Page 23 of Corrupting Camille
“Still think you’re not going to beg?” I murmur, voice dripping a threat against her aching flesh.
Silence.
Stubborn.
So I stop.
Completely.
Go still and wait.
Let her burn, let the ache build, twisting tighter beneath her skin, consuming every thought until she breaks.
She’s trying hard to stay still. To keep her control.
It’s beautiful. And it’s useless.
I lean closer again, lips hovering just a breath away from her dripping center, no kissing, no licking, just pure, exquisite torture.
Then I look up.
She’s staring down at me, lips parted, chest rising and falling sharply, eyes glazed with need she refuses to admit.
“We can play this game all night,” I tell her softly, voice dark silk. “I’m patient when I want to be.”
Still no answer.
Fine.
I pull back slightly, and she sways forward, body betraying her pride before she can stop it.
I tap two fingers firmly against her thigh. “Uh-uh. You want something, Princesa? You ask for it.”
Her mouth presses into a tight, stubborn line.
That pride again. Beautiful, fragile, breakable.
I move in once more, teeth grazing the tender skin of her thigh.
“You’re dripping,” I whisper darkly, voice low and rough like smoke. “And I haven’t even started.”
She makes a strangled noise, breath catching sharply. But she doesn’t speak.
I lean back on my heels, letting silence stretch heavy and thick. Letting the absence of my touch drive her mad. She squirms slightly, thighs pressing together, chasing friction.
Trying to cheat.
I arch a brow, voice ice-cold.
“Spread them.”
She hesitates, defiance flashing briefly in her eyes before she complies, just enough, just barely.
My fingers trace slowly up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of where she needs me most, so close she’s visibly shaking.
“You want my fingers, Camille?” I ask softly.
Silence again.
