’ll brand her with by the end of tonight.
“First,” I rasp, lips brushing the swell of her breast through sheer lace, watching her lashes flutter, her chest rising sharply, “you’re going to beg.”
She shakes her head in instant denial, breath hitching violently. “I won't.”
I smile darkly against her skin, letting my tongue flick cruelly over the hardened peak beneath the lace. Her entire body jerks helplessly toward me despite her stubborn pride, and heat floods up her neck, shame and desire warring beneath flushed skin.
“You will,” I promise quietly, the threat dripping hot against her trembling body. “I fucking promise and then…” I pause just long enough for her eyes to snap open, dazed, pleading, pinned beneath mine, “…you’ll scream pretty for me.”
I sink to my knees.
Not out of reverence, but because I want her to feel every excruciating second of what I’m about to do.
My palms slide up the backs of her thighs, slow and deliberate, thumbs hooking beneath the waistband of her black lace panties. She jerks instinctively, trying to pull away. My grip tightens on her hips, locking her exactly where I want her.
“You move,” I warn, voice lethal, barely restrained. “And I stop.”
Her breath catches sharply. She freezes instantly.
Good girl.
I peel the lace down her hips inch by torturous inch, just enough to expose her, trapping her thighs together. She’s breathing harder now, uneven, desperate as cool air kisses her wet heat. She’s dripping already…she knows it. And I know it too.
And I haven’t even touched her yet.
I lean in, pressing my mouth just above the edge of her panties, letting my breath tease and taunt her overheated skin.
“You feel that?” I whisper darkly, voice smoothly coated poison. “That’s your body begging for everything your pride won’t let you say.”
Her fists tighten at her sides. She’s fighting it, fighting the urge to grab me, fighting the urge to surrender.
But she won’t fight long.
I tilt my head, dragging my nose slowly upward along the damp lace, a filthy tease against her throbbing center.
She moans, low, desperate, broken, and I savor that sound.
My tongue sweeps across the lace once, just once, and her thighs tremble so violently I have to grip them tighter to hold her upright.
