Page 226 of Corrupting Camille
“You’re not gonna make it off this ride in one piece, Camille.”
A delicious shiver shoots down my spine. I smile sweetly, feigning innocence. “Then I guess you better break me in before we hit the ground.”
His eyes flash.
And I know exactly what’s coming.
He moves.
Fast.
One second I’m smirking like a smug little brat, the next his hand is in my hair, tight at the nape of my neck—and I’m being yanked across the tiny cart with zero finesse and zero warning.
My breath snags, caught between panic and arousal.
Then his mouth crashes into mine.
It’s not a kiss. It's an attack. Wet, hot, open-mouthed destruction. His tongue claims everything, like he’s trying to burn his name into the roof of my mouth. Our teeth clash, lips bruising, breath heavy and tangled and wild.
I moan against him, clawing at his shirt as he pulls me deeper into his lap like he can’t get me close enough, like we’re not even in public, like the world below us doesn’t exist.
Only Kane does.
Only this.
He breaks the kiss with a sharp tug of my hair, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes are feral. Ravenous.
“On your knees.”
My stomach flips violently.
I drop like I’m meant to be there.
Dress pooling around my thighs, heart pounding against my ribs, fingers clutching the seat beside his leg as I kneel in the swaying cart. Carnival lights bleed through the glass, streaking my flushed skin in gold and red.
Kane tilts my chin up with two fingers, eyes locked on mine, as he expertly unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pulls himself out.
“Say 'ahh,' Princesa.” His voice is low. Rough. Dangerous.
My lips part.
And I obey, because my current mind frame is all slut.
"ahh…"
His smile is dangerous. Filthy. Perfect. "Such a good girl," he praises, thumb sliding deeper, pressing my mouth wider. ...“Now let’s put that pretty mouth to better use than sucking a popsicle,” he rasps, voice dripping dark, filthy promises.
He fists his cock, thick and hard, glistening obscenely at the tip as he trails it across my lips, smearing his desire like a brand. Teasing. Mocking. Claiming.
My breath shatters into sharp little pants, heart slamming violently behind my ribs, but I obediently part my lips wider, tongue slipping out to taste him instinctively.
“Eyes on me,” he commands roughly, voice edged with a cruel smirk.
I meet his gaze.
Eyes wide. Lips trembling. Mouth open and desperate.
He slides in without mercy, slow, thick, relentless, stretching my lips and hitting the back of my throat in one filthy, possessive thrust. Tears sting instantly, throat convulsing around him as I jerk reflexively back, overwhelmed.
