Page 24 of Corrupting Camille
My grip tightens on her hip, firm enough to bruise. “I asked you a question,” I growl, voice dropping lower, harder. “Do you want my fucking fingers?”
Her head tips back slightly, throat exposed, pulse fluttering rapidly. And finally, finally, a whisper slips past her lips.
“Yes.”
I smile darkly, pressing my mouth just beside where her pulse throbs hardest, my voice rough with triumph.
“Not good enough. Beg me.”
She whimpers.
One second passes.
Two.
Then…
“…Please.”
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t give her a fucking inch.
She trembles, and I savor it.
“…Please…” she whispers again, softer, rougher. Need dripping from every breath.
Silence hangs thick.
Heavy.
Until…
“Please,” she finally gasps out, voice shaking. “Touch me…I need your mouth. Fuck, please…”
There it is.
That broken surrender.
I smile slowly against her thigh, lips brushing her skin.
Fucking music.
That’s exactly how it sounds.
I move.
Fast.
Dragging her down onto the floor, onto my tongue, like she’s exactly where she belongs.
Because she fucking is.
Chapter Three
Camille
His floor.
My knees.
