Page 67 of Corrupting Camille
I hit send, heart pounding.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Kane
I drink my fill. Her anger. Her shame. Her pride trying so damn hard to choke down that hunger. She’s magnificent.
Flustered. Wound tight. Probably pacing her room, hating herself for even reading my messages, for letting them slip under her skin like I slipped inside her tonight.
I type two words. Two final blows that will leave her ruined and restless until she crawls back for another fix:
You’re dripping.
I send it and wait.
Camille
My breath stops.
A fresh surge of heat floods through me, wicked and molten, spreading through my limbs, I could strangle him through the screen.
I should be furious.
I am furious.
But my body?
My body is traitorous.
My nipples tighten beneath the thin silk of my nightgown. My thighs press together, my core aching in a way that makes me feel sick with shame.
Because he’s right.
I grip my phone so tightly I half expect it to shatter in my palm. My throat tight with something I refuse to name.
I need to end this.
Now.
Lose my number.
I hit send, my fingers shaking.
That’s it. I’m done.
Before I can second-guess myself, I swipe up and turn on Do Not Disturb. Because if I don’t, I know that arrogant bastard will keep going. He always does. Kane knows exactly which buttons to push, and like a fucking idiot, I let him.
I played right into his hands.
I let him get under my skin.
Again.
My stomach knots, shame and need wars inside me as I toss my phone onto the nightstand, shoving my hands through my hair.
I need to stop this before he drives me completely insane.
I turn my phone face down and step away from it like it might bite me. My pulse still thrums in my ears, my skin still feels too hot, my legs still feel weak.
