Page 187 of Corrupting Camille
Her fingers trail along the hood, reverent. “This one.”
I step behind her.
Close.
So close.
“You like it?”
“It’s...intimidating.”
“So am I.”
My hand finds the robe’s belt.
One pull.
Then another.
She stills. But doesn’t stop me.
I slip the robe off her shoulders slowly, letting it slide down her arms. It drops to the floor in a whisper.
Her skin gleams under the soft lights. She’s warm, flushed from the bath, mouth parted, body exposed to me in the place that defines me.
I brush my fingertips up her stomach. Over her ribs. To her breasts. I play with her gently, thumbing her nipples, watching her shiver.
“Turn around.”
She obeys, slow and breathless, dark eyes wide with anticipation.
I guide her forward until her palms press flat against the sleek, unforgiving hood, her back instinctively arching, legs parting. My chest presses against her back, my lips grazing her ear.
“You feel sacred here,” I admit softly, the raw honesty shocking even me. “You’re the first…theonlyperson I’ve ever brought inside.”
She shudders, a small, trembling question spilling from her lips. “Why?”
I stroke her spine, possessive yet tender. “Because no one else has ever mattered enough.”
She tilts her head slightly, breath quickening as my hand slides lower, gripping her hip tightly.
“This car,” I confess quietly, voice rough and thick with memories, “it was my reward after revenge. The first thing I gavemyself after I reclaimed everything. Blood, sweat, fury, it’s all here, locked inside this metal.”
She turns her head, eyes soft yet knowing as she meets my gaze over her shoulder. “You built yourself from pain.”
“No,” I correct softly, lips brushing the elegant curve of her shoulder, teeth grazing, marking, warning. “I built myself from fury. Pain was just the blade I sharpened it with.”
She shivers beneath the words, letting herself sink deeper into the ruthless grip of my truth. I can feel her surrender, taste it on her skin, sweet, warm, addictive. She’s gravity, and I’m willingly falling into her.
I drag my lips down the delicate ridge of her spine, lingering at each vertebra like it’s sacred, like every notch and hollow holds answers I’ve spent a lifetime hunting. Her breath catches as my mouth trails lower, the small tremble of her body pulling me in closer, anchoring me in ways I can’t admit aloud.
My palms grip her hips, firm and possessive, steadying her for me, as I reach the small of her back.
Those perfect dimples, soft, shallow, beckon like a trap I’d willingly walk into, and I press an open-mouthed kiss there, savoring the warmth of her skin beneath my tongue. Slowly, deliberately, I drop to my knees behind her.
And suddenly, I’m eye-level with the most devastating sight imaginable.
Her glorious, heart-shaped ass, bare, flushed, impossibly perfect, waiting to be worshipped or fucked. Probably both. Definitely both.
